"Don't fucking think so, sweetheart," the man said in a thick accent that I couldn't place. The smell of liquor and cigarettes melted through the material over my head and bile rose in my throat. Asshole jerked me forward, and I tripped up a flight of stairs. He slammed my body into a hard seat, then buckled me in after he grabbed a handful of my breasts.

With a swift movement, I jerked my knee upward and connected. Fucking bastard. Yeah, I played with boys all of my life and fighting was in my bones. I wouldn't sit there and let him feel me up.

"You bitch." His fist crashed hard into my face, and I saw white, even though I was surrounded by black. No one, not one person, had ever struck me with such power. My face felt like it had shattered, and my breathing increased, causing the anger inside me to build. Although fear existed, rage seemed to fuel me. When I was a child, my mother always said I had my dad's temper. She insisted that I learn to reel it in because I often got lost in it. Over the years, I had learned self-control and to blow off things, but right now, I didn't want to see past the rage. I couldn't. I swore to myself that if I was able to get away, I would seek revenge. The word seemed dirty on my mouth, but I craved it.

The man laughed, and a tapping on hard plastic echoed in the background.

I tried to take myself from my body, pretend that I was somewhere else, anywhere but here. I tried to ignore the pain that pulsed across my face where I had been struck. I searched my happy memories until I landed on Finnley. The thoughts of him would keep me strong.

The man removed the hood, and I let my eyes adjust to the light. When I squinted, the pain spread, but I refused to show weakness. I was on a small plane and several men surrounded me. No women.

He took the material from my mouth, and I looked up at him. If looks could kill, they would all be dead.

"Now be a good little bitch and don't speak."

"Fuck you," I said, and he grabbed my face so hard that I almost whimpered. Almost.

"I was warned about your smart fucking mouth. I kind of like it but not right now."

My cheeks throbbed. I was bruised in more ways than one.

"Raphael. Bring it to me," he said.

Another man handed Dickhead a vile with a clear liquid. He pulled a needle from his pocket, along with a rubber strap.

"Don't you dare," I said between clenched teeth. He grabbed the makeshift gag, and before he placed it in my mouth, I screamed.

Dickhead wrapped the rubber tight around my arm, placed the needle in the vile and pulled the syringe. The liquid filled the inside, then he lifted it toward the light and tapped.

"Be still or you'll be real fucking sorry."

I closed my eyes.

I needed Finn.

I needed Luke's pretty pictures.

I needed every happy moment that I had experienced in the past week to flood me. But most of all, I needed love to hold me, guide me, and to tell me everything would be okay. When I left Texas, I promised that I would tell the people I loved how I felt. One of my biggest regrets was not telling my parents how much I loved them. Now, in a situation like this, I realized that I had done the same fucking thing again. Did Finn know? Did he really know my true feelings? Sure, we fought like cats and dogs, played ridiculous mind games but... my vision swirled.

The needle broke skin. Finnley's smile was all I could think about when the liquid mixed with my blood and tainted my thoughts.

I wanted nothing more than to crawl out of my body, to slip into another place and time, but no such fucking luck. I didn't want to be in my own skin, which seemed to be melting from my body. I itched all over.

Before I lost all inhibitions, I thought I could hear Finn's laugh resonate in the plane, but that was just the demons that visited before everything faded into nothingness.

No one would keep me safe.

I truly was alone, just as we were when we sleep or die.

I woke in an empty room with a single light blaring down on me. As I came to, the pain of a swollen face accompanied by a horrible headache hit me full force. I tried to remember what had happened.

I tried to shield my eyes, but my arms were tied to the wooden chair I sat on.

I looked down and saw that I wore a slutty bra and panties.

What the hell?

Oh, God. That meant someone had… I couldn't think about it.

The ropes around my wrists caused sharp pains to shoot up my arms and through my back. My neck hurt, and my throat burned. I needed water.

I had been out long enough for dehydration to kick in. I tried to fully open my eyes but couldn't focus. My mind wasn't completely clear.

The room shifted, and I closed my eyes to steady the world.

When I opened my eyes, I saw movement in the corner. A person stood, waiting for me to wake. I tried to focus, to make sure it was real and not a figment of my fucked-up imagination. I licked my lips and tried talking, but couldn't.

I assessed what had happened: dinner with the parents. Cab ride. Oh God, kidnapping. Plane ride. Here.

I swallowed and forced out words. "Where…am…I?"

A broad shouldered man stepped from the shadows with an evil grin on his face.

"You should be worried about where you aren't."

He untied me and yanked me up by my arms. They were sore liked I had been jerked around like a ragdoll. There was no doubt in my mind that I had. I stood, unsteady, but still on my feet. He opened the door and led me down a hallway. I stumbled along the way. We passed rooms of caged women stoned out of their minds, wearing scandalous clothing that was worn to the seams. Some were even ripped in places.

They were whores. Real whores. And when some smiled at me, I saw nothing but gums. If screaming were possible, I would have.

The women reached out to grab me as I passed, and I thought I might fall. I was too lightheaded and kept fading in and out of reality.

"Oh, you got a new one, did you?" one woman screeched.

"She's pretty. Make Daddy a lot of money," her friend cackled.

He continued to drag me to the end of the hall, and slammed the door behind him. More women walked around this new hallway, but in big costumes. Some were completely naked with fake tans and tramp stamps. They all smelled of stale perfume, used to cover up the dirty stench.

We walked through a dressing room full of strippers and prostitutes. For all I knew, they were all prostitutes.

A woman cried in the corner, and others with bright pink cheeks and dark eye shadow consoled her. Then they strapped a rubber around her arm and shot her with liquid. Her face went slack and then filled with a smile. The drugs controlled them, and it sickened me.

"Where are we?" I mumbled. But he ignored me and dragged me up a flight of stairs that led to a stage. Smells of decay and mold hit my nose, as warm flashing spotlights beamed down on me. I stood half naked in the little bra and panties, and the room of people turned and stared.

It couldn't get any worst than this, could it?

I didn't want the answer to that question, because it could always get worse. I knew that as a fact.

I stood in a room full of dirty whistling perverts. My legs went slack, and I almost fell, but my bastard guide picked me up in his arms and carried me to the edge of the stage. He spoke to the crowd, and I only caught bits and pieces of his speech. Frustration covered me because I felt like I was slowly losing myself to whatever that asshole had shot into my arm.

Words like: "virgin," "twenty-two," "stage name: Butterfly Wings," "for sale," caught my attention. Then he walked me over to a cage in the middle of the room, pushed me inside, and locked the door to my own personal prison.