Disclaimer: I do not own Hannah Montana.

Chapter One

"I want this one." He stared directly at my trembling figure and smiled. His smile wasn't exactly what you'd call cynical, but harsh enough to send shivers through an innocent girl's body. Most of the other girls gave me sympathetic looks or sighed in relief. "Girl." He demanded. I lifted my head, fear clearly emitting from my eyes. "What's your name?" He stared at me intently.

"Lillian." I squeaked out. He chuckled at my noticeable terror.

"Hm, my name is Mr. Oken." His smile only grew colder. "Lillian, How old are you?" I spoke again, with the same amount of fear in my voice.

"Eighteen." My voice hadn't gotten any more confident. He nodded and grabbed me by the wrist, leading me through a series of doors, and eventually to a parking structure attached to the Casino.

"Now Lillian, You're a bit young to be going to Casinos aren't you?" He spoke as though chastising a child. I nodded. "I thought so." He parted his dark brown bangs to the side of his face and smirked. He pointed over to a series of all-black BMWs with his car keys. The SUVs lights flashed. Typical tool, I though.

He pushed me through the open door, and followed me in.

"Keep the windows up." He instructed the driver, who then added the tinted glass separating the cab from the backseat. Mr. Oken closed his car door and looked over to me, his sneering grin disappearing when he saw my just as mocking smirk. I opened my mouth to converse, sporting two rather intimidatingly sharp canines.

"What the hell?" Was all he managed to say before I cut him off.

"Shut up and listen carefully." He was about to retort, anger evident in his expression. My hand flew quickly toward his throat, gripping painfully underneath his chin. I pinned his head against the window, stroking his cheek with my painted nail. A tear slithered its way down his cheek, due to the bruising grasp I had on his face. "Save it. I've no time for your pretty-boy power trip." I turned his face. "Now, Mr. Oken." I scoffed. "What exactly do you find pleasing about trafficking young girls?" He stayed quiet, excluding his heavy breathing and sobs. "Now come on, there's got to be some reason you'd do such and unholy thing." I smirked. "Make it good, I'd hate to have come all the way down here for some pitiful excuse from a politician's son." My head tilted in the slightest. "How is your father, Oliver? I mean, how is his campaign going? Does he know of your…" I paused, searching for an appropriate term. "Antics?" I could feel him shudder beneath my hand. My mouth had long since begun watering, and these questions were simply proving a waste of my time.

My lips grew progressively close to his neck.

"What are you?" Pulling back, I noticed that the question was a surprise for him as well. "L-Like a vampire or something?" I was growing irritated with his sudden bravery.

"Don't be ridiculous." I snapped. "Vampires don't exist." I used my free hand to massage my temples. "Mr. Oken, I'm not one to enjoy being toyed with." Within seconds the smile was back on my face. As I, once again, grew closer to his neck, he shut his eyes. Tears slipped away from them and landed onto my hand.

I exited the moving car with the utmost precision, going unnoticed by the few pedestrians walking obliviously about the city. I slithered my way on to the sidewalk, my bloodied dress discarded along with the heels I'd been wearing. My attire had been replaced by a bikini top, a pair of jean shorts and flip-flops. All of which had been tucked away in my purse that now accompanied the dress and heels in the back of the SUV.

I traced our path back to the Casino, eventually making it to the boiler room that I'd been 'selected' from. The two built men guarding the door now lay unconscious on the floor behind me. This left me staring at five, very young, very frightened girls, refusing to make eye contact with me. They all recognized me as a girl that had been just as terrified as they were.

"Don't be afraid." I mustered up the most comforting voice I could manage. "I'm here to take you back to your families." This got their attention. They looked up from their shoes, eyes showing hope, practically pleading with me. I stepped up to the first one, a girl with dirty blonde hair. She trembled under my gaze, but her eye contact didn't falter. "What your name?" I said calmly.

"Sarah." She nervously pushed up on the bridge of her glasses.

"Where are you from, Sarah?" She seemed skeptical at first, but spoke anyways.

"Malibu, California. We're all from there." Her head gestured to her friends. "We were, uh, attempting to take a vacation." I sort of wanted to laugh at that, but the severity of the situation tells me it would have been inappropriate. "Well, all of us, except for her." She pointed toward the young lady furthest to her left. I walked over to her. Her eyes were wide, and she was noticeably horrified.

She looked a bit older than the others, and as her heavy breathing increased, the faint sent of alcohol played amongst her breath. Her eyes were thick with black liner, matching the shade of her knee-high boots and fishnets. My pity for the girl grew when I noticed the blood trickling from the inside of her thigh.

"What about you, Sweetheart?" My heart clenched inside my chest. "What's your name?" She had tears brimming her eyes.

"Miley." It was the faintest, most strained whisper I'd ever heard in my life.

"Where do you live, Miley?" The name felt natural on my lips. She swallowed hard.

"Super Eight, on South Koval." My brow furrowed.

"The motel?" She just nodded. My eyes widened with comprehension.

Whore.