TRAFFICKED: A Mex Anderson Novel

by Peg Brantley

  I have to concentrate on not responding to anything that happens in any quick or instinctive way. Otherwise she’ll know I didn’t swallow the pill. But right now I feel like any tiny sound will catapult me to the ceiling. Reacting like that would take things from “not good” to “damn bad,” and I can’t take that chance. Not right now, anyway. I imagine hearing gunshots or explosions and merely gazing into the distance, practicing a calm response to anything and everything.

  In order to survive I have to focus on appearing drugged.

  A man comes up to me and I work hard not to cringe. He throws a bag at me and says, “Here. Put these on and make it quick.”

  I want to ask him where I should change but realize that where I am there is no such thing as privacy. I’m sure a drugged Jayla couldn’t care less. My face burns hot with embarrassment.

  Survive, Jayla. Survive.

  Inside the bag are clothes Mama would never wear, even when she’s in the hunt mode for a new man. Suddenly I think about the hookers I’ve seen around Denver and my stomach heaves. Had some of them been sitting where I’m sitting now? Had I judged them without knowing anything about how they got there? Oh God, is that what’s happening to me?

  “I said to make it quick, bitch. You’re up next.”

  Up? This isn’t good.

  * * *

  The man who brought me the clothes leads me out of the room. I watch for an opportunity to escape. It isn’t happening.

  Someone ahead and to the side is videotaping me as I make my way down the hallway. There are no doors. No exits.

  No way out.

  The clothes I’m wearing make me want to hide in shame. Give up. Let them win. But a stronger part in me says I can fight this. I can be the winner. I can walk away.

  Walk away? Really? Could I ever simply walk away? Not likely.

  I remember a movie I saw about a girl who was kidnapped. She survived because she went along with her kidnapper. I figure this is my only chance—to seem submissive. Compliant. But look for a way out.

  I think I know what’s coming. They’ll do everything to break me.

  Because I’m not going anywhere I choose. At least not today.

  I know I’m strong. I want the hell out of here. I want my life, whatever it is, back.

  Still, I believe I’m here for a reason. What the hell it might be I have no idea. They can throw whatever they want at me.

  They can’t break me.

  At least I don’t think so.

  I put one foot in front of the other, recognizing for the first time how cold I am. The cameraman continues to film. As much as I want to flash a finger, I keep my head and eyes down.

  I keep looking for a weak link. It isn’t here.

  My awareness remains my secret. My power.

  * * *

  A bald man with ice blue eyes yanks my arm. I tell myself not to flinch or show any reaction. After all, I’m supposed to be drugged.

  “C’mon bitch. Ginger’s waiting.”

  We move down a long dark hallway, bare bulbs throwing shadows onto the floor and walls. It’s eerie and hypnotic at the same time. The smell of fear follows us.

  He opens a door, nods to someone in the room then shoves me inside.

  The dim lights in the room grow brighter until I want to shield my eyes. A woman with skin the color of pecans and beautiful auburn hair is studying me. Slowly, she circles. I can feel her looking at every inch of my body.

  “You need to lighten up.”

  My hands fist. This from a sister? “Pardon me?”

  “You need to put on a party-face. Look like you’re having fun. Look like you’d be fun to be with.”

  What I need is to be studying for my science test. What I need is to be anywhere other than here and what I need is to make sure Chris is okay.

  Inside I’m shaking. There’s a roar in the room punctuated by the rapid beat of my heart. I want to cry. Never in my life have I been in a position even remotely similar. I’m a straight-A student, not a party girl.

  I’m not equipped for this.

  The woman, Ginger, is moving again. “Here. Take these.” She holds out a couple of pills and a glass of water.

  I shake my head.

  “Trust me, honey. If you don’t take these now, a couple of hours from now you’ll wish you had.”

  For the first time since finding myself in this situation, whatever ‘this situation’ is, I make eye contact with another human being. At first, I see great sorrow in those deep brown eyes. And then that sorrow is replaced by something hard and cold. My chest tightens.

