Chapter 1
I savored the power I once held, orchestrating the household staff like puppets on strings. It wasn’t about cruelty; it was about control. To finally *command* something, to watch their flinches as I hurled a discarded trinket, then watched them scramble to clean it up… it was a hollow comfort. Now, stripped of that small dominion, I felt adrift. Call me spoiled, call me entitled. I didn’t care. They were the closest thing I had to entertainment, some actually seemed to enjoy my company. They’d help me pick out dresses, coo over my outfits, even bathe me with affection. Perhaps I wasn't fair to them, but I’d convinced myself they understood.
Now, I wandered the sterile hallways of this motel, the stale air thick with desperation. My parents were likely huddled with some greasy pedophile in the bar, discussing “shipments” of something far more sinister than luggage. The thought barely registered. Instead, my attention snagged on the vending machines. Spot B8: Funions. A crinkled dollar, pulled from the fur lining of my coat, felt slick against my fingertips. I smoothed it, coaxed it into the machine’s greedy maw. Two tries before the bag tumbled down, and I crouched, retrieving it with a satisfied sigh.
I walked down the hall, passing lounge chairs occupied by a solitary man absorbed in a book. He didn't look up as I passed. I continued on, ignoring the dull ache of boredom.
“Esmeralda!”
My legs stopped mid-stride. I turned, surprised to see the man standing now. He’d been lost in his book moments before. He smirked, a subtle curve of his lips.
“So you’re Esmeralda?”
“Yeah. What of it?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. Irritation tightened my jaw. He was tall, lean, with short dreadlocks that framed his dark skin. Emerald eyes, sharp and assessing, held my gaze. He stopped directly in front of me, and I unconsciously took a step back, a prickle of unease crawling up my spine. These men were rarely this young. Usually they were older, waiting to be sent to me. They weren't good people, but they were old.
“What do you want?” I asked, blinking. A familiar tattoo – a coiled snake – snaked around his wrist. The Coil. They were always trouble. My parents had a habit of associating with them. Their leader, Carlos Alvarez, had a disturbing habit of taking advantage of my mother and father. He didn't ask for consent, he just did it.
I never wanted it.
“Just wanted to see what the boss digs so much,” he grinned, surprisingly white teeth flashing in the dim light.
“Oh…well there, you’ve seen me,” I rolled my eyes, turning to walk away, when he grabbed my hand, stopping me.
“Actually, I thought maybe you could accompany me in my room right now,” he smirked, tucking a curl behind my ear, his thumb brushing my lower lip.
“Sorry, you’ll have to ask my parents first. They own my body, they control how many minutes you get with it,” I seethed, pulling away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “I don’t even know who you are, so I rather not get a case of STDs-”
“The name is Z. That good enough?” He almost growled, his annoyance simmering beneath a veneer of control.
My eyes narrowed. “No, Z, it isn’t.” I opened my bag of chips and popped one into my mouth, turning away. I could feel his gaze burning into my back, but I kept my head high, my stride confident. That’s what Mother taught me.
I sat back down in a chair at the back of the bar, legs crossed, staring at the chipped wall. Mother and Father had been dragging me on these trips more and more, possibly for profit. They seemed to enjoy bringing kids like me along. Apparently, the last girl had fought back, slipped away during a transfer. They were still hunting her, recruiting "employees" to replace her. I was reliable. I was their child. Why would I run? Why would I scream when I'd been groomed for this since I was a toddler?
It made sense, didn’t it? Well, maybe not to someone outside of this family.
“My beautiful Esmeralda!”
I sucked salt from my fingers and slowly looked up. A man stood before me, built like a brick wall, six feet tall, with the familiar coiled snake tattoo on his neck. His beard was freshly trimmed, his black hair slicked back, and scars laced his face. Brown eyes, narrowed into slits, held a predatory gleam. He grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow with nicotine.
I slowly stood, offering a fake smile. “Hello Mr. Alvarez, it's nice to see you.” No, it wasn's.
“The pleasure truly is all mine, gatito,” he purred, his eyes turning black with something I didn't want to see. I slowly stepped away from him, walking to the bar.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with my parents?” I asked, stalling.
“Ah, I left them to use the restroom. But once I saw you after I was done I couldn't help myself,” He gave me a taunting smirk and reached out beginning to play with my hair.
“If they catch you doing this without paying-"
"You will be punished, not I."
My throat began to close up. *Fuck you.* *Fuck you Carlos.* I let out a soft sigh and turned away slightly from him, giving him a mindset of acceptance. His hand traveled to the back of my neck and his yellow teeth nipped at my left earlobe. I shuddered and my shoulder instantly came up to cover it.
"Bartender, two drinks please," Carlos ordered before looking at me, "A margarita and a beer."
My eyes casted downward nervously. He would most likely be the kind of person to drug a drink, wouldn't he? I chewed on my lower lip and squeezed my eyes shut as his hand gripped my ass.
"In about an hour or so, I'll be back with your parents, we're going on a lovely trip to one of my favorite clubs. I hope you don't mind people in odd clothing and public sex. Then again, you're such a slut. I bet you've seen everything." He placed a wad of cash down once our drinks arrived and picked up his beer, taking a swing.
"Enjoy your margarita, Gatito." He winked and walked away.
Once he was gone I released a long groan of despair and scoffed. The bartender eyed me and went back to fixing a drink for the next person over at the bar.
"Enjoy your margarita, gatito," I mimicked in a snobby voice before looking at the margarita and sneering at it. I knocked it off the counter causing it to spill.
The glass was so thin, it shattered on impact.
The bartender looked over at me then the mess I made. "Whoops, my bad," I hummed unbothered and stood up.
"You should clean that up, babe."