Sold to Moretti Mafia

Markus

Blood. It coats everything with warmth. Each rivulet is like a brush of paint against a white canvas. It surrounds me. Drowning me in its darkness. I did this. I killed her. Staring down at her beautiful face, I realize I’ll never be able to see her smile, never be able to hold her hand in mine again. Her blue eyes will never shine with excitement at my presence. I’ll never hear her say my name again. She is gone.

My insides twist as if someone is trying to twirl them with a fork.

You did this.

You killed her.This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

I look away, but the blood is still there.

There is no escaping what I’ve done.

“We have to go, Markus,” my friend, Anthony, calls, his voice filled with panic.

I can’t move, can’t breathe. Police sirens echo in the distance, but the dooming fate they bring doesn’t faze me. All I see is her face, her pale, cold skin, her lifeless eyes. Her name forms on my lips, but I can’t get the word out. Not that speaking her name would make her answer. Not with a bullet lodged in her skull.

“Markus! Let’s go. She’s dead.” Anthony speaks a truth that I feel in my soul. I can barely get my body to move; my legs feel like jello. All I want to do is lie here beside her and cradle her body against mine.

She’s dead.

“We have to go, Markus. If they catch us, you’ll go to prison for sure. Moretti will kill you!”

Somehow, I manage to get my legs to move. Pushing off the concrete, I can’t pull my gaze from her.

Dead. Gone. My future. Taken in a second.

I feel a tug on my shirt and realize Anthony is physically pulling me toward the car. Part of me feels I deserve to go to prison and pay the ultimate price but the fact I am still breathing, and she is not, will be my suffering.

On unsteady feet, I stumble backward, letting Anthony pull me to the car. The sirens grow louder, and I feel pain and anger. Anger that she was here when she shouldn’t have been, anger toward myself, and to the fuckers that shot her.

By the grace of God, I make it into the SUV, and we race away just as the first sight of lights flash across the rearview mirror.

“Did you know that girl?” Anthony huffs from the driver’s seat, his hands trembling as he drives.

I contemplate telling him, yes, but it’s none of his concern. The plan was to keep her sheltered from the darkness that followed me.

“No,” I reply dryly, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. Peering out the window, I blink the fucker away. Men don’t cry. They don’t show weakness.

“Oh, well, it looked like you knew her. I’ve never seen you like that…”

“I didn’t,” I growl, because again, admitting such a thing would only make me look weak. Still, deep down inside, I admit the truth. I more than knew her. She was a part of me.

I might not have pulled the trigger, but I killed her just the same.

I killed the love of my life, and I’ll have to live with that so long as I remain breathing.

Fallon

Sacrifice. That sums up my life. Like a cow before going to the butcher, I’m being prepared for auction, where I’ll be placed on a block for a group of men to purchase me like I’m inhuman, nothing more than an item.

I’ve tried to prepare myself for today, knowing what’s to come. At least on the outside, I attempt to look like a warrior, while on the inside, I’m a leaf shaking in the wind, barely hanging on.

I’ve been held prisoner for the last three days. They grabbed me off the sidewalk while I was walking home from a college class. In the dark, no one heard my screams or saw me, overcome with fear, afraid about what would happen next, fighting as they shoved me into the back of the van. I push those memories into the recesses of my mind.

I want to forget the small, cold cell I was kept in without clothes or a blanket. I want to forget it all. The worst part was the dark. There was no window or light in my cell-only darkness. Sometimes bugs would crawl on me, but I couldn’t see anything.

Now, light and noise surround me. It’s overwhelming. The four other girls are crying, some sobbing uncontrollably. I pride myself on not crying in front of the men who are about to sell us. I’ve cried enough in the last three days to last me a lifetime. I’m done crying. No amount of begging or pleading will convince these monsters to let me go.

Naked as the day I was born, I stand with the girls, each one of us different from the next. We’ve only just met since we were kept alone before today, but alone or together, I already feel a connection to each one of them.

Kindred spirits by our captor’s makings, knowing we share one and the same fate.

“Put this on,” one of the men growls and hands us each a scrap of clothing. Mine is a white lace fabric with gold trim.

I look at the dress in my hand, if you can even call it that. It’s barely enough to cover my privates. It looks like the kind of lingerie a woman would wear under a wedding dress. I almost laugh at the thought.

Objecting isn’t an option, so I do as instructed. Pulling it over my body, I hope to feel a little more human, but I don’t. If anything, I feel even more like a cheap hooker than I did before.

Goosebumps pebble my flesh, blanketing me. I feel bare-exposed, and I hate it.

The girl beside me lets out a ragged sob, and I turn just enough to look at her. Her hair is black, sleek, and straight. I don’t gawk at her or look at her body, but I can tell she is on the slimmer side and young. Most likely barely of age.

Tears stream down her cheeks, and she is shaking so badly her entire body is vibrating.