Chapter One

Larissa's POV

The water was so refreshing that I didn't want to leave the shower. I was so immersed in the moment that I wished I could stay there all day, but Ramon wouldn't permit that. Soon, clients would be coming in, and I needed to be ready. While I was enjoying the shower, the water abruptly stopped.

"Arrggghhh, Ramon must have turned off the water," I whispered to myself.

I reached for my towel and stepped out of the bathroom. As I walked through the passage toward my room, I could hear the screams of my colleagues. They were likely attending to their clients. This place was somewhere no one ever wanted to be. I hoped we would gain our freedom someday. We all lived for Ramon. I had known Ramon since I was twelve; he saw me begging on the street and offered me a better life. Little did I know he was a sex trafficker. Now I was in the middle of nowhere, working as a prostitute. Even a prostitute is better than what we are. Prostitutes get paid for their services, but we don't. We're just sex toys, and all the money goes to Ramon.

I entered my room, though it didn't deserve to be called a room. Ramon referred to it as a den, and he was right. It was built as if it were for animals—dark, poorly ventilated, and old. As I stepped inside, I saw my best friend, Lucia, sitting on my tattered mattress.

"Hey, Lucia, what are you doing here?" I asked, my voice curious but softened by a light smile.

"Ramon sent me," she replied.

"Ramon?" I asked, my smile fading as I moved closer to her. "What does he want from me?"

"I don't know. You'll find out when you get there," she said.

"Why me? God, I hate this," I muttered.

"Why you? The answer is obvious—you're his superstar, the finest and hottest here."

I walked to the sack where my clothes were neatly arranged, pulled out my favorite blue gown, and put it on. After combing my hair and applying some lipstick, I headed to Ramon's room.

I barged into his apartment. He was with two ladies sitting on his lap, the table in front of him covered in cocaine.

"You sent for me," I said, my eyes fixed on him.

"Yes, what took you so long?" he replied, signaling to the ladies to leave. They got up and walked out, and I watched them as they exited.

"I just got the message from Lucia. I was in the bathroom," I explained.

"I knew that's where you were," he said, tapping his lap to signal me to sit.

"That's why you stopped the water," I remarked as I sat down. "Why did you call for me, anyway?"

"One of my clients wants a home service, and I'm choosing you to go. He'll be here soon to pick you up, so be ready," he said.

I reached for the coke on the table and sniffed it. "When will he be here?" I asked, wiping my nose with my thumb.

"He's coming in the evening. No games, Larissa. Go there, do your job, and he'll drop you back. If you try to run away and get caught, you'll be killed. This man is a gangster."

"Don't worry, I won't do anything stupid," I promised.

I had tried to escape this den before, but I always failed. The last time I managed to get away during a home service, I had nowhere to go. I was caught sleeping under a bridge in Madrid.

"You're going to give me a steady supply of coke for a week," I demanded.

"Are you negotiating? You know you can't. You belong to me," he said, his tone commanding.

"I know this guy paid you well for the home service I'm about to deliver. If I do a good job, he'll come back and patronize you. If I don't, he won't. His return depends on you."

Ramon burst into laughter. "Really? That's why you're my favorite—smart and daring. You got yourself a deal, girl. Please do a good job; this guy pays well. I can't lose him."

"Nice doing business with you," I said, standing up. "I'm heading back. I need to rest before he sends someone to pick me up."

"No, don't go yet. I want to have you for a few minutes," he said.

"Ramon, you can't. I need to rest before your mafia customer arrives. Most of those guys are always brutal," I said, knowing this was the only way to stop him from having his way with me. Satisfying his customers was his top priority.

As I stood up from his lap, we heard a gunshot. I froze where I was, while Ramon reached for his Desert Eagle—a sleek silver pistol. One of his guards rushed in.

"What's happening?" Ramon demanded as gunshots and screams of the ladies filled the den.

"It's the police. The guy you met at the bar yesterday who paid for the home service seems to be a cop. Let's run, Ramon. You can rebuild this place later."

Ramon clenched his fists, anger radiating from his face. "Arrrrggggghhh, I should have seen this coming. Go pack my things, boy. Larissa, you're following me. We're escaping through the backdoor."

"I'm following you? I can't," I protested.

Ramon pointed his gun at me, his eyes cold and threatening. I froze, the weight of the decision pressing down on me like a vice. This seemed to be a path to freedom for others but a new chapter of suffering for me. I was stranded, my mind racing but unable to form a coherent plan. Should I scream for the police? But would they even hear me over the cacophony of gunshots and the desperate cries of the other girls? This was my defining moment—if I ever wanted to grasp freedom, it had to be now. Yet, the odds seemed impossible. I was at a fork in the road: follow Ramon into the unknown or fight my way through to freedom.