Flawed Love
Page 39
“Shut the fuck up or I’ll drug you again, you little bastard,” the guard holding me barks.
“Go the fuck ahead!” I yell, kicking out.
He lifts his gun and brings it down hard over my temple. I bellow in pain and my vision swims. Fuck, how the hell did I end up here? I stole drugs, fucked with the wrong people and did all I could to protect Emy, but then the fucker I stole and cheated from caught up with me and decided to sell me. Sell. Me. I’ve overhead some conversations on the long flight here, and from what I understand, I’m going to be a working slave until I earn back the debt.
That is basically a life in prison.
The guards open and door to a stale, plain room with a line of rusty old beds. There are at least ten other slaves sitting on them, most with their heads down. Some range from young, the youngest looking about fourteen, to older, one being close to eighty. The guard throws me in and I fall, landing on my knees. I turn and go to charge him, but he slams the giant door. I shake it, bellowing loudly, but nobody answers.
None of the slaves look up. Well, except one girl. She’s maybe fourteen years old and has long, ratty blond hair. Her eyes are way too big for her small face, and she looks so innocent and young. She shouldn’t be in a place like this. She meets my eyes and we stare at each other for a while before I turn and continue my rampage against the door. After a few hours, I give up and slump down. There’s no point.
That door is locked solid.
I sit against it for what feels like hours and hours. When the night falls, it finally opens. I shuffle back, ready to charge whoever walks in, but the weapons come through the door before the people and I know I’ll be shot dead like a dog before the night is through if I try to fight. So instead, I sit back, wondering how the fuck I’m going to escape this place.
“You’re all probably wondering why you’re here,” a very tall, very ugly man says. He’s got a fine, creepy-looking face and hair that’s slicked back on his head, probably because there isn’t enough of it to cover it.
No one says anything.
They don’t need to.
He tells us exactly why we’re here.
We’re slaves.
We don’t leave until our debt is paid.
We try to run? We die.
God, Emy. I’m so sorry, baby.
~*~*~*~
ONE MONTH LATER
The blond girl got paired up with me. I feel sorry for her, because she’s so tiny and I’ve been an asshole to her. I can’t help it; I just can’t function. I can’t stop thinking about Emy. I can’t do anything but sit here and pray that she’s okay. I miss her so much it hurts.
We’ve been working on these fields for just over a month now. We’ve all lost weight, and we’re barely surviving. The sun is intense and more often than not, we end up burned and damaged from it. We’ve all grown to only care about our own survival.
These chains attached to our ankles have removed any chance of getting free. We’ve all been given a buddy, someone we’re paired up with daily. We’re responsible for each other. If our buddy tries to escape, we both die and so on. I don’t see the small blond girl trying to go anywhere; she looks as if she’s barely surviving. She is so slow and most days it makes me angry, because I just want to work hard to keep my mind from going crazy. Today she’s going extra slow, and I’ve had about enough of it.
She is barely moving her legs today, and I’m frustrated and angry. I shove the chains and slam into her. She stumbles forward, landing on her knees with a wince.
“Hurry up!” I bark, but instantly I feel bad when I see her lift her hands and there’s blood on them. Dammit. She’s just a kid. What the fuck is wrong with me? I go to reach down and help her when I hear a screeching sound from another slave. Then she cries, “I can’t take it anymore!”
I look to my left at a young girl who only arrived two weeks ago, to see she is dragging her partner across the lawn, stumbling as she tries to inch closer to the house. She’s waving her hands, which are the only things that are free, and screaming at the top of her lungs. Artreau appears on the porch of the massive home and stares at her.
This isn’t going to be good.
It doesn’t seem to bother her because she doesn’t stop. She leads her partner towards him; she isn’t doing so well, because she is now crawling desperately behind her, legs bound together. She throws her hands up and yells, “You can’t do this. It’s barbaric. I’d rather die than spend the rest of my life as your slave.”
Artreau’s face pinches and he storms down the patio, reaching into his jacket. He pulls out a gun and everyone stops, their bodies no doubt doing the same as mine. Going stone cold. He stalks towards her, pointing the gun at her head. She doesn’t stop, and I fuckin’ swear she wants him to shoot her.
