Vicious Pt. 03

Jackson had me scheduled for breast and butt implants. My boyish build wasn't doing me any favors anymore.

I was given sweats to wear to the doctors. I put them on, hoping to find an opportunity to escape, but Jackson had me escorted by three of his friends. They were going to be the first to try the new me once I healed. I didn't see them letting me go.

I was at the curb being forced into a car when the police pulled up, cars coming from both directions. I was released by Jackson's men, so I took off running for my life. The police were on the sidewalk, so I dodged into the street. Big mistake. Cars were passing by, distracted by the police raid going on. Luckily for me, they slowed down to see the show. But it still hurt to be hit.

So back to the beginning. I woke up to find Linda, Ryan's wife, looking at me. She told me that Ryan was in England but was rushing back to see me.

She told me how Ryan had Miss Kitty search for me, and how for years they had private detectives seeking me. I don't know how they failed to find me, other than the Joes kept moving, looking for fresh prey for their rape adventures.

Ryan never gave up. They finally learned that I'd been outed and prostituted, and it was the tattoos that finally led them to me. Not too many whores were marked "Eat at Joes", I guess. It was weird enough that it caused Jackson's clients talked about me.

I sobbed. It was too late, I told Linda. I was a whore, tattooed, stretched out. Abused, rotting teeth, diseased (the hospital's lab had identified several STDs in my system) and ashamed. I didn't want Ryan to see me. I wanted to leave before he came to the hospital.

Linda hugged me, letting me cry it out. She whispered in my ear how Ryan would never leave his "brother" behind, that he had sobbed on the phone when Linda had told him that I had finally been found.

I was wrong. The night they tattooed my ass was not the night I cried the most. This night was. I could hardly breathe for crying. But it was cathartic. I wasn't alone, anymore.

During the two days I waited for Ryan's return, Linda organized my redemption. She had a therapist come that day to start working with me. They suspected that I was already suffering from PTSD and Linda wanted that headed off immediately.

A dentist came and left with a plan to replace my missing teeth with implants (the two that were knocked out and another three that were rotted to the roots) and to crown the remaining teeth which had rotted enough that fillings were not advised.

The doctor who consulted on my tattoos told me that I was lucky. "Lucky?" I snarled at the poor man. "You try having 'I love anal" tattooed on your butt and tell me how lucky you feel!" I was so angry with him I almost missed his explanation. The ink they'd used was not tattoo ink and had metal in it. That would make the laser removal of the tattoos easier. The spades Jackson had added were done with the correct ink, but the doctor felt that they were fresh enough to be easily removed.

Linda had me pampered with what were firsts for me. My hair was done by a hairdresser; I had my first mani-pedi; and Linda arranged a full body massage. I couldn't take it. I broke out in sobs, frightening the masseuse who thought she'd hurt me.

No one had ever treated me nicely. Not since Ryan, anyway. Even my own mother hadn't treated me gently. It was too much. I couldn't take it. I cried, I sobbed, I blubbered.

Suddenly I felt myself gathered up and held tightly against a man's chest. Squeezing me against his body, Ryan whispered, "Go ahead and cry, Bridget. You're finally home. I promise nothing bad will ever happen to you again. I will never let you go."