  “Take ’em. Now.”

  I swallow the pills because she’s watching.

  “Open your mouth.”

  Ginger doesn’t wait but brings a hand up to my jaw and pinches, forcing my mouth open. The forefinger of her other hand does a swift check along my gum line. She gives a satisfactory nod. “Smart girl.”

  I watch her. She’s part of whatever is happening to me. Maybe she has some answers. I know I can’t trust her but I don’t have any other options at the moment.

  “Ma’am?”

  She laughs. It’s a sad and sarcastic sound. “Ginger. Call me Ginger.”

  “Okay. Ginger, can I ask you something?”

  “Ask it, girl. Don’t waste my time.”

  “I’m worried about my friend.”

  Her head cocks to the side and her eyes pierce mine. “Friend? Another girl?” She bites the words.

  “No. A boy. My friend is a boy. His name is Chris. I was staying at his place when all of this—”

  This time Ginger’s laugh explodes in relief. “You stupid cunt.” She breathes the words.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Your friend Chris is who landed you here in the first place. He wanted cash and you were for sale.”

  “Chris wouldn’t—”

  “He could and he did. Deal with it.” She clicks on her phone. “Your date will be here in about twenty minutes.”

  Date?

  Even as part of me begins to panic, other parts of me are loosening up. Fading away. Moving to a zone where they can’t be touched. The drug is taking effect.

  Whatever it is, it’s happening, and it isn’t good.

  While numbers of internationally trafficked children and adults are up, the majority of exploitation occurs within a country’s own borders.

  —Girls Like Us, by Rachel Lloyd

  CHAPTER THREE

  Six Months Later

  “Damn reporters.” Mex Anderson slammed his phone down. “It’s been over a year. Why the hell are they still pestering me?”

  The sun hung low in the sky, basking the deck in its rich glow. Deer were eating shrubbery while others drank from the gurgling stream about thirty yards away. Any other time he’d appreciate the peaceful view from his Aspen Falls home. Not now.

  Cade moved behind his chair to rub his neck and shoulders. “This is what happens when you rescue the daughter of the head of a Mexican drug cartel from people who were about to sacrifice her—literally. A lot of reporters can’t let a good story die.”

  “And Darius’s book has fanned the flames.”

  “You could say that. But I know you don’t begrudge him his success.”

  Mex sighed and popped his neck. “Guess I don’t.”

  “So let it go.”

  “Have I told you lately how much you mean to me, Acadia LeBlanc?”

  “Mon cher, sometimes you even come close to convincing me to make the extraordinary decision to move to Colorado permanently.”

  “But I’m also aware—”

  “That I haven’t sold my home in Louisiana while keeping my own place here in Aspen Falls? What I said is true. You’ve come close to convincing me.”

  “What’ll it take?”

  Cade stopped her massage and moved around to sit on his lap. The light from the fire pit reflected on the side of her face, the other side shadowed seductively. Her green eyes, highlighted with gold, made him want
to disappear into them. Into her. She cupped her hands to either side of Mex’s face. “I can’t say. What I can say is that today I love being here with you. Today is perfect. Can’t we let things move the way they move and not force anything?”

  “Force?”

  “Okay. Wrong word. But you know what I mean. With pasts like ours it takes awhile to believe in a future.”

  Mex had lost his wife and family in Mexico. After his family’s massacre, Mex sold his property and invested in Silicon Valley startups before anyone knew where Silicon Valley was. He’d gotten out while the getting was good.

  Cade had worked through losses of her own, first personally, and then professionally as an exit counselor for kids immersed in cults. Between the two of them, they had enough pain in their histories to keep a university psych class busy for years.

  He grasped her hands in his. “You and I are two strong people. We’ll figure this future thing out.” He waited to make sure he had her full attention. “In our own time.” Mex winked.