“Get back to work. You won’t get another warning,” he roars at her.
“I don’t want another warning,” she yells, “because I’m not going to go back to work. You can’t make me do this. I’m starving, and thirsty, and I’ve lost so much weight I can see my damned bones. I won’t do it. You can’t be allowed to get away with this.”
Artreau smiles, and my stomach twists with anxiety for a second as he pushes the gun into her forehead. “I can, and I will.”
Then he pulls the trigger.
Holy fucking shit. The girl next to me opens her mouth to scream, but I react quickly, wrapping my arm around her face and stopping her. He’ll kill her if she screams. Blood and gore splatter and the poor, struggling girl on the ground behind the first body starts to cry. Artreau points the gun at her head, now.
“Do you all see what happens to those who defy me?” he roars. “I told you once, and I’ll only repeat myself this one time. You’re here until your debts are paid off. The action of one is the actions of all. In this case, the actions of this girl will be the actions of her partner.”
He pulls the trigger and shoots the second girl. The girl in my arms’ knees go out from beneath her, but I hold her up with an arm around her waist. Artreau tucks his gun away and his eyes scan over all of us. They fall on the girl and me, and I tense, wondering if we’re going to be next. “Now, you.” He points to me, and then to the girl, and then he kicks one of the dead bodies in front of him. “Clean this up.”
The minute he reaches the house, the poor girl in my arms leans over to vomit. I feel my own bile rising in my throat, but I’ve seen horror in my life—this poor girl shouldn’t have to see this. I kneel down beside her, swiping a piece of damp blond hair from her face. “Hey sweetheart. It’s going to be okay, do you hear me? Tell me what your name is.”
She looks over to me, her eyes puffy and filled with so much fear I want to wrap her in my arms and never let her go. “Pippa,” she squeaks.
I cup her face. “You and I are going to stick together, okay Pippa?”
She nods.
I want to die inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
NOW – MALI
It’s raining out tonight and my car lights really aren’t giving me the kind of brightness they should. I’m driving really slowly, watching the rain pound on my windscreen. Gosh, where the hell did this come from? I wish it would go away. That would make my life a whole lot easier. I squint, leaning forward to try and see through the mist it’s creating.
“Go the fuck ahead!” I yell, kicking out.
He lifts his gun and brings it down hard over my temple. I bellow in pain and my vision swims. Fuck, how the hell did I end up here? I stole drugs, fucked with the wrong people and did all I could to protect Emy, but then the fucker I stole and cheated from caught up with me and decided to sell me. Sell. Me. I’ve overhead some conversations on the long flight here, and from what I understand, I’m going to be a working slave until I earn back the debt.
That is basically a life in prison.
The guards open and door to a stale, plain room with a line of rusty old beds. There are at least ten other slaves sitting on them, most with their heads down. Some range from young, the youngest looking about fourteen, to older, one being close to eighty. The guard throws me in and I fall, landing on my knees. I turn and go to charge him, but he slams the giant door. I shake it, bellowing loudly, but nobody answers.
None of the slaves look up. Well, except one girl. She’s maybe fourteen years old and has long, ratty blond hair. Her eyes are way too big for her small face, and she looks so innocent and young. She shouldn’t be in a place like this. She meets my eyes and we stare at each other for a while before I turn and continue my rampage against the door. After a few hours, I give up and slump down. There’s no point.
That door is locked solid.
I sit against it for what feels like hours and hours. When the night falls, it finally opens. I shuffle back, ready to charge whoever walks in, but the weapons come through the door before the people and I know I’ll be shot dead like a dog before the night is through if I try to fight. So instead, I sit back, wondering how the fuck I’m going to escape this place.
“You’re all probably wondering why you’re here,” a very tall, very ugly man says. He’s got a fine, creepy-looking face and hair that’s slicked back on his head, probably because there isn’t enough of it to cover it.
No one says anything.
They don’t need to.
He tells us exactly why we’re here.
We’re slaves.
We don’t leave until our debt is paid.
We try to run? We die.
God, Emy. I’m so sorry, baby.
~*~*~*~
ONE MONTH LATER
The blond girl got paired up with me. I feel sorry for her, because she’s so tiny and I’ve been an asshole to her. I can’t help it; I just can’t function. I can’t stop thinking about Emy. I can’t do anything but sit here and pray that she’s okay. I miss her so much it hurts.
