Catching a Fallen Starr Page 6

CHAPTER FIVE

  Cattle

  Ricin was right. I feel their eyes on me. Short men. Tall men. Fat men. Young. Old. Bald. I have never warranted so much attention in my life. The red dress Ricin asked me to change into is short—the hem falling just below my ass checks. Any shorter and they would catch a glimpse of something I don’t want them to see. The slinky fabric shifts over my curves; the red material thin and low cut in the front and back. The spiky-heeled boots do nothing to help, only making my legs appear long and skinny. All ninety-eight pounds of me feels exposed and on display.

  I’m offered drinks and business cards with suggestive smiles. Suddenly nauseated and lonely I walk the perimeter of room avoiding bumping into any of the men. But the room is crowded, and it’s impossible not to touch them when I pass by. I feel like they know something I don’t know. Male fingertips linger on my skin. “Excuse me,” I force a smile, searching the crowd for Ricin so I can tell him I’m ready to go.

  I spot him with three men. They talk with their heads bent close together. Money exchanges hands. Ricin folds the bills and buries them in the pocket of his dress pants. I assume the money is for his fantastic photography on display in every room of the house.

  Ricin sips wine while talking to the men.

  Not wanting to interrupt while he makes a sale I slip beyond the smell of sweat and perfume and lean against the wall sipping my wine. Red wine. Red as my dress.

  “So sad,” a man says purposely rubbing against my breast. He pauses, his face coming near mine. I angle my head away from the overwhelming odor of garlic on his breath. “What can I do to make the lady smile?” he asks.

  I hadn’t realized I was frowning. I curl my lips. “I’m waiting for someone.”

  His gaze follows mine to Ricin. “Oh. You’re one of Carter’s girls.”

  The tone in which he says “Carter’s girls” makes my stomach lurch. I scoot further down the wall giving the man a glare that speaks volumes. “I’m definitely not your girl.” Then as if he can sense the alarm in my body Ricin looks in my direction. Our gazes lock. Save me. Save me. Save me!

  From across the room, he mouths, “Perfection”.

  “I’m ready to go,” I return.

  He holds up a finger to indicate “in a minute”. His dress pants hug his ass perfectly, and he has lost the fancy jacket; rolling the sleeves of his white dress shirt. The hint of the tattoos crawling from the sleeve draws my eyes. I notice immediately that I am not the only one in the room getting groped.

  Every few seconds a woman passes by having to touch Ricin in some way: it is either a lingering touch at his elbow, on his back, his shoulders, or the ass I’d admired no more than two minutes ago.

  “Screw this,” I mutter and head in his direction. I have no idea where this is headed, but I am ready for more. At my approach Ricin immediately breaks away from the flock and meets me near the exit.

  Neither of us says a word.

  He places a hand on the small of my back and leads me out of the building. He is the epitome of carefree and I have never been so turned on in my life.

  Resting my head against the seat of his car I shut my eyes and allow the air conditioning pumping out of his vents to cool my heated flesh. The silver Ferrari 360 Spider matches its driver I realize when I open my eyes and turn my head to look over at Ricin. The smell of new leather surrounds us. Up until this point of my life everything has been a major disappointment. I smile.

  Ricin effortlessly shifts gears while glancing over at me.

  “What’s with the sappy smile,” he asks.

  My focus shifts to out the window. “No reason.” Just extraordinarily happy tonight. I feel lucky, and I think some of it has gone to my head. Or maybe it’s the wine. I’m thinking: here I am, an out of work waitress riding around in a silver Ferrari with a handsome, successful artist.

  “Come on,” he questions.

  I know there is more coming. His thoughts. I just want to savor the moment. My head lulls in his direction, and I drink his beautiful sight in. My mother would shit if she saw me in this car. She would shit if she saw his home. Ricin continues in a low voice, “You were just eye-fucking. Don’t say no reason.” He reaches across and taps my temple with a fingertip. “What’s going on inside that pretty head of yours?”

  I am thinking...you just ruined the mood.

  When I only stare at him, he says, “Suck my cock.”

  My stomach drops. “Excuse me?”

