22
Giada
I refused to cry. Life had f****d me up the a*s without a trace of lube since New Year’s, seemingly hell-bent on burying me.
Well, f**k that, and f**k the fuckers who plucked me off the street like a goddamn w**d.
I’m a goddamn f*****g rose.
That line whispered loudly in my head over and over, helping to steel my nerves against the situation I’d been tossed into.
When the van had first dropped me and the poor woman who’d agreed to walk me to the police station off in some underground parking area, I envisioned every horror film coming to life before my eyes.
Reality proved ten times worse.
We were led to a dungeon-like room where they finally snipped off the zip ties around our wrists. Cold, damp air chilled me through, my nose stinging from the stench of urine. Typical “I