We’ve been working on these fields for just over a month now. We’ve all lost weight, and we’re barely surviving. The sun is intense and more often than not, we end up burned and damaged from it. We’ve all grown to only care about our own survival.
These chains attached to our ankles have removed any chance of getting free. We’ve all been given a buddy, someone we’re paired up with daily. We’re responsible for each other. If our buddy tries to escape, we both die and so on. I don’t see the small blond girl trying to go anywhere; she looks as if she’s barely surviving. She is so slow and most days it makes me angry, because I just want to work hard to keep my mind from going crazy. Today she’s going extra slow, and I’ve had about enough of it.
She is barely moving her legs today, and I’m frustrated and angry. I shove the chains and slam into her. She stumbles forward, landing on her knees with a wince.
“Hurry up!” I bark, but instantly I feel bad when I see her lift her hands and there’s blood on them. Dammit. She’s just a kid. What the fuck is wrong with me? I go to reach down and help her when I hear a screeching sound from another slave. Then she cries, “I can’t take it anymore!”
I look to my left at a young girl who only arrived two weeks ago, to see she is dragging her partner across the lawn, stumbling as she tries to inch closer to the house. She’s waving her hands, which are the only things that are free, and screaming at the top of her lungs. Artreau appears on the porch of the massive home and stares at her.
This isn’t going to be good.
It doesn’t seem to bother her because she doesn’t stop. She leads her partner towards him; she isn’t doing so well, because she is now crawling desperately behind her, legs bound together. She throws her hands up and yells, “You can’t do this. It’s barbaric. I’d rather die than spend the rest of my life as your slave.”
Artreau’s face pinches and he storms down the patio, reaching into his jacket. He pulls out a gun and everyone stops, their bodies no doubt doing the same as mine. Going stone cold. He stalks towards her, pointing the gun at her head. She doesn’t stop, and I fuckin’ swear she wants him to shoot her.
“Get back to work. You won’t get another warning,” he roars at her.
“I don’t want another warning,” she yells, “because I’m not going to go back to work. You can’t make me do this. I’m starving, and thirsty, and I’ve lost so much weight I can see my damned bones. I won’t do it. You can’t be allowed to get away with this.”
Artreau smiles, and my stomach twists with anxiety for a second as he pushes the gun into her forehead. “I can, and I will.”
Then he pulls the trigger.
Holy fucking shit. The girl next to me opens her mouth to scream, but I react quickly, wrapping my arm around her face and stopping her. He’ll kill her if she screams. Blood and gore splatter and the poor, struggling girl on the ground behind the first body starts to cry. Artreau points the gun at her head, now.
“Do you all see what happens to those who defy me?” he roars. “I told you once, and I’ll only repeat myself this one time. You’re here until your debts are paid off. The action of one is the actions of all. In this case, the actions of this girl will be the actions of her partner.”
He pulls the trigger and shoots the second girl. The girl in my arms’ knees go out from beneath her, but I hold her up with an arm around her waist. Artreau tucks his gun away and his eyes scan over all of us. They fall on the girl and me, and I tense, wondering if we’re going to be next. “Now, you.” He points to me, and then to the girl, and then he kicks one of the dead bodies in front of him. “Clean this up.”
The minute he reaches the house, the poor girl in my arms leans over to vomit. I feel my own bile rising in my throat, but I’ve seen horror in my life—this poor girl shouldn’t have to see this. I kneel down beside her, swiping a piece of damp blond hair from her face. “Hey sweetheart. It’s going to be okay, do you hear me? Tell me what your name is.”
She looks over to me, her eyes puffy and filled with so much fear I want to wrap her in my arms and never let her go. “Pippa,” she squeaks.
I cup her face. “You and I are going to stick together, okay Pippa?”
She nods.
I want to die inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
NOW – MALI
It’s raining out tonight and my car lights really aren’t giving me the kind of brightness they should. I’m driving really slowly, watching the rain pound on my windscreen. Gosh, where the hell did this come from? I wish it would go away. That would make my life a whole lot easier. I squint, leaning forward to try and see through the mist it’s creating.
