Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(17)

Jagged Scar pressed his face close as the sharp nick of the tattoo gun tore into my flesh. Teeny, tiny teeth nipped and sawed.

“Accept that you are no longer a woman. You are merchandise. And merchandise must have a barcode for sale.”

I wanted to spit at him, but refrained. As degrading as it was to be treated like stock, I bit my lip and bore through it. I would get it lasered off as soon as I escaped.

The burn grew fiery hot as seconds turned into minutes.

I was no longer Tess. I was dollar signs.

Finally, the tattoo pen cut off with a snarl. I gasped as the woman smeared some sort of gel over it and wrapped my wrist in plastic.

The black lines looked obscene against my red, swollen skin. My first tattoo and it demoted me from dog to shelf produce. A disposable thing. An item. No more. No less.

My fight deflated, leaving under an avalanche of unhappiness. Every part hurt: my heart, body, and soul. I was sucked deep into the pit where snakes and monsters lived, wallowing in self-pity.

The woman pulled off her gloves and snapped a fresh pair on. She moved to the end of the table, positioning herself between my legs. She turned from tattoo artist to gynaecologist.

Oh, hell, this is too much.

I squeezed my eyes, rolling my head to the side. I willed myself to leave this place, to float and disappear, but her fingers touched and kept me anchored in despair.

She inspected between my legs for an eternity before finally patting my thigh like the good dog I was. I hadn’t barked or nipped. I’d let them own me with not so much as a whimper.

The woman unbuckled my legs, and I scissored them tight, locking my knees together.

Jagged Scar chuckled. “Keeping your legs together won’t save you. There are plenty of other places to violate.”

I gulped, and the clatter of the leather straps hitting the metal table sent goosebumps skittering.

Please, let this humiliating and degrading inspection be over.

I opened my mouth to ask to be released, but the crackle of another sterile packet sky-rocketed my panic.

The woman fumbled with something small before facing me with a cruel smile. The syringe glinted under the spot light. My heart raced. “No. I’ll behave. You don’t have to drug me. Please.”

The thought of living a permanent life in a drug haze terrified me more than the rest of it. The woman didn’t answer and I jerked, trying to get free from the restraints.

I couldn’t look away from the syringe, expecting her to inject whatever it was into my arm, but she didn’t go for that part of my body.

Her latex covered fingers swiped tangled hair off my neck, and stabbed the thick needle into soft flesh behind my ear.

I screamed as a hard bullet shot from the needle, stretching, maiming.

Withdrawing, she giggled, saying something in Spanish to Jagged Scar. She threw the syringe into a bin and picked up an iPhone looking thing. Handing it to Jagged Scar, he waved it over the latest injury. My skin wouldn’t stop throbbing.

A sharp series of beeps filled the room.

“Working, and linked to the barcode,” Jagged Scar muttered.

No! They didn’t. All my courage and hope for escape was ruined. They’d not only branded me, they tagged me, too. Even if I did escape, they could f*cking track me.

Tears rushed, desperate to be shed. I didn’t realize how much the thought of escape kept me going. Now, even that had been taken.

I gulped hard, trying to keep my eyes dry. Jagged Scar released my arms, went behind me, and dragged the rope from around my neck.

It took a while to understand I was free, and even longer for my sore body to move.

Jagged Scar helped me upright. I grimaced, holding my ribs, not caring my breasts were exposed.

I sniffed and tried to sit straighter, but settled for huddling with my eyes down cast. This was the worst day of my life. No, that was wrong. The worse day was the day they took me. When Brax was beaten and left to his fate. A sob bubbled but I swallowed it back. I couldn’t think about Brax, or the nightmare I lived now.

A brown paper bag appeared on my lap. Jagged Scar captured my chin, guiding me to look into his eyes. “Good girl. You give in to your future. Easier, yes?” He caressed my cheek—the first kind touch since I arrived in this hell. After the abuse from Leather Jacket, I wanted to be hugged, tended to. But that would never happen.

Keep fighting, Tess. Never stop fighting.

Heat seeped into my limbs, dispelling aches and bruises. Fighting was all I had left. I wouldn’t give in.

I glared at the woman who’d trapped me so completely with a brand and tag. “I hate you. One day, you will suffer as your victims suffer. One day, Karma will come and bite your ass.” I had no idea if my promise would come true, but I’d make it a life’s mission to bring the wrath of the law on their heads and save innocent women.

I hated them. I hated everything.

Jagged Scar huffed and stole the paper bag from my hands. Opening it, he grabbed the clothes and threw them at me. “Get dressed.”

I caught the items and slid gingerly off the chair. I pulled the brown sweater over my head, wincing and gasping. The white knickers were next, followed by a pair of thigh-high socks. Nothing else.

They effectively dressed me as a doll. A broken doll with no worth.

But I was past caring about superficial things like wardrobes. The clothing offered protection, even if the thigh-high socks itched and the jumper wasn’t warm; at least I wasn’t nude.