Page 10 of Stains of Desire
3
Penelope
Days merge together.I lose track of how long it's been since they ripped Millie away from me. My guess is it's been three or four months. But every day, I struggle to get out of bed and not cry. The pain of not being with her and wondering how she is never goes away. And the thoughts that spiral in my mind about what they might be doing to her are intense. At times, I want to take the razor and slash my wrists.
But I don't. I have to stay focused on doing whatever it is Santiago requires so I can get her back. I still have no idea how I will accomplish that, but I try to keep faith it will happen.
Every night, around bedtime, I sing her favorite lullaby. It's silly, but I hope she somehow can hear me or feel in her heart I'm with her.
Sometimes I wonder if she's forgotten me. If some other woman has slipped into my role and become "mummy" to her. And it almost kills me.
From time to time, Santiago will show me a picture of her or bring her up. It's torture but also a relief to see or hear about her. It's the carrot he always dangles to make me continue to do what he wants.
Nothing ever changes from the night they took Millie away from me. My new role is to sit on Santiago's arm and learn as much as possible from whoever is at our table.
The problem with the Global Leaders is everyone plays both sides. One minute, they might be on Santiago's team, and the next, against him. And they are going to events everywhere, including ones Santiago isn't privy to anymore.
But the smartest women are valuable. They stay quiet and listen. Others don't know how to keep their mouths shut, and when they drink too much or snort the readily available cocaine, they talk.
I've become Santiago's spy. William used me at times in the same capacity, but it wasn't intentional on his part. He's not as intelligent and doesn't strategize his every move the way Santiago does.
Another thing about Santiago is he's one of the only drug lords who doesn't touch his supply. Most of the Global Leaders hit it hard at events as well. But Santiago always has his full capacities. He drinks alcohol, but it's always in limited quantities. And his men around him who attend the functions, like his brother, Nicolas, do the same.
Santiago is hosting another event tonight. As soon as I step foot in the banquet hall, I do a double-take. The U.S. President's daughter, Savannah, whom I've met several times, walks in on Nicolas's arm. Unlike him, she's as high as a kite on cocaine. They follow Santiago and me to our table and spend the night engrossed in each other.
Her long, curly blonde hair is down, and Nicolas often fists it and whispers things in her ear. And while her blue eyes have red streaks through them from the drugs, the chemistry between them is beyond electric.
Santiago, if not so scary, would be an attractive man. But Nicolas is better looking. He's just as ruthless, but when he's with Savannah, his face changes and he appears human. Unlike Santiago, he becomes likable, and I have to remind myself who he is.
And the way he takes control of her body in public makes me slightly uncomfortable. I can't imagine their heat behind closed doors, and I curse myself for it. For several weeks, I'm with them every night. And the tug on my heart grows stronger day by day. As vicious as Nicolas is, I can feel his love for her, and it reminds me of what I used to have with Oliver and never will have again.
And it makes my loins burn, thinking about what kind of sex they have and how much I miss an actual man.
I hate myself for my thoughts and the way I react to them. As people, I loathe them and what they stand for. And the only thing I should be thinking about is Millie and how to get her back.
The only good thing about Santiago is that he told me one night, "Real men don't rape women." While he would have no problem enforcing violence on me, he doesn't believe in what the other Global Leaders do. He hasn't attempted to hurt me like that, and he's made it clear I'm his. So no other man would dare to touch me, in fear of his wrath.
I estimate I've spent ten evenings with Savannah and Nicolas when the door flies open and the international Latina pop star, Zoe Diego, appears.
"Meet your new roommate," the man whose name I still don't know but seems to be my guard growls and throws her on the bed.
I'm standing in the corner. I still have on last night's evening gown because there is nothing else to wear, and I refuse to let whoever is watching me from the camera degrade me any further.
Zoe's body is vibrating, and she's picking at her face, which is covered in blood, and pulling her hair.
I slowly approach her. "You're shaking. Are you sick?"
She reaches out for my arm. In a desperate voice, she begs, "Please. I need a hit. Can you give me one?"
"I'm sorry. I don't have one."
She sobs harder, and I pick up the blanket and place it around her, then rub her shoulder, but she screams for me to stop.
I remove my hand and kneel next to the bed. "Are you Zoe Diego?"
"Whatever is left of her," she mumbles.
"I'm Penelope."
