Chapter One
Every single person in this shared world together has a unique story of his or her own to tell, this one is mine. lt was coming up to my third night camping out at Miami Beach in the summer of 1997. I was thirteen years old and hiding from a world full of hurt. Sitting on the shoreline for hours watching the sunset fall deeper into the horizon, my eyes were glazed over with tears, not from being wind-whipped by the rough sea breeze, but from reflecting on the abuse I encountered as a young girl and how everyone in my life who was supposed to be there for me had now turned their backs on me in abandonment.
My fears crept up and the excitement of escaping all of them faded now realizing how alone I really was now, and for the hunger that was paining my belly. At this point, with nowhere to go and only time to waste, I wiped the tears from my eyes and set out to find an empathetic person that I could manage to get dinner money from. If not, it wouldn’t have been the first time I had gone hungry for the night.
I walked to the nearest bus stop and asked a handful of people for any spare change, none of whom that could help me. Sitting down on a nearby curb disappointed in grief of my current state, I put my head into my knees and began to sob.
Out of nowhere, it seemed, a black stretch limousine turned the corner and stopped in front of the curb where I had been hopelessly lost. The back door opened to reveal a heavy overweight, balding, old man with a big cheesy smile.
Neatly dressed in black trousers and a collared shirt, he was sitting next to a striking young, blonde girl, drop dead beautiful and dressed in a foxy red mini dress she looked like a model.
They smiled and greeted me warmly and he kindly asked, “What is such a sweet little girl like you doing sitting alone on the street looking so upset?”
Shocked from this strangers concern l was hesitant in telling him the truth. Reluctantly I decided to tell him that I was a runaway, not from around here and really hungry. Hoping at most, I would get some money for food from him.
He instantly displayed a chilling excitement and offered me to come into his car so we could talk some more. I proceeded to introduce myself, besides what he had found out about me on the curbside. Telling him my name and a little about how I ended up on the streets explaining that l could take care of myself and didn’t need my family or anyone to look after me anymore. Looking back later in life I can now admit l was in a terrible state, but being such a headstrong teenager, l refused to give in.
He asked my age and l told him I was sixteen at first. He coyly replied, “Are you sure? I think you could be telling me a fib? How old are you … really, I wont be mad” Being a terrible liar, I knew had been caught out and couldn’t deny it any further. I told him the truth and he chuckled then paused and answered in a very serious tone “As long as you never lie to me again I will take you in.”
Right away I pondered to myself what did he mean … take me in? He gave the driver the location of our destination and rolled the middle window back up to then tell me a story of how his daughter had passed away seven years before from a horrific car accident in which four other teens were killed and he had never gotten over it.
What he didn’t tell me was that his modeling agency was only posing for an undercover trade. By the time I found out I thought it was too late to run. His business was really an illegal immigrant trafficking ring of young women mostly consisting of underage girls that he was using as escorts to make him uber rich.
Only available to a selective clientele costing them anywhere from $1000 per hour of erotic entertainment, the girls were trained to fulfill every sexual desire asked of them, no matter how bizarre the requests might be.
The high paid escorts, for Ron’s super rich clientele, such as Yana and many other charismatic beauties would only benefit a fraction of their earnings for themselves, Ron reaping in the majority of the financial rewards and being they were all illegal immigrants they were further trapped by his enslavement.
That should’ve been my first clue to get out of there quick but with nowhere to go, and so naive I didn’t realize how much worse it could get. Setting foot into that limo, I made my first entrance into a world that would entrap me for many years to come.
He introduced himself as Ron Eppinger, a businessman and owner of a successful modeling agency, called “Perfect IO”.
Flaunting his oozing wealth by introducing one of his many girlfriends, the beauty next to him was Yana, a supposed model from the Czech Republic who looked like she could be in her early twenties with the heavy load of makeup she was wearing, but really was only in her late teens.
She kissed me on both cheeks and politely said “Hello” in a thick Czech accent, making me feel a little more at ease. Convinced it couldn’t be that bad there was another girl in the car, right? I couldn’t have been more wrong.
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