  “Well, our time might be moving forward. A little.” She pressed closer to whisper in his ear. “I’m selling my home in New Orleans.”

  Even while enjoying the increased pressure of her body against his, he pulled back. “Are you sure?” He searched those glorious eyes for an answer. Maybe she was finally ready to move in with him.

  As if she read his mind, she shook her head. “I’m not ready to make more of a commitment, but sometimes we have to step out in faith. You taught me that. Right now, this is as much faith as I can muster.”

  The couple watched in silence as the sun set with magnificent color. After the fire died to flickering embers, they held each other as the cool Colorado high country night settled in.

  Cade stood and held out her hands to Mex. “Let’s go inside. I brought a bottle of champagne.”

  “To celebrate?”

  Cade hiked an eyebrow.

  “Celebrate what? What are we celebrating?”

  “Today. Does that work for you?”

  “It’ll do.”

  Later, sleeping the smooth and contented sleep of an untroubled man, Mex’s cell buzzed on the desk in his office. He didn’t hear it. Which was a good thing because it afforded him one more peaceful night’s sleep before everything changed.

  Again.

  * * *

  Three Days Earlier

  Donny clicked the screen closed on his computer and shoved away from the desk.

  “Goddammit. Why didn’t I see this coming?” He stood, batted the chair and watched it spin away before catching on a desk leg and toppling over.

  He’d counted on her and she’d let him down. What a bitch. At least his hacking skills had paid off before he’d lost more time. His idea to check the Clerk and Recorder’s office to determine the potential amount of her trust fund proved right, but not in the way he’d planned. He found the amount, but he found something else too.

  Alexis won’t see a dime until she’s twenty-one. Twenty-one? Twenty-fucking-one?

  He needed to put Plan B into action. The sooner the better.

  Damn.

  It had been two years but he still knew how to get the word out. He logged into a chat site through a Virtual Private Network and made a mental note to change his preferred VPN the next time he went online. He didn’t use it very much, but it still made him nervous to use the same one too often.

  Donny left the same message he’d used two years ago. He’d know soon if it still worked.

  It didn’t take long. Less than thirty minutes later he received instructions to upload photos to an email account. Good thing he’d copied the best of her Facebook photos.

  What he wanted right now was a beer. Instead he settled for vitamin water from the employee stash.

  And waited.

  “Look man, you have her photo. She’s seventeen. She’s hot. And feisty. Way different than most of the girls you get which makes her worth a lot more money.”

  “Feisty implies difficult to control,” the man said. “Neither me or my clients are interested in procuring a long-term problem.”

  Donny paced, then sat back down at the communal desk and fiddled with a stack of paper, mostly gym membership applications. The pile reminded him of his own stack at home that contained nothing but bills. His eyes blinked Morse code while he tried to steady his breathing.

  Desperation flashed through Donny’s chest. This had to work. Stay calm. In control. He had what the man wanted, he knew it.

  But while Donny talked on his personal phone he felt pretty sure the man on the other end had a burner. If a problem ever came up it would come back to him, but it would never get to the man with the throwaway phone. Hell, he didn’t even have the guy’s fake name, let alone a real one.

  And this marked the third time they’d worked together.

  “What are you willing to go?”

  “Ten.”

  “Are you kidding me? She’s worth forty to fifty, easy.”

  “Why are you willing to cut this hot and feisty asset loose?”

  “Because she doesn’t hit her personal jackpot until she’s twenty-one. Too long, man. Not quite the asset I’d hoped for.”

  The man chuckled. “When can you deliver?”

  “Tonight.”

  “I’ll go fifteen.”

  “C’mon man. Thirty-five. You’ll make out and then some.”

  The silence screamed in Donny’s ear. He rolled his shoulders.

  “Twenty-five. Three a.m. You know where.”

  The connection went dead.

  Donny did a fist-pump. He knew they’d want her. He checked his watch. She’d be here in a few minutes. If he played her right, she’d be in exactly the right place at exactly the right moment.

