Page 10 of Stolen Dove
I’m able to take her in from head to toe before she sees me: a petite blonde whose eyes pull me in. My first thought is that she’s mine, but that’s nuts. I watch how the short black dress barely covers her ass and her large tits nearly spill out of the top. The urge to cover her up strikes me. I push away that feeling because I didn’t come here for any woman.
Something in her look screams that she’s not ready for this party. Does she have second thoughts? She just entered through the main entrance with a man at least twice her age. The diamond around her neck reflects in the room, perfect for gaining any man’s attention. She’s going to be snapped up quickly like that. That idea doesn’t sit well with me. It doesn’t sit well at all. Fucking hell. She’s going to ruin my morals. I have to get away before it’s too late.
2
Dove
I run the straightener through my hair unsteadily, leaving parts with a wave and a crease so I’ll have to redo that section again, further aggravating my father because it’s taking too long for him. It’s not intentional, but his presence just outside the bathroom door unnerves me, causing my already tense body to shake. This whole situation makes my stomach roll. It’s bad enough that I haven’t eaten since I had a small bowl of oatmeal this morning, but I’m not allowed to eat until this is all over because he doesn’t want to risk me looking bloated. I’m just one hundred and twenty pounds, most of the weight in my boobs and butt.
“I can’t do this,” I complain, knowing that it’s pointless because he’s not going to change his mind and I have no way of escaping. I don’t just mean our tiny hole-in-the-wall apartment, but out of town. He’s made sure I have no other recourse but to go along with this illegal, immoral, super-expensive prostitution.
“You don’t have a choice. You have to do this, or they’ll kill us both,” my father shouts through the pressed wood door that separates the bathroom from his bedroom. I’ve got a hit on my head if I don’t make a lot of money tonight. That knowledge sends a chill up my spine and is the only thing driving me to look my best.
Yesterday he showed me the text message with the threat in it as a reminder that my life hangs in the balance.
Dove follows through or both of you will be chopped up after we take her for free.
I told him we should go to the police, but he told me they own the police, which isn’t hard to fathom. Money and power shape this world, and I have neither of those. Now I’m getting ready to sell my innocence to the highest bidder in order to pay off his debt. Not even my debt—his debt. My father, Donatello Falcone, is the epitome of greed and excess, wanting things he can’t have and buying stuff with money he doesn’t earn. The more he gets, the less he feels satisfied. He can sell me now, but once I’m used up, his bargaining chip will be gone.
“Do you need to see it again?” The threat is laced in his voice. If I fail to go through with this, we both die. He’s worried about his own skin, not mine. I’ve been expendable since the day my mother died. He would have gotten rid of me then, but she left a small trust to be used for my care. Every penny has been spent, and not on me.
“No.” A shiver runs through me as I consider the alternative. If I go to this party, I’ll be sold like a piece of meat for one night, or door number two, I get raped and murdered if I don’t. I suppose staying alive is my only option, so it’s the reality I have to accept.
I continue to work on my hair and listen to him pace outside the door—as if that’s going to help me get ready any faster. Now that my hair is finally completely straight, I unplug the flat iron I got for twenty bucks at the CVS. He gave me just a hundred dollars to get dolled up, as he put it. I can’t leave it down because they want my slender neck and shoulders on display, so I give myself the Ariana Grande hairstyle, straight and tight with a slight twist.
“I doubt anyone is going to buy me for half a million dollars.” He’s truly got to be out of his mind to think that my virginity is worth that much. I’m so damned inexperienced, it would probably be a terrible event. He’d want a damn refund, but I can’t get back my innocence. Hell, who am I kidding? The only thing that remains of my vestiges of childhood innocence is my virginity. I’ve spent years learning the ins and outs of shady dealings.
“You never know. Besides, they said I only need to come up with two-fifty. I’m sure your virginity is worth that at least. Some of these fuckers are twisted and get a kick out of it.” Says the man whoring out his daughter. If I weren’t afraid of being killed, I would have told him to shove the idea up his ass, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to stay alive.
