I expect him to hit me or harm me in some way, but he surprises me. He steps back, and a sinister smile appears. "You lump me with men who don't know control or honor. We don't rape women in my cartel."
"No?" It comes out raspy and not confident how I want it to.
The evil on his face deepens, and my stomach twists. "No. We wouldn't degrade ourselves with filth that Jonas Torres has defiled anyways."
Humiliation curses through my every cell. Against my will, tears escape. I quickly wipe my cheek, and Santiago steps so close to me, I smell his breath. "Disobedience is handled differently in my cartel."
My gut flips so fast I feel nauseous.
"I've been watching you, Zoe."
What is he talking about?
He raises his eyebrows. "How did you enjoy the last ten days?"
I try to swallow the thick knot in my throat.
"You don’t want to be a proper lady? Then you'll have the consequences of that." Santiago motions to his thug. "Take her to the cell."
The cell? What? No!
Before I can get any words out, the man drags me down several flights of stairs. It's dark, smells musty, and the room I'm locked in has concrete walls and a dirt floor. When the metal door shuts, everything goes dark.
My heart beats harder, and I stand frozen, unsure of what to do when a single floodlight turns on. It shines on a corner table. On it is a silver platter, several rows of white powder, and a round metal tube.
No. No, no, no.
I turn to the door and beat on it until my knuckles bleed, but no one comes.
Club music suddenly blares so loud I cover my ears. The light turns pink, purple, and blue but never moves off the shiny plate of drugs.
Over and over, I tell myself not to take it. That I just went through hell and don't need it.
Hours pass and the music only gets more intense, and the lights flash quicker. The air condition is so cold my teeth chatter.
I can't handle it anymore and rise from the corner I'm huddled in.
The first line is an injection of endorphins. My body begins to warm up, and nothing seems to matter anymore. I laugh and dance to the music. The song changes, and my album plays. I sing along, blaring out my notes.
It's so dark, except for the rotating colors of the light on the drug table, I don't know how long it takes to finish the platter.
When it's gone, my nose is bleeding, my heart racing, and I can't stop laughing.
But then the lights all turn on—fluorescent light pure white and buzzing like a fly I can't swat.
The music turns to babies crying and women screaming, and my high turns into a nightmare I can't escape.
Similar to the last time I detoxed cold turkey, my muscles cramp and nerves throb in agony. Chills and cold sweats are constant, and there's nothing and no one to grab onto this time.
I'm alone. Food is shoved through a slot and never even picked up. Bugs swarm the trays. There is a hole in the corner for a toilet. A rotting stench fills the air.
Santiago tortures me further with lights and noise at all times of the day. Not that I have any sense of night or day.
Detox with Penelope was horrible. This is a level so unfathomable, I only want to die.
When the drugs finally work their way out of my body, and the craving I have is manageable, Santiago still doesn't let me out.
He's going to keep me here forever.
Why didn't you just shave?
They own you. Nothing you can do will ever change that. Stop making your life harder than it has to be.
I rock back and forth, sobbing at how far I've fallen, and wishing I could go back to any time, other than this.
The door opens, and a man drags me out. He throws me into a concrete room and sprays me down with a hose.
The water is cold, and I shake.
"Strip," he commands, and I don't question it. I peel off the clothes. He sets a basket of shampoo, conditioner, soap, and shaving cream down. "Wash."
I do as I'm told, and when he sprays the last of the conditioner out of my hair, he spins me. His face is inches from mine, and he smirks as if begging me to challenge him. "Shave."
New tears fall. I pick up the shaving cream and take the razor from him. When I