Fueled by rage and disgust, Phoenix runs away from home. The situation there had become unbearable. In fact, things couldn’t get any worse.
**Content Warning: This book is a drama meant for those over 18 and contains explicit scenes. Therefore, it contains adult themes and scenes which deal with a difficult topic.
Phoenix knew it would be pointless to try running away. The whole time she stood shivering on the street she could feel watchful eyes on her. Yet, every time she looked over her shoulder there was no one there. Regardless, she wasn’t going to take the chance of ending up a star in one of those movies.
Just when she was beginning to think the guy wasn’t going to show, a long, black limo pulled up. Could she be so lucky? Doubtful, Stan’s headquarters didn’t look like the type of place catering to customers who arrived in limos.
She was surprised when the window slid down and the man at the wheel leaned toward her. “Phoenix?”
Before she could answer, another man who seemed to materialize out of thin air rushed forward, grabbing her forearm at the same time. He had to have been the one watching her. As her captor leaned into the window, he asked, “Do you have your papers?”
“Papers?” asked the driver, confused. “I have a transaction receipt.”
“Lemme see it,” the man said gruffly, rolling his eyes. What the fuck did the guy think he meant? Papers for rolling a joint? These rich bastards sure could be thick. Of course, the driver probably wasn’t rich. Not rich, but making a hell of a lot more than him, or anyone working with Stan, if he had to guess.
The driver held up the receipt. Nodding, the man holding her arm let go. Sneering at her, he said, “Prince Charming has arrived.”
He was gone before she could respond.
The driver came around and opened the door to the back for Phoenix. How bad could it be, she thought, I’m being treated with manners and a limo. She slid inside, making sure her skirt didn’t ride any further up, exposing her white lace thong.
Wordlessly, the driver shut the door and got in behind the wheel. Phoenix watched as he maneuvered expertly through the heavy Manhattan traffic. She shivered. With a limo like this she was probably being taken to one of the luxury hotels to service some old, rich guy. She fervently hoped he wasn’t too awful looking—or mean. It would be even better if he didn’t take long.
As time passed, however, they didn’t stop and soon they were on the freeway, leaving Manhattan behind. What the hell? Phoenix felt panic spreading through her insides once again. She was being taken out of the city. Did Stan agree to her going this far? What if he beat her—or worse—when she got back?
Then an even darker possibility entered her mind. What if she was never going to return? Fear prickled along her arms, causing her to shiver.
“Hello? Sir? Where are we going?” she asked, hoping to sound casual.
There was no response. In fact, she doubted the driver heard her, since the glass partition was up. Looking around for a button to push, she found none. Not only could the driver not hear her, she apparently couldn’t get the glass to open.
Panic fully set in. Phoenix pounded on the glass with her fists. “WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME? WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?” She kept on with the pounding and screaming. The driver glanced in the mirror. His face revealed nothing.
All of a sudden, his voice filled the air. “Please stop pounding on the glass. I can’t hear it and I can’t hear you. If you promise not to scream and yell, I will allow you to be heard up front to ask a few questions. Nod your head if you feel like cooperating.”
Phoenix nodded her head energetically. He pushed a button and said, “I can hear you now.”
“Where are you taking me?” Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure she’d have a heart attack, teenager or not.
“My boss has bought you. You’ll be working for him in New Orleans.”
New Orleans? Bought her? “What do you mean, he bought me?”
“Just as I said, girl. You’re his property now. Your best bet is to relax and have a soda or a drink. It’s a long haul, and we only stop every four hours.”
Phoenix sobbed and started to ask another question.
“I’m turning off the sound now,” he informed her. The partition stayed intact.
As he slowed down for a toll booth, Phoenix tried to get the attention of the woman. She wore a bored expression, not bothering to even look inside the vehicle.
Phoenix anxiously tried the door. There should be enough time to get out of the car, perhaps wave someone down before the driver could get her.
Locked. Of course the damn doors were locked! Did she think she was dealing with a five-year-old? Would someone buy a woman to be used in the flesh trade and give them the opportunity to jump out of the car? Dejected, she bent over, head in her hands.
Caddy Rowland grew up with a stack of books that almost reached the ceiling before she was five. Books, along with her vivid imagination, have always been some of her closest friends.
She lives with her husband, who was her high school sweetheart. They are owned by two parrots. Besides being a writer, she is an artist. One can often find her “makin’ love to the color” (painting) with loud music blaring.
Her goal as an author is to make readers laugh, cry, think, and become intimately connected with her main characters. She writes dramatic novels showcasing the sublime joy and bitter tragedy of being human.