Vanessa
My eyes flutter open and I see my captor's face peering back at me. I'm still wearing my pajamas from yesterday when he snatched me from my bed. I breathe a sigh of relief. That means he didn't drug and violate me last night.
When I signed that contract last night, it was implied several times that he can just take what he wants, so I was afraid he would act on that last night.
He appears to be deeply asleep, warm air blowing against my face with his every soft exhale.
This is my chance to escape.
I wonder if there's a way I can get out of here without him waking. From what I saw, he only has a few bodyguards. I just have to find Alicia in this huge ass house, and we can escape.
I know if I make any noise, I'm fucked, so I carefully roll over onto my other side, my heart pounding like a drum. The movement causes the bed to dip, and I freeze, silently praying it hasn't woken him up as I peer over my shoulder.
Good, he's still asleep.
I attempt to move again, but the bed protests with an even louder groan.
Fuckkkkk!
Panic grips me, but he remains undisturbed. With a surge of determination, I fling myself off the bed. Probably not the brightest idea because it's dead silent in here, but if he wakes up, I'll just play it off like I fell.
Who the hell sleeps like this? I'm used to having the TV and fan on, but it's so quiet here, I can hear my own fucking heartbeat. It's like a clear indication he's a psychopath!
I grab Mom's urn off the dresser and tiptoe backwards, studying his face for any indication that he might wake. With my heart thrashing against my ribcage, I attempt to at least keep my breathing steady.
Once I finally feel the door against my back, I hold my breath as I reach behind me and twist the doorknob, relief flooding through me as it turns smoothly.
Widening the door enough that I can slip through, I dart down the hallway, my footsteps silent against the plush carpet. I round the corner, relieved to find no guards in sight.
The stairs loom ahead of me. All I have to do is go down them and run out the front door. Maybe I can get far enough away that I can hide until they stop looking for me. But I can't leave without Alicia. I can't just leave her to fend for herself. Who knows what those disgusting men will do to her.
But how am I going to find her in this mansion? There are, like, a gazillion rooms and who knows who or what is behind these doors!
All of a sudden, I hear a giggle from downstairs. It sounds like my sister's, but that can't be right. I dart down the stairs and find Alicia sitting at a table eating, surrounded by three of our kidnappers. An elderly Hispanic woman is cooking on the stove, engaged in conversation with one of the men in Spanish.
Alicia looks unharmed, besides the flirtatious giggling. I think the trauma of last night may have broken her brain because why the fuck is she laughing and chatting with our kidnappers?
"Alicia," I gasp, grabbing the attention of the room. Here I am trying to get us out of here, and she's having the time of her life.
She smiles and waves me over. "Hey, Nessa, I was just talking about you."
I notice she's wearing a different outfit, satin shorts and a top that leaves little to the imagination. Did they force her to wear that?
"What the hell is going on?" I demand, marching over to her. "Why are you doing? Are you forgetting you're in a room full of men who threatened to kill us and pimp us out last night!"
"Well, I think we got plenty acquainted last night," she says, winking at them.
I put my hand over my mouth, tears springing to my eyes. "T-They ra-," I couldn't get the word out. "They violated you?" I ask in horror.
She coughs out a laugh. "No. It was purely consensual. I asked them to fuck me, and they did."
I blink, trying to process her words. "D-Don't you remember bawling your damn eyes out last night when they forced us into their car?"
Alicia shrugs. "Sure. There was the initial shock of it all, but once that wore off, I realized we're finally free," she says, her voice laced with excitement.
Bile rises in my throat. "W-What? T-That must be the Stockholm-syndrome kicking in because you sound insane right now!"
I make a mental note that once we're finally free, our number one priority will be finding her a fucking therapist.
She looks at me firmly, the green eyes she got from mom staring back at me. "Think about it, Nessa. We were locked up in that fucking prison for seven years. Dad took away my life, our freedom. I haven't been touched by a man in so long, I practically begged them to do it."
My voice trembles as I whisper, "Y-You're lying. You wouldn't do that." She's out of her mind. My sister isn't a whore that would open her legs for monsters in the mafia. No fucking way!
Suddenly, this guy with brown hair and green eyes strides into the room. He gives us a once-over, his eyes lingering on each of us with a mix of curiosity and amusement. Then, he lets out a chuckle. "So, he decided to keep them. We haven't had communal pussy in a while."
"Ella pertenece al jefe (she belongs to the boss)," one of the men quickly adds.
His brows furrow in anger. "¿Que (what)?"
A rapid exchange of Spanish follows, and the only word I can understand is my father's name. His attention soon shifts to me again, his expression contorting with irritation. "Well, aren't you lucky? You should be lying in a grave with that traitor right now," he growls.
"Lucky?" I retort incredulously. "I was dragged from my bed, watched my home burn down, and coerced into signing a contract with a maniac. I would hardly call that fucking lucky!"
If I weren't so afraid of what he'd do, I'd slap the shit out of him for even suggesting there was anything good about this situation.
"In my defense, you asked for the contract." My body grows rigid from the sound of his voice.
Fuck.