  It’s suddenly freezing in his Spider. My skin crawls.

  “You heard me. If you want to look at me like that…then suck my cock.”

  “No,” I simply say with a laugh. “Not too smooth, Ricin. You killed it.”

  “Don’t mistake my generosity as a weakness.” He slides a large hand between the leather seat and the back of my head. He gathers a handful of hair and jerks my head until I have no choice but to lean in his direction. My eyes flash to his. My heart pounds. He has the balls to toss out another command. “Now. Tell me that you love me and you want to suck my cock.”

  “You are insane. Ouch! Let go!”

  “Say it. Say that YOU LOVE ME.”

  “I’m not going to say something I don’t mean. Stop, you’re hurting me.”

  “Say it. YOU FUCKING CUNT…SAY IT!”

  “I can’t say it.” My eyes plead with him. “I don’t love you. I barely know you.”

  “You love my money. Am I right or am I wrong?”

  I squirm which only makes him pull my head back even further. I reach up and take hold of his arm, digging my nails into his flesh.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” His blue eyes harden. “Answer the question. Am I right or am I wrong? I want to hear you say it.”

  “Yes!” I shout. “I love your money.”

  “And my drugs…SAY IT!”

  “I love your money AND your drugs.”

  “That’s what I fucking thought.” He shoves me hard. My forehead whacks the dashboard. Pain explodes in my temple. It takes me a few moments to realize what just happened. I press the heel of my hand to the sore spot. “Shit! Any harder and you would have knocked me out!” I scream at him. “WHAT is wrong with you!?”

  He looks pretty damn proud. Well, screw him! After a few moments I am already turning what’s happened into my fault. Ricin has proven his point. I see it now. I am a greedy bitch. A greedy bitch that suddenly wants to rethink her priorities. “I didn’t—” I start to apologize but then he comes at me again, grabbing another handful of hair.

  “Do not get lippy with me,” he warns, his breath warm on my lips. He doesn’t kiss me. He never does. And now I don’t want him to.

  “Let go,” I say, wincing when he tugs harder at my hair. “Get your hand off me,” I snarl suddenly wanting nothing more than to get out of the car. “Stop. Stop the damn car! I want out! I want out now!”

  “Where are you going to go,” he laughs.

  My hand comes across his face, my nails opening flesh.

  Without warning Ricin jerks my head back as far as it will go and spits into my mouth. My stomach clenches. At the angle he is holding onto my hair, forcing my head back; I have no other option but to swallow his spit. I sputter and gag on his saliva.

  “You think,” he laughs out. “After all the money I’ve sunk into your unappreciative ass that I am going to let you get out of this car? That’s not the way it works, Starr.”

  I have longed for him to kiss me.

  I thought it was what I wanted.

  I thought having his money would fix things.

  I thought having his power would fix things.

  I thought having him would fix things.

  I’ve thought a lot of shit that amounted to nothing more than wicked choices. Once again, I have screwed up. “I’m serious, Ricin, stop the car and let me out,” I growl, fighting against his hold. My nails scratch his skin.

  He releases my hair. I assume he has realized that I’m serious, but then there is the distinct click of t
he power locks. “What are you doing?” I fumble with the door handle, pushing against the door and screaming for him to unlock it.

  Ricin only laughs. He jerks the wheel, taking an exit off the highway. We drive for miles; then we’re winding down a dark dirt road. My heart races as I repeatedly pound against the door with urgency.

  The car engine turns off out in the middle of nowhere. “Dammit, it’s not funny,” I tell him. “You are scaring me.” I fear Ricin raping me. I fear him tearing my clothes off and forcing me to do things I’m not interested in doing with him.

  That’s the worst I can imagine: Ricin raping me.

  What happens is a hundred, thousand times worse. Much worse. Redefines my life, worse.

  Ricin turns his blue eyes on me, resting his arm on the headrest of my seat. “You are going to be a hard one to break,” he says, thick and smooth. There is nothing more. No elaboration. Just the “you are going to be a hard one to break.”

  He gives me a smile that makes my skin crawl over my bones before he turns back around facing forward.