  And he’d collect twenty-five grand.

  He shoved his computer into his gym bag and whistled while he walked to his locker. Before securing it he double-checked his supply of Rohypnol. You never knew when a roofie might come in handy.

  Things were about to go his way, with a little time of his own to play with the merchandise.

  According to the U.S. Attorney’s office, she had been sold to him, for $1,200, in a package deal with her best friend. The vendor was Brian Forbes, a six-foot-five-inch, 40-year-old bodybuilder, whom local law enforcement understood to be employed in the bail-bond business.

  —Sex Trafficking of Americans: The Girls Next Door, by Amy Fine Collins

  CHAPTER FOUR

  At the fitness center’s second-floor overlook, Donny stood at the rail and observed Alexis Halston enter and walk to the women's locker room. He noticed she wore her signature eye makeup. To him it looked Goth but with a turquoise twist. The blue-green eyeshadow framed her eyes like a mask.

  She strode with a straight back and just enough head and hip movement to look natural—as well as catch the eye of every guy she passed. Donny liked the way her hair swung loose. She always drew it back into a ponytail before they began their workout, so today he accepted this view of her free-style look as his parting gift.

  Someone would pay big bucks for pussy with an attitude he thought, then quickly squeezed back the chuckle that bubbled in his throat. After a few more seconds of consideration, he decided that more than likely Alexis would end up with someone who liked the extra force required to get compliance. Donny shrugged. None of his business.

  A few minutes later Alexis approached Donny while he lifted hand weights.

  “Hey, beautiful! Right on time.”

  Alexis rewarded him with a distracted smile.

  He slipped the weights back into their holder. “You okay?”

  Alexis shook her head. “Same old shit, Donny. I wonder if my friends would be my friends if I didn’t have money. And it isn’t even mine. It’s my dad’s.” She threw out her arms like throwing off a coat. “Sorry. Sometimes I think you’re the only one who cares about me. You read me in two seconds. Why’s that? I mean, why do you care?”

  Donny cocked his head to the s
ide and drew his lips into a small smile. “Maybe because it’s easy?” He waited while the amber colored eyes connected with his, then watched as a slow flush crept into her cheeks.

  Score!

  “You ready to work out or would you rather take a pass today?” He took a risk to ask, but he had a backup plan in case she decided to leave. He figured she would want to be with him even if she didn’t feel like doing squats.

  “No, I’m okay.”

  “Maybe you can take out your frustrations on the punching bag.”

  Alexis smiled and nodded. “Sounds like I’m going to get a decent workout.”

  An hour later, sweat-soaked and flushed, much of the turquoise eye color long since swiped away on her towel, Alexis took a swallow from her water bottle. “Thanks, Donny. I needed this today.”

  “Glad I could help.” He watched as she went back to the showers, then he jogged up the stairs to the administrative level.

  In the employee locker room, he took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, put on street clothes, then tossed the roofies into his gym bag and zipped it up.

  At the reception desk he leaned in to the young girl whose main job it was to sign members in and hook up non-members with a trainer to get them to join. “Got a call from my sister. Family emergency.”

  The girl pulled a schedule up on her screen. “You have Leslie Lewis at 6:30.”

  Donny worked to hide a smirk. Leslie Lewis was a fat bitch who thought her law degree made her smarter than everyone else and entitled her to automatic worship. He would not mind losing her as a client. “See if someone else can take her. If not, call her and cancel. I’ve gotta go.”

  “I’ll do what I can as long as you understand it’s your ass if she’s pissed. And she will be pissed.”

  Donny looked at the young girl with the sweet face sitting behind the desk. He’d never really noticed her before. Now he saw her for the piece of shit she was, and briefly considered how much he might get for her before deciding she wasn’t worth the trouble. Plus a missing girl every couple of years didn’t raise too many questions, especially if they were from different gyms. Two so close together and he’d have detectives breathing down his neck faster than he could run fifty yards.