The evidence of what she had suffered.
Only when the bathroom was foggy with steam and her skin was sensitive to the touch did she finally step out and don the robe that hung from a hook on the back of the door, careful to avert her gaze.
Luna had never known shame the way she did when she saw her own naked reflection. If she were able, she avoided a mirror all together. The person she saw reflected in the glass wasn’t her. Not really.
There was no spark in her eye.
No lust for life.
Just emptiness.
Like she was a fucking ghost walking the earth.
Snagging a brush from a drawer, Luna worked it through her hair, tugging it through the long, tangled strands of her hair until all the kinks and knots were gone.
One of Lawrence’s goons awaited her when she walked out of the bathroom, and though he stared, she knew he wouldn’t touch her. There were other girls they could freely paw and maul, but Luna wasn’t one of them.
That didn’t mean Lawrence didn’t share her, he did, but it was only with men of his choosing, and usually because he wanted something from them.
Was that what this night was about?
Did he have another deal to make?
Once she was free of her restraints, Luna dressed in clothes left behind, frilly things that he insisted she wear.
What did whores need with anything other than lingerie?
At least, that was the question Lawrence had asked of her three years ago when she was dragged to this place against her will, not a single person moved by her tear-blotched face, or pleas for mercy.
It also hadn’t mattered that she had only been fourteen at the time, a mere child.
If anything, that had only made her more appealing to Lawrence.
Men—men like Lawrence—would pay more for the thrill of raping a minor.
They were sick that way.
Out in the hallway—or rather the breezeway since it opened to lush gardens, and the main house out front.
With a hand wrapped around her bicep, the guard led her out of the guest house and around to another building where the parties were held.
There was a den, of sorts, on one end of the building where she, and the other girls kept there, could congregate. A television was mounted on the wall, big enough that it was the first thing anyone could see when they entered the space. Scantily clad women were sprawled across the couch and chairs, some watching the program playing, others just staring at nothing.
But it was to the girl that was only a few years older than Luna that she directed her attention.
Cat was sitting alone in a corner, a bottle of nail polish resting on the floor beside her as she carefully painted her toenails a brilliant azure.
Despite the noise around her, and the constant movement of others, Cat’s concentration never broke. Everyone had their own thing, something that kept their minds from breaking in a place like this.
For Cat, it was nail polish. It was the only thing she hoarded. At this point, though she couldn’t be sure, Luna thought her collection was up to fifty-six bottles—one for each month she had been in this place—bottles she got to keep because she didn’t complain or fight against them.
For Luna, it wasn’t just the moments she got to spend alone, but also when she got to be with Cat, and the sea of information she possessed. Of course, there was no way for her to know if what Cat told her was true, but she still wanted to hear it all, no matter how far fetched.
There was also a bookcase in the corner of the room, the shelves lined with mostly fiction books missing a number of pages, but there were a few textbooks as well, though Luna still didn’t know how they had come to be there.
Those were her favorite though.
It was always funny when she thought back to when she had been home, how much she had hated school. The work hadn’t been terribly difficult, but she had never fully enjoyed it.
Now? She wished she was stuck at a desk in a classroom for seven hours.
Luna also took advantage because it wasn’t often that she was allowed to even leave the room where she was kept. Usually, Lawrence kept her chained until he came to entertain himself—one too many times of her trying to run away. But she had learned her lesson the last time when he had shown her the error of her ways over the course of several hours.
There were some women here that embraced their fate, refusing to wallow in the shit hand they’d been dealt in life. Their compliance allowed them the opportunity to venture into this room and others like it.
And what had surprised Luna the most was the fact that no one had tried to run once they were granted this tiny bit of freedom.
No.
There had been one.
Jessica, her name had been.