“You remember the charity ball?” Mr. Parker asks. “The night you got all horny?”
That’s not the way I’d put it, but I do remember that night. Mr. Parker got around my bodyguards and drugged me with Orchard, an aphrodisiac Doc invented when he was a teenager. Mr. Parker took me to another room, but before he could touch me, my stepmom whisked me away. The drug didn’t work the way it was supposed to. Doc told me Mr. Parker’s batch was stolen and it had expired. It mostly just made me sick. Not the way I felt when I was given a fresh dose at Velvet House. But at Velvet House, all four of my captors were beautiful. They terrified me, but I never had to pretend to find them attractive and I can’t say the same for my thirty-eight-year-old, rubber-lipped ‘fiancé.’
“I remember the charity ball,” I say.
“I drugged you,” Mr. Parker says. “Gave you something I invented called O.”
My eyes widen. He’s sayingheinvented Orchard?
“You, um, made a drug?”
“Yup and I’ve got another couple doses. You and Emilia are both gonna get some in Vegas and then we’ll have some fun.” Mr. Parker grins. “But don’t worry, you’ll be the one to get my gravy. I want a son.”
I turn my face away, my stomach rolling. And then I see him. The blond guy. He’s looking right at me and pressing a finger into his open mouth. I frown. Is he making fun of me? Making fun of Emilia? Is he just a weirdo? He screws up his face and sticks out his tongue, and I realize he’s pretending to puke.
I steal a glance at Mr. Parker, but he’s occupied with his laughter and his blow job. I look back at the bodyguard who is now pressing a hand to his stomach and tilting his head downward. It’s like he’s telling me to pretend to throw up. I mirror his actions and he nods rapidly.
On one hand he could be trying to trick me. On the other, I don’t know how things could possibly get worse. I decide to take the risk. I bend over and stick out my tongue, coughing until my throat catches.
“What the fuck?” Mr. Parker says. “What are you doing?”
“Sir,” the blond says. “I think she’s gonna throw up.”
He has a southern accent and for some reason that makes me trust him more. I gag, letting my spit run out of my mouth and onto the limo floor.
“Sir, I think we should pull over,” the blond says. My heart jumps into my mouth. Heistrying to help me.
“Just give her the ice bucket,” Mr. Parker says.
“Sir, that’s a pretty bad smell to be smellin’ all the way to the airstrip.”
I squint through my hair. Mr. Parker is sitting back, both hands on Emilia’s head. I cough and sputter but I’m no closer to actually throwing up. If I’d drunk more water or eaten I could make this look better but my stomach doesn’t seem to want to give anything up. I think of maggots crawling through bread, of soggy bathroom floors and cockroaches. Nothing works. Then I imagine being in bed with Mr. Parker and poor Emilia, or Mr. Parker forcing Emilia’s head intomylap, and then my stomach heaves. I gag and this time I bring bile into my mouth.
“Jesus!” Mr. Parker pulls Emilia off him. “Stop puking, you disgusting bitch.”
I see his penis. I wish I didn’t. It’s short and fat and bright red and I hate it as much as I hate him but I make myself stare at it until I gag again.
“There’s a truck stop ahead,” the blond says. “I’ll take her to the restroom.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Mr. Parker presses a button. “Carlo, pull into the next stop.”
My pulse goes haywire, and I’m so scared I’ll smile. I keep my head hanging toward the floor and moan.
“You’re gonna hold her hair, Baskerville,” Mr. Parker says. “And if she gets puke on herself, rinse her out in the toilet.”
“Yes, sir.”
I glance at the blond, but his face is calm. Neutral. My stomach clenches. What if I’m wrong about him? What if he just wants to get me alone so he can hurt me?
It’s something, Zia says.You won’t be trapped in the car and any man is better than Mr. Parker.
The afternoon sun stings my eyes as Baskerville steers me into the truck stop. It’s a big, busy place and the sight of all the bustling families and grumpy truckers makes it even harder to believe I am where I am. Miles from Velvet House. Miles from my family. Forever away from Zia Teresa.
“Hurry up,” Baskerville says, dragging me past a cluster of moms. “Bathroom. Now.”
So, I was wrong about him. He really did just want to get me alone for some weird, non-rescuing reason.
The moms turn to stare and I pray one of them calls the police. I definitely look like I’m being sex trafficked. Then again, they might think the blond is my mean boyfriend. He has bright hazel eyes and he would be handsome if he didn’t work for the nastiest man in the world.
