Hell And Back(73)

“I would hate to fucking shoot you in the leg before I fuck you, but I will. Make one move, bitch, I’ll go back and get that little bitch we left behind.”

I sit up straight, looking out the window at the houses while we pass through. My hands are shaking in my lap.

We pull up to a rundown motel, and my heart starts beating faster. The motel’s sign is only partially lit.

We pull up in front of room number eight. The door opens, and Adam grabs my arm to yank me out. I look up at the motel’s worn exterior, and I absently notice it must have been brown at some point, but years of not performing routine maintenance and weather have faded it to a dark, dingy tan. Each door is supposed to be white, but like everything else covered with dirt and grime and faded from the sun, they look dirty and yellowed. The number on the door is gold-plated with pieces of the gold chipped off. Each window has those plastic vertical blinds covering it. Some are missing pieces and some are closed.

I try to talk to Adam before Chuck gets out of the car. “Please, Adam, don’t do this. Think of Lilah,” I whisper to him.

Chuck closes his door, pulling out the key to open the room. Adam drags me right in with him.

I look around, taking in the filth of the room. The smell of urine is so profound, my eyes burn and I can’t hold back the gag. It’s unbearable.

There is one bed in the middle of the room, dirty sheets askew, half on the bed, half off. One lone chair in the corner of the room is blue with obvious blood stains on it. Carelessly discarded, used needles litter the floor all around us.

An old television sits on a cheap, dusty stand facing the bed. The television is on, tuned to The Shopping Network.

I continue scanning the room when my eyes land on three teenage girls huddled in a corner of the room and chained to the wall.

All three are wearing sheer camisoles, with no bras and sheer underwear, leaving little to the imagination. All three are filthy with greasy, stringy hair, and it’s obvious none of them have bathed in quite a while. Their eyes are puffy and closed, like they are napping.

Their arms show round, fingertip-shaped bruises, but it’s the swollen, red needle marks along the inside of their elbows that have me gasping aloud.

Their hands are clipped with a chain to the wall. I can see the dirt under their chipped fingernails. My heart aches for these young girls as I take in what appears to be dried blood crusted over on their inner thighs. Their panties are almost non-existent, brownish reddish stains covering them in the front.

One of the girls must hear the commotion of us coming in and rolls her head in our direction and opens her eyes.

They are vacant, like she’s here but she really isn’t here.

Chuck walks over to her, nudging her leg to the side, squatting down next to her. “Look at this, Lori, we brought you another bitch to train.”

The minute he says her name, I know she’s the girl Jackson is looking for, Marissa’s daughter. Clearly, she didn’t run away. She’s been kidnapped.

These girls were taken from their families and have been forced to stay here.

She doesn’t say anything. Only a groan escapes out of her mouth as her head lolls from side to side against the wall.

He leans down, pinching her nipple. A pained whimper escapes her. She tries to raise her hand to slap him away, but it falls limply down with a thud.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Adam. How much shit did you give them?” Chuck asks, looking over at Adam, who stands next to me.

“Just enough to last the night. It’s Friday night. We already have eight guys lined up.”

I turn around to look at him, and that’s all I can take. I heave and vomit bile all over the side of me.

I don’t even stop when Adam kicks me, sending me flying across the room. I lose my balance, hitting my head on the corner of the one nightstand in the room.

I land face down on the wet, urine soaked carpet. I reach up to touch my forehead and wipe at the blood dripping down the side of my face.

“Don’t fucking touch her face. She’s going to be our money cow.” Chucks leans down, gripping my hair, and pulling me up.

My cries of pain fill the room. Adam ignores it as he goes looking for his next fix.

Chuck grips my chin, squeezing it so hard I think he might crack my jaw.

“Did you miss me, Bella?” he asks while he pushes me against the wall by the bed. The paint has started chipping off of it, and there are dirty, yellowed streaks where water must have run down the walls at some point.

I look away, trying to block out what is happening. Chuck has me boxed in and is dragging the gun down the middle of my chest, bringing the V of my T-shirt down with it, exposing my white bra. “Hmmm, look at these tits. They filled out good,” he says while he takes the barrel of the gun and rubs it over my nipple.