Sold Into Salvation

by Colbie Carter

  Her face suddenly went pale, and Dorin's muscles itched to move to her, to sit by her and offer support.

  “Miss Kennedy?” Gina spoke for the first time. “Do you need a break?”

  Tears welled in Brooke's eyes; they were obviously coming to the worst part for her. “No, I just want to get this over with.” She took another deep breath. “I was taken to a room with a gynecologist's exam table. I was placed on the table and given a pelvic exam.” Her voice was shaking.

  Dorin couldn't imagine how she had felt, being poked, prodded, and violated. Whoever had examined her would have figured out that she was still a virgin. He could feel her humiliation, and he prayed to every higher power that he could think of that the exam had been the worst part.

  She kept going, clearly trying to get her story out as fast as she could. She was ripping off her emotional and mental Band-Aid, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that it was agonizing for her.

  “Then, I was taken to 'my room,'” she threw up air quotes. “It was just a little closet of a room with a slab of foam for a bed and a prison toilet. I think I was in there all night, and most of the next day, I don't really know. Twice I was given soup and a bottle of water.”

  “Do you remember anything about the auction? How you got there?” Jack asked, looking up from his legal pad.

  “I was taken back to the room where I met the man when I arrived, and he told me that he was sure he'd get a decent price for me. Then, two men held me still while he shoved a mucosal atomizer up my nose and sprayed something. I don't remember anything after that, until I woke up in Dorin, er, Agent Milosovici's hotel room.”

  “And that's it?” Jack seemed disappointed that there wasn't more to the story.

  Brooke nodded.

  “Were you ever assaulted? Sexually or otherwise?” Gina asked.

  Dorin held his breath for her answer. “Other than being slapped a couple of times, and just generally manhandled, not that I'm aware of. Unless something happened while I was drugged.”

  “You'd know if you were raped. Did you have any vaginal pain, bleeding, or discomfort when you woke up this morning?”

  Brooke shook her head. “No, nothing.”

  Dorin let out a relieved breath. Good, she hadn't been raped.

  Jack took a stack of photos from his folder and spread them out in front of Brooke. “Do any of these men look familiar?”

  Brooke scanned over the pictures, and immediately pointed to one. “Him. That's the guy who told me he owned me, drugged me, and sold me”

  She had identified Anton Vasile.

  “His name is Anton Vasile,” Jack replied. “He's the most wanted sex trafficker in the world, but it's been next to impossible to build enough of a case against him to go to trial. He's slippery, has one hell of a lawyer, and no one will testify against him.”

  “Will I need to testify?”

  “He won't be tried in the United States, but it's possible that you may need to. You'll be contacted if it's needed.” Jack clicked his pen a few times, leaning back in his chair.

  The debriefing went on for at least another hour, maybe more. Jack peppered Brooke with a list of questions a mile long, many that Dorin didn't quite understand the significance of or the need for. Perhaps it was to comb through her story for inconsistencies. Either way, it drove him crazy to see her squirming in her chair as if she was ready for a meltdown. Gina asked multiple times if Brooke wanted a break, and she continued to decline, insisting on speeding the debriefing along.

  Finally, Jack concluded his interrogation and ended the debriefing. Brooke visibly relaxed and got up from her chair, he guessed to head for her father's office.

  “Brooke.” Dorin stopped her in the hallway. She turned to face him, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, her small shoulders hunched protectively. “You doing okay?”

  She bit her lip, nodding her head. “Yeah, I think I'm okay. I'm just glad that it's over.” She blew out a long breath. “It just never occurred to me that I might have to testify against any of them, which means I'll have to see them again.”

  “Hey,” Dorin stepped closer and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don't get yourself worked up over it. It won't help you at all to worry about it until you have to. You've been through enough, and right now, you just need to focus on recovering. Emotionally, mentally, even physically, your entire being took one hell of a hit.”

  Brooke broke eye contact, looking down at her shoes. “I never thanked you for saving me.” She looked up once more. “Thank you, Dorin.”

  His mouth tipped into a side-smile. “It was my pleasure, Brooke.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen,” he took a deep breath. “I'll probably be back stateside within a few weeks, is it okay if I call and check on you when I get home? I live in DC, so it'll be easy for me to come to Baltimore if you need to talk more later on.”

  Brooke blinked those big, brown eyes a few times, seemingly surprised by his request. Finally, her mouth curved into a smile. “Sure, I'd like that.”

  Dorin took out his phone, and programmed her number under a code name that only he would know. Then, he swiped a post-it from a nearby vacant office, and jotted his phone number down. “Here is the number for the phone I carry with me all the time. If you need anything, call me. If my number changes, I'll text you.”

  Brooke took the slip of paper, smiling again as she read the number. “Thank you.” She looked up at him one more time. “See you.” And she turned to walk down the hall.

  Suddenly, he was never more eager to go home.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Brooke vehemently declined any more visits to restaurants, wanting instead to have a quick dinner at her father's, and then go to bed. The truth was she needed time by herself. To decompress, sort through the clutter in her head, and not have people asking her a million questions.

  She called her mother, who sobbed gratefully over the phone, and was obviously still very angry with her father. Then, she called her best friend, Emmy. She had no idea if Emmy even knew she had been kidnapped in the first place. As it turned out, Brooke's mother had already called Emmy to tell her.

  “How are you holding up? Truthfully?” Emmy asked after the initial hysterics had subsided.

  Brooke took a deep breath before answering. “Truthfully, I don't really know yet. I'm happy to be safe, obviously, but beyond that... I have no idea what to think or feel right now.”

  “You going to see a therapist when you get home?”

  “I might. It was suggested that I see a counselor at least once, that it was possible I could develop PTSD later on.” She leaned back in her bed, propped up against a pillow with her knees pulled up.

  “When will you be home?”

  “I leave Bucharest for London in the morning, hopefully it won't take more than eighteen hours or so for me to get home.” If she had another layover fiasco like she had on the way here, she would scream. She opened her mouth to say something¸ but stopped herself. She didn't know what she was allowed to talk about, the phrase 'national security' was tossed around a lot during her debriefing.

  “What were you going to say?” Emmy asked. She must have heard Brooke's intake of breath before she stopped herself.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Liar, tell me.”

  “The guy that saved me?” she began. “He wants to call me when he gets home.”

  “An American guy saved you?”

  “Well, no. He said he was born in Romania, but that he has lived in the U.S. most of his life, was a Marine, and now works for the government.”

  “Is he, like, a spy or something?” Brooke wanted to laugh