Chapter 4

My mind is racing. Literally it is going the speed of this car I am currently in. Everything happened so fast, and I don't know what to think. The man whose possession I am currently in says he is a good guy. He says as soon as it is safe he will remove my bindings, but I don't trust him. I don't trust anyone. For all I know he is in a long line of men trying to get me to have something on my father.

"Are you alright? Shit. I'm sorry. Dumb question. Just a few minutes more and I will be able to free you," he says. There is something in his voice that is not necessarily cruel. In fact he sounds a bit remorseful. Huh, imagine that. A remorseful kidnapper, trafficker…whatever he is.

The car slows down and the hum of the engine quiets. I try to calm my beating heart because it is so erratic that my hearing is affected, but I can't. One because I am terrified, but the other reason is that my skin feels like there are spiders crawling on it. I would know. I have been bitten by a few. But this feeling is from something else. This is from missing my daily dose of heroin and I think I am going to go crazy any minute.

I hear his door open and shut and then the muffled sounds of a conversation. Must be the person he is handing me off too. The truth is nothing and no one could be crueler than the captures he just took me from.

"Here we are, Piccola." I believe he called me little or something close. The dialect from Cuban Spanish and what I would guess is Italian. My father had visitors from all over. I don't know what is really going on, but he smells good and is comforting in a way. He carries me what I guess is a few feet and then a different type of hum fills my ears.

"Can I get anything for you, Mr. St. Clair?" A woman with a weird accent asks him. Huh. He is an awful kidnapper to let someone call him by his last name. Now if I get free, I can identify him. Sort of.

"No, Violet. I am fine. Tell the captain we are ready. We will be in the back." He continues walking and then something soft is under me. "Now, let's get you free," he says, right before something slices through the restraints. "Shit," he curses, gripping my wrists and rubbing them. I can't help but groan at the tender touch since it has been years since someone soothed me. My father never touched me other than to slap me if I didn"t do what he said fast enough. Once my mom died, he stopped trying to pretend he loved me.

Finally, I am able to really look at the man who kept his word. "Thank you," I try to say but it comes out hoarse and quiet. My whole body is shaking right about now. I am starting to get anxious and desperate.

Then he whispers. "Santa cielo." he says, staring into my eyes with astonishment. I am used to it. My eyes are pretty unique. On a good day they are a forest green color with flecks of gold in them. I drop my eyes from his because he is looking at me like he can inside of me and is uncomfortable.

"Where are we?" I ask him, trying to change the subject. His eyes stay locked on me, and it is making my stomach feel weird.

"On a private plane." Wow. He must be rich.

"Where are we going?" I ask him, positive he is not going to answer me, but for whatever reason, I know it is not because he is an asshole. My stomach takes that moment to churn, loudly and I drop my head in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Piccola. Of course you are hungry. Here why don't I order you something light, while you shower. I will lay out some clothes I brought with me for you. How does that sound?" Oh God. I am about to cry thinking of water touching my skin. "Oh and I put some girly smelling shit in the shower for you," he says gruffly. It brings a slight smirk to my face before I remember I don't know what is happening and if I can really trust him. So I simply thank him.

"A shower would be great," I tell him nodding my head. Nodding back at me, he gets up from the bed.

"I am going to give you some privacy. Would you like to eat in here or out there?" He points to the main part of the plane.

"I-I don"t know," I tell him honestly.

"It's okay. You shower and if you are not out there when the food comes I will take it as a sign you want to eat here."

"Okay." Nodding he leaves the room and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. I am not sure if it was because he is incredibly handsome or because he scares me. I think a bit of both. On autopilot I start going through the room looking for prescriptions, alcohol, anything to make this pain go away. I need a fix and I need it badly.

Once I have gone through every inch of the small room, I give up and go into the bathroom slowly. The shaking is getting worse and soon I am going to throw up. I know because as part of the fun for them, they would withhold the needle from me to see how crazy I would get until I puked all over myself from the withdrawal. It has been almost twenty-fours since the last dose.

I strip off the filthy clothes if you could call them that and turn on the water. I turn to look in the mirror and I put my hand to my mouth. I knew I wouldn"t look like myself, but never in a million years did I picture this broke down, shell of nothingness I am staring at.

I check the water because I want it to be as hot as possible to wash off everything that has happened. I get into the shower, soap up the sponge and rub it over my body. I start off slow, languishing in the feeling of being clean and that turns into pure tears and rage.

My hands begin to move roughly and savagely, my skin turning red from the scorching water and my brutal treatment. Logically I know I should stop but I just want it all off of me. Over and over I cry and scrub, scrub and cry. I don't realize I am screaming and bleeding until he comes storming into the room.

"Shit. Stop, Piccola. You are hurting yourself." I can hear him, but my mind is lost in a sea of pain and addiction. I ignore his pleas and continue trying to make myself brand new, until I feel him. His hands touch my bare skin and I flinch and jump back. "Fuck. Dead fuckers," he growls before touching my cheeks. "I am not going to hurt you, Satine. I swear it. But please stop hurting yourself." My chest is heaving up and down as I try to catch my breath. Turning my back to hide the tears, I realize my mistake when he growls and touches the scars. "Jesus. What did they do to you?" What didn't they do?