Some of you may have noticed that my stories disappeared. Yeah… that's Ffn's fault. I don't know how it happened, though my best guess is that I got hacked. I've taken security measures and now I'm reposting all my stories.
You have no idea how much of a pain in the ass that is.
This is Rated M for lemons, language, and sex trade in the first couple chapters.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN TWILIGHT. I wish I owned Edward though… maybe Jasper.
This was not where I thought I would be tonight. This wasn't where I thought I would be at any time in my life at all. I didn't even think places like this really existed in the world. I always thought that this was just stuff they made up for movies or excuses for when people went missing never to be seen again, but here I was.
I, Isabella Swan, eighteen year old freshman college student, had been taken, drugged, stripped down to nothing but my underwear, and dragged out onto a dark stage.
That's where I was now, on some sort of stage with two men standing alert on either side of me holding me up by my arms. There was a man in front of me and a little to my right speaking into a microphone to the crowd in front of us. I tried to look out in to the sea of people in front of me, but it was hard. Between the drugs they shot into my arm, the lack of light in the room and the smoke everywhere, I could barely see five feet in front of me.
Through from what I could see, there were a lot of men here. There were five or six just in my line of vision, all of them wearing business suits. I could hear the man with the microphone saying something, but I couldn't make out what it was. It was over ridden by a strange buzz in my ears.
I tried to move, but I couldn't feel my body. It was like my mind was off floating somewhere on its own while my body was still grounded. My eyelids were drooping and it felt like I wanted to go to sleep, but I fought it off. I tried to listen to the man up front again. Then I realized something else about him, he was speaking a different language; Portuguese.
Of course, I thought. I must still be in Brazil.
Then another part of my brain thought, Brazil? What the hell am I doing in Brazil?
I tried to think back to everything up until the time I was manhandled into the back of a car.
My college had been sponsoring a trip for eight lucky students - two students from each class - to take a trip to Brazil to study abroad for two months. I had been one of the two chosen from my freshman class. I had been so excited; I had never even been out of the tri-state area, let alone the country. I had said goodbye to my parents with promises to call frequently and take plenty of pictures.
My dad, Charlie, loathed to let me go, because my step-brother Riley had gone missing recently. We hadn't been that close per say, but it had caused quite the uproar in my small family. Renee and I had teamed up on Charlie, telling him that I would be safe with all the other students and teachers on the trip, until he finally agreed to let me go.
We had only been here for two weeks before everything happened last night.
I had been dragged out of my room by a couple of the other students here, Jessica Stanley - the other freshman - and Tyler Crowley - a junior, to go out to the local hot spot. A club called Dawn. When we got there the place was packed.
I was at the bar sipping on my drink when I decided that after about two hours of dancing, drinking and, in Jessica's and Tyler's case - making out, I was ready to leave. I walked around trying to find Jessica or Tyler and found them sitting in a dark corner with their tongues shoved down each other's throats.
It wasn't a very attractive sight.
Instead of disturbing them, I decided to take a cab home and call Jessica when I arrived back to my room to tell her where I was.
Now I'll admit that I was very drunk. Not 'I can't even stand up so I'm laying here in my own puke' drunk, but 'whoa, am I supposed to have four hands?' drunk. As I was outside trying to hail a cab, probably stumbling all over the place and making a fool out of myself in the process, a somewhat attractive man wearing a expensive looking black suit and had long, greasy black hair walked up to me and asked if I would like a ride home.
Okay, I was drunk not stupid. I politely as possible when drunk declined his offer, but he kept insisting.
After about four times of him asking, I'd had enough. I turned to walk (or stumble) away but his hand shot out to grab my arm and then I was yanked into his chest. I went to scream for help but his hand quickly covered my mouth. A black car pulled up beside us and he threw me into the backseat, and then got in himself. He tied my hands together behind my back with what I believe was rope and then he stuck a needle into my arm.
Everything after that was really fuzzy.
I barely remember the car ride to wherever the hell we were going. I could hear the man that grabbed me off the sidewalk and someone who I assumed was the driver, taking in Portuguese but I was too far gone to try and translate anything. After that, everything was one big blur; the car stopping somewhere, one of the guys that had kidnapped me pulled me out of the backseat and into a large and extravagant looking building. I was dragged into a room and laid down on what seemed to be a couch.
Greasy haired guy brought me in and walked away over to another man and a woman. I was fighting the drugs so I wouldn't fall asleep and was struggling with the rope around my wrists, but it wouldn't budge. I could feel the effects of the drugs wearing off, so I tried sitting up to see if I could make a run for it. That didn't go to well.
I ended up toppling off the couch and falling to the ground face first. The new man that had been standing by the woman came over to me with another needle in hand, and stuck it into my arm like the last time. After a few seconds, I was feeling dizzy again.
Kidnapper guy stepped away and the woman came over to me and started to rip my clothes off. I was desperate to escape now and tried to kick the woman, but the drugs were too powerful, my leg had barely moved an inch. All I could do was lay there. Once the woman had shed me of all my clothes except my blue lacy bra and panty set, the two men grabbed me and hauled me onto the stage.
Which brings us back to now; I once again tried to make out what the guy was saying to the crowd of people, but took me a moment because I had to translate it to English. I could only catch bits an' pieces, but what I did hear chilled me to the bone.
"American college student... Only eighteen years old… Virgin… We are starting her at 100,000 dollars." Was all I could hear. It was enough.
They were selling me off to the highest bidder. I was being sold into the sex trade!
No, no, no, no, this can't be happening, I thought frantically. I started to panic even more as I heard men calling out bids to buy me.
"$210,000… $215,000… $230,000... $240,000!" I was torn between being sick and just passing out. I was trying to fight with the drugs, but they were still in full effect.
I looked up and saw that an older man around his fifties with beady eyes and thinning hair was eyeing me hungrily. Gross.
I was just about to give up and pass out because I no longer wanted to be awake for this, when I heard a clear and velvety voice ring out across the room.
"I'll give you $500,000!"
I looked up and into the smoky crowd as well as I could and tried to find who the voice belonged to. Afraid to see another old and balding man, I was shocked when my eyes met a face that could only belong to an angel.
I couldn't see him too well, but what I could see was beautiful. He was tall, probably around 6'2", and looked lean, but you could tell he had plenty of muscles. His hair was shocking. It looked to be only a shade or two darker than a penny and it stood out at wild and odd angles. It looked like he just rolled out of bed.
I couldn't see his face too well, the drugs that were pumping through me making my vision blurry.
I looked lower to his clothing and saw that unlike all the other men here, instead of a business suit, he wore a dark green button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of dark wash jeans. Another thing I was able to notice was that he defiantly didn't seem old. He looked to be no older than twenty-five years old, and that was pushing it a little.
There was murmuring all around the room as the bronze bed-head guy approached the stage. The announcer with the microphone on stage looked at him skeptically.
"$500,000? Are you sure you can afford that son?" He snickered in Portuguese.
"Of course I can, do you not know who I am, old man?" He taunted back. He was sneering at the announcer but whenever his eyes would shift to me they held something in them that I couldn't understand. Was it warmth?
"If you think you are so important, what is your name?" The announcer asked curiously.
"My name is Edward Cullen." The mystery man spoke in a velvet voice.
Yes, I know I stopped there. Sorry! *hides under the covers*
Tell me what you think!