  My door unlocks, and I immediately swing it open. I take off running. It’s pitch black and difficult to run in heels. We are so far off the highway that there are no city lights, the only light coming from the full moon overhead. There’s the dirt road and trees. Lots and lots of trees on both sides of the narrow road. And dumpsters. There are dumpsters. It’s a dump of sorts. A dead end. Soaking wet with sweat and out of breath I yank off the boots and drop them. I keep a constant eye on Ricin’s vehicle.

  The headlights flash on, blinding me.

  I stand there a yard or two ahead waiting for him to do something. He just sits there behind the wheel. I can’t make out his face for the headlights blasting me with their high beams, but he is there. Watching me. My entire body trembles. More headlights appear on our narrow road, and I run toward them screaming for help, freezing when the car parks and its doors open.

  It’s a fancy car similar to Ricin’s. Three men get out. Ricin opens the driver’s side door of his Spider and steps out also. It’s the men from the party. The ones that gave him money. One of the guys calls out, “You’re right. She is pretty. We good?”

  Ricin makes some sort of gesture.

  An uneasy feeling slides over me raising the hairs on my arms. I look to Ricin for an explanation. Any explanation will do. I am frightened. Alone. Alone and stupid. Ricin is the only familiar face here. “What’s happening?” I ask going toward him. My bare feet tripping over the dirt road. “Ricin?”

  He turns his back to me and walks up the road, stopping by the trees. He stares up as if he is mesmerized by the night sky. Hands seize me, and I am dragged to the men’s car.

  “Please NO!” Stumbling over my own feet I kick and buck, determined not to be easily shoved into their car. I wish their plan would have been to put me in their car. Maybe then I would have had a chance to jump out as we were going down the road. Instead, the guy with pockmarks in his cheeks pushes me into the hood. I go down hard.

  The other two guys move around to behind me.

  My breath fogs the metallic blue paint. My cheek is mashed against the metal. The one with the pockmarks uses his knees to force my legs apart.

  The material of the red dress Ricin made me wear works up until my ass is bare in the moonlight. “No. No. No. No. NO!”

  I slap at: The hood of the car. Them. Flapping uselessly.

  Slipping a hand under my waist the guy hikes me up higher.

  “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this!”

  A breeze cools exposed skin.

  The other two pin my arms to the hood of the car.

  I hear the sound of his belt buckle being undone, a package torn, and then the weight of him is heavy on me. I cry out for Ricin. I know he is there, somewhere out in the dark, listening. I beg him to make them stop. Incoherently begging for him to help.

  He doesn’t.

  The one with the pockmarks swipes my vagina with the fat head of his penis. I feel it. Foreign and unwanted against me and I immediately try to climb the hood, anywhere to keep this from happening.

  But I can’t move. They are too strong.

  I can’t breathe as his thickness enters me.

  Vomit rises into my throat.

  He starts out slow but then, urged and cheered on by the others; his pace quickens. One of them pulls out a cell phone and pushes record. I know this because he leans a forearm on the hood putting the device with its flashing red light right up in my face. “Smile for the camera,” he says.

  “Please don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t,” I continue to chant.

  Pockmark guy plunges deep and hard and with every push the side of my face squeals over the metal. He thrust. Grunts. Thrust hard with my every uttered desperate word. My back teeth clash together.

  It is my crying that feeds their meanness.

  I use the only defensive I have. All that’s left.

  I stifle my emotions by biting down hard on my bottom lip, determined not to make another sound that will encourage them. I withhold and withhold. YOU WILL NOT CRY. YOU WILL NOT SCREAM. YOU WILL NOT BEG. You will be a lazy boring fuck.

  I can’t say it helps. They are still just as vile and cruel, but the conscience effort to not give them what they want keeps me from completely folding in on myself.

  Then they are swapping, and a new one is in me. Grunting over my back. He jerks my hair and pulls my head back, saying in my ear, “You are my bitch.” He smells of cologne and sweat. His saliva wets my neck. The guy clamps his hands down on my shoulders as leverage, forcing my body back into him as he slams brutally into me over and over.

