Deep (Chicago Underground #8)(2)

I was desperate, not stupid. I knew the more likely story involved a druggie teenage mom and a dad in prison or something like that. Still, I held on to that dream—until the world cracked underneath me for the second time.

Purple and blue lights flashed across the faces of my friends.

Friends. Well, they were people I spent time with. I knew most of their names. Some of them sold drugs; some of them bought drugs. Sometimes they traded places.

“No, wait—” My words were swept away by their shouts of appreciation, by their dark promises of what they’d do to me. Firm hands propelled me toward a bedroom. As I was pushed along, I glimpsed another girl surrounded by at least five men. We were outnumbered.

The bedroom was almost impossibly large, the bed like an island.

A hard shove and I landed face-first on the soft satin bedspread, ankle twisting out of the high-heeled shoe. A cry of pain and shock and humiliation tore from my throat.

The younger man pressed his hands on my shoulder, keeping me from getting up, and leaned down by my ear. “That’s the idea. You’re getting it now.”

Rage was the first feeling that formed inside me, pure and hard as a diamond. Toward the men who held me down. Toward my father who had put me in this position. And even toward my nameless, faceless birth parents who had given up on me before they’d even known me.

Anger and helplessness collided inside me, turning me into a weapon.

I slammed my elbow back and connected with flesh. It was hard with muscle, but my bone and my desperation were even harder. He grunted and loosened his grip. I sucked in sweet air and whipped around.

Then I realized my mistake.

The pack had been circling before. Now that I’d struck them first, they smelled blood.

And they pounced.

This was when I learned what it was like to be prey, an antelope torn apart limb from limb. This was when I learned how it felt to bleed. To die.

Let them, let them…

I knew the best thing was for me to let them touch me, that it would go easiest for me that way. I also knew why the antelope fought anyway, kicking and biting in a desperate bid for life.

I knew that I should let my mind float away so I couldn’t feel anything.

But I was grounded in this moment, feeling every bruise and cut, every tear.

The door opened.

My frantic, wide-eyed gaze caught sight of a beautiful blonde woman standing in the doorway. For a split second I felt hope. Maybe she would help me. Maybe she would save me. Then the moment passed, and I realized I was alone. The man who’d opened the door hadn’t helped me. The men who’d held me captive in that bathroom hadn’t helped me.

“Hello, gentlemen,” said a smooth, sultry voice. “I see you’ve started the party without me.”

Immediately, a few of the hands holding me down eased up. The men were distracted by her.

Some of them.

Some were still focused on me, the downed prey. I fought harder, blurring my vision.

“There’s always room for one more girl,” a man said.

“Always, honey,” she replied, crossing the room to us, “but not before the big show.”

The man holding my wrists looked up. “The show?”

“Didn’t you know about that? I wouldn’t want you to be late.” Then I felt something—more hands on my body where I didn’t want them. These weren’t the cruel hands of the men, though. This was the soft stroke of a woman, the bite of a manicured nail. She ran her finger up the middle of my body.

I froze, barely breathing. The whole room seemed to stop moving, the men enraptured with her. Not before the big show. What show?

Then she kissed me, her lips soft against mine.

And suddenly, my hands weren’t held down anymore. The weight on my legs eased up. They let me go.

She pulled back, a pout on her beautiful face. “We had it all planned out. Practiced it just to show you.”

I could have believed that the men who’d brought me here hadn’t told me about some show. They hadn’t told me anything. But for her to say we’d practiced—it was a lie. She was lying to them. She was distracting them. She’s helping me.

She gave a little shrug. “But I guess if you’ve already started, we don’t have to do it. We can just get it over with, if you want.”

My heart dropped. No.

But the men were getting up already. They were leaving the room, heading for the living room.

They were listening to her.

Somehow she had them under her spell. It might have been her amazing body or her beautiful face. More likely it was the sensual confidence she exuded. I could never match that.

And I needed to get the hell out of here while their attention was off me.

The last man left the room, and we were alone, just me and this woman. I grabbed my torn dress and shoved it on with trembling hands. “Who the hell are you?”

Her eyebrows went up. “Your fairy godmother. Who do you think?”

Her sarcasm was like a knife, and my skin was already ripped to shreds. The whole world was too sharp, and I made myself sharp in return—it was the only way to survive. “I think you’re just a dirty prostitute. Like the other girl out there.”

And that was all I was now. I could see from her sad expression that she understood. “Look, hon. It won’t be that bad. I’ll take the rough ones for myself and—”