“Fine. Is this okay?” I ask, stepping out of the bathroom to show him the outfit. We live in a one-bedroom apartment that costs more than it’s worth, and my bedroom is the sofa. We have very little to no privacy.
“Well, if you weren’t my daughter, I’d pay that much for you.” I try not to throw up from that comment and go back into the bathroom and close the door, making sure to flip the lock. He’s never given me that pedo-incest vibe, but I wouldn’t put anything past him once I’m not worth as much. God, I have to make my escape. I’m not afraid that he’ll come after me, but I am scared shitless that Caesar Avanti will hunt me down even after he kills my father. It’s the only reason I don’t make a run for it.
I look myself over in the mirror and I do look good, but now I get an icky vibe about it. I straightened my long blonde hair and put it up in a tight ponytail on the back of my head, wrapping a braided strand around the tie to add elegance to a quick style. My sexy, vibrant red lipstick is the eight-hour kind that stays on until rubbed off. The only other makeup I add is a voluminous mascara to accentuate my eyes. Hopefully it does the trick. My pimp out there didn’t want me to look overdone because some of these old creeps got a kick out of innocent girl-next-door types.
“Before we leave, put this on.” He hands me a fancy long black jewelry box. I open it up and see a gorgeous teardrop diamond necklace. It’s stunning, shimmering in the light with pure radiance.
“Why can’t you pawn this?” I say, shoving it at him with a little more force than I expected out of myself as disgust fills me.
He grabs my arm roughly, but not hard enough to leave a permanent mark, and then snarls in my face. “Little shit, this is a gift from the host to attract buyers to your rack. Behave and put it on like a good girl,” he hisses, grabbing my hand and slapping the box in it with enough force to sting. I don’t let him know it hurt.
Asshole. I don’t say anything or show any signs that I’m afraid; instead, I slip on the necklace like it’s nothing but a trinket. The diamond teardrop dips like an arrow pointing directly to my cleavage, which is ample in this dress even without a bra. Fuck. I’m going to be sold tonight, even if it’s not for the money he wants. I look expensive.
“Good. Now you look like a pricey commodity.” He winks and clicks his tongue, emphasizing my valuable status. I hate him more than I ever have before, which I didn’t believe possible. I send up a silent prayer that someone will save me from this nightmare, but I know that’s never going to happen. My life has been one terrible year after another to the point of being sold like a piece of property.
“Let’s go. We don’t have time to waste. I want to make sure you are picked up before they run out of money.” I reach for my coat, but he shakes his head. “Not that trash over that dress. I want you on display, looking expensive.”
He hands me my shawl, which isn’t warm enough for the changing weather and the cold front that showed up after the last hurricane warning.
We’re taking his brand-new car that cost one hundred thousand dollars. Who the hell needs an expensive car in the middle of freaking New York City when you live in a shoebox condo that’s seen better days? He can’t hock his precious things, just his daughter’s innocence.
I barely have a light wrap over my shoulders even though it’s the middle of September and the weather’s getting chilly. My teeth chatter as we step out onto the NYC sidewalk outside our condo building. We don’t have a valet or our own parking garage next to the building, so we have to walk to the car. In my high heels and short dress, I look like he just bought me for the night. I get a couple of whistles and a honk before we make it to the car. He’s not even the slightest bit of a gentleman enough to get the door for me, so I gently swing it open, making sure not to hit the curb or I’ll pay big time after the night’s over, and I climb into the passenger seat. “Shit,” I screech; the leather’s practically frozen to my skin. Seeing my instant distress, he flips the heat on because we can’t have me catching a cold before we get there.
“Calm down. You’re acting like a baby.” The way he brushes off my chattering teeth as nothing sends me into a rage I’ve never felt before.
“Says the man fully fucking clothed. How about you put on a dress and see if your balls don’t shrivel up,” I snap out, letting his attitude, the situation, and the cold change my tone. Not only do I have to suffer the indignity of being used, but I have to freeze all the way there.
“Watch your mouth.”