  My entire body convulses from repulsion. I check out. The hands holding my wrist doesn’t keep me from curling my fingers; my nails biting into my palms.

  Ricin once asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.

  “A princess,” I’d laugh.

  “Does kitty want her milk?” the nasty guy moving inside of me growls in my ear. He goes still, his breath hard and jagged. I squeeze my tear filled eyes shut as he trades places with the next.

  I am no princess.

  I am nothing.

  The third works his hands up under my dress and kneads my breast. He takes the least amount of time. I assume it’s because, watching the others dominant and abuse me overly excites him.

  When there is no more weight against my body, no more heavy breaths, no more fingers digging into my wrist, I slide down the hood to the ground.

  Lying on my side in the dirt I draw my legs toward my stomach knowing that what the men took from me tonight goes so much more than on the surface.

  It’s not about skin.

  It’s not even about being used and treated like trash.

  You’re not trash until someone throws you away.

  They tore out my soul.

  Destroyed my hope.

  My dreams.

  My future.

  I have no belief in love anymore.

  “This is what we think of your pussy,” the one with the pockmarks says. A stream of hot piss splatters my face. Another curses his semi-cock for delaying his ability to urinate. “Ah, there we go,” he sighs. The urine is aimed at my mouth. My eyes. In my hair. It wets the dirt; the men creating elaborate circles of piss. I am drenched in the foul smell.

  The third guy cackles tucking his soft cock back into his expensive dress pants. “I will admit…You are a sweet little tart,” he says, nudging me with the toe of his boot. “Your momma should be proud. She raised a good one.”

  He spits on my bare shoulder.

  The foamy spit slides down my arm as I watch his boots walk away. Another set of boots is in my face. Burying his hands in the pockets of his dress slacks Ricin stares down at me with an emotionless expression.

  Rule # One) Pimps always keeps his emotions to himself

  I can see it now, the distance and disconnect within his blue eyes—eyes of the devil himself. “Put her in the car,” he coldly tells
the men before he climbs into the driver’s side of his Spider.

  I see that Ricin has covered his precious leather seat with a towel. I don’t care. I just want to sit down, lie down, die, something…Once I’m in the seat next to him, and the door is shut, I lean my forehead against the cool window. The smell of new leather surrounds me. “Puke in my chair and I’ll make you lick it up.” Ricin tosses a rag on my tightly held together legs. “Clean yourself up.” He puts the Spider in reverse.

  I consider jumping. Flinging myself from the fast-moving vehicle. I want to die. I need to die. Even hitting asphalt while going eighty has to be better than this. There has to be less pain. Less regret. But then there is the familiar click of the locks that announce I am officially his. I focus on the passing blur of trees. Not every damaged bad boy is secretly good deep down. I wish someone would have told me this.

  Ricin doesn’t take me back to his house. Instead he takes me deep into the heart of Los Angeles, to another overstated home of a rich friend. An iron gate surrounds the property. I leap out the second we pull through the automatic gate, and the vehicle stops rolling.

  Ricin kills the engine and turns in his seat, his hand reaching for me.

  Slamming the door to his laughter I lean against the silver Ferrari and shudder from the chilly night air, or from just having three strangers rape my soul.

  I hear his footfall behind me, then his hand is clutching my arm dragging me toward the steps leading to the glass house. The house perfectly fits into a hill as if the house was built first; the Hill added later. It’s fancy. All lit up and sparkly.

  “Try to leave me, and I will kill your mother,” Ricin threatens, his lips curling into a sneer. Standing with his hands on hips and his legs apart; he jabs a finger at my chest. “First I will rape her and then I will kill her. I won’t feel bad about it either, because it will be your fault.”

  I stare him in the eyes, not blinking; contemplating murdering someone myself.

  He adds, “And your father. Every single person you’ve ever cared about.”

  I don’t fully believe him yet. He is cruel. He is vile. But capable of murder? His knuckles rap on the door as his eyes stay on me. After knocking he adds the name: “Victoria” showing one finger and then another finger is held in front of my face, “the ex…what’s his name…Sterling.”