Silvia flicked the syringe twice, sending a small spray of liquid into the air, then grabbed my upper arm with her free hand. Her nails, painted the same blood red as her lips, bit into my skin as she held me steady. The needle slid into the meat of my biceps, and with a burn, the substance spread through my veins.
Within minutes, the harsh edges of the room began to soften and blur. My limbs grew sluggish and heavy as a warmth spanned from head to toe. They needed me awake for the big event, so it wasn’t enough to knock me unconscious, but it was enough to dull my ability to fight back, to think with a clear head, slowing my thoughts and movements.
“Better,” Silvia purred, her lips curling into a cruel smile. She smoothed a hand over my hair with the same tenderness someone might show a beloved pet, her fingers gentle against my scalp. “Now sit still, darling. We have work to do.”
Itried to hold on to the anger, tried to keep the fire alive in my chest, but my body wasn’t listening anymore. The drug had built a wall between my mind and my muscles, leaving me trapped inside my own skin. All I could do was blink slowly and watch in the mirror as they began to paint my face into a stranger’s.
The foundation went on first, thick and heavy, erasing every freckle and imperfection until my skin was flawless. Then came the concealer under my eyes, hiding the dark circles that spoke of sleepless nights and constant fear. Powder to set it all, applied with brushes so soft they felt like whispers against my cheek.
The eyeshadow was smoky and dramatic, deep purples and blacks making my light-blue eyes look enormous and mysterious. They lined them with kohl, thick and dark, adding false lashes. My eyebrows were plucked and shaped until they arched in perfect symmetry.
The lipstick came last in the color of wine. Of dried blood.
By the time they finished, I no longer belonged to myself. Someone would own me. And by morning, I could be in another state, another country, another kind of hell entirely.
The thought broke something inside me, and tears slipped free despite the hazy feeling of floating. They ran down my cheeks in hot, salty tracks, carrying streaks of mascara with them, black rivers of despair.
“Tsk, tsk.” Silvia clicked her tongue in disapproval, reaching for a cloth from the vanity. “Don’t ruin what we worked so hard for, darling. Buyers don’t like sloppy sluts.”
“Stop,” I whispered, but the word came out slurred and weak.
But she didn’t stop. None of them did.
If Kreed was going to save me, he needed to do it soon. With this drug flowing through my veins, turning my body into a prison I couldn’t escape, I wouldn’t be able to save myself.
The clock on the wall ticked steadily toward midnight, each second bringing me closer to a fate I couldn’t bear to imagine. And Iwas terrified that when those hands finally aligned at twelve, the glass slipper would shatter, and I’d be lost forever.
Lost to a world where girls like me disappeared without a trace, where our screams were swallowed by soundproof rooms and our tears were nothing more than an inconvenience to be wiped away.
The room reekedof smoke and money, expensive cigars mingling with the tang of cologne. The air hung thick and oppressive as the guards led me down a narrow passage lined with exposed brick, my bare arms scraping against the rough walls with each stumbling step. Behind me, I could hear the low rumble of voices and the clink of glasses that sounded very much like a party.
At the end of the passage, I was shoved through a heavy curtain into blinding light. Bright and hot spotlights blared down upon me, my eyes instantly watering. I threw up a hand to shield my face, but it was useless; the beams were positioned at every angle, highlighting me while protecting the faceless crowd beyond.
“Walk,” Silvia hissed from my left.
My legs screamed at me to run, to bolt, to throw myself off this stage and disappear into the maze below, but the drugs still dragged through my veins. My muscles wouldn’t obey, and my coordination was shot to hell. It took everything I had just to stay upright, forcing one shaky step after another. My heels clicked against the wooden stage, stilettos I didn’t remember slipping onto my feet.
A voice boomed through hidden speakers, one I recognized. “Gentlemen, we end tonight’s festivities with the highlight of our collection…”
Fucking Rusty.
I squinted as I searched for the bastard, not that it did any good. My vision was impaired by globes of white swirling behind my eyes. I tried to scream his name, but his amplified voice overpowered me as he began to describe my attributes. Height, weight, age, measurements,eye color, and natural hair. My education was mentioned as well as my background.
It was difficult to tell if there were only a few select takers in the crowd or if the room was packed with dozens. I couldn’t be sure, and perhaps it was better I didn’t know.
I crossed my arms over my chest, but it offered little protection or coverage. The dress hugging my body left nothing to the imagination. They knew precisely what they were getting. I might as well have been naked.
I loathed every second on the stage. Never in my life had I ever felt so small, helpless, bare, and less like a human being. Numbness settled into my bones.
The bidding started immediately. Each price increase was met with murmurs of approval or disappointment from the crowd. I couldn’t breathe. The air was too thick. My chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow pants that weren’t bringing in enough oxygen. The stage lights made my vision swim, dark spots dancing at the edges of my sight.
I couldn’t think, and I’d had enough.
So I dropped.
Right there in the center of the stage, my knees hit the ground, and I curled into a tight ball, arms wrapping around my knees.
“Get up!” Silvia yelled from the sideline.
