Page 91 of Ruthless Beast

“I wanted to ask you something, Elena.”

“What?”

“I need access to a phone. Any ideas?”

“Yeah. Forget about it.”

“Come on. I asked around. They tell me you’ve been here the longest. Surely, you would know.”

“It isn’t worth it. If Paolo catches you, he’s going to kill you.”

“So, there is a way.”

“Listen, Emily. I’d love to help you. I really would. But I have enough strikes against me. If Paolo finds out I helped you, they will be singing and dancing on my grave before the day is out. I’m sorry.”

Damn it! Elena was my best hope at escaping. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

“Please, Elena.”

I don’t want to tell her that I’m pregnant. Would she even care if she knew? I can’t risk Paolo finding out or he’ll surely force me into generating money for him in other ways. And I’m thinking waitressing isn’t it. My only hope is if Elena helps me to get word to someone back home.

If only I could make one phone call. Either to Lucas or Dannie. One of them will make a plan to get me the fuck out of here. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to stand it. I hate this awful place with its dirty rooms and even dirtier minds. My skin crawls everytime someone looks at me. How the hell will I bring a child into this world?

Elena leaves the room. I'll give her a few days to settle in before I try again. I know she'll help me if I persist. I have a feeling that she’d love to get one over on Paolo. If I get away, he'll no doubt get an ass whooping from Gallo. My only regret is that I won’t be here to see it.

It’s been two days since Elena’s return and she’s her prickly self once more. I hear chatting when I walk past her room one morning. I recognise the four voices, so I knock on the door and announce myself.

Elena calls for me to enter. She and three strippers are sitting on her floor doing girly things. One is having her hair brushed, the other is painting her nails, and Elena and the fourth girl are paging through old magazines.

“What’s up, Gringo?”

“Nothing much,” I answer, trying to blend in.

“Do you know how to braid hair?” one of the girls asks me.

“Sure. You want me to braid your hair for you?”

She nods, so I walk over to where she’s sitting and take the hair brush.

“You have such gorgeous hair, Maria.”

I hope these women stop seeing me as an outsider. Sure, I’m American and they’re locals, but we’re all in the same sinking ship here.

“Maria used to win all the local beauty pageants.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, before her drunkass father sold her to Paolo.”

“You’re kidding!” I say with genuine shock.

“It’s true,” Maria confirms.

“How the hell is that okay? Don’t you have other family? Anyone who can help you?”

“No. My mother died when I was young.”

“This is outrageous,” I say, disgust dripping from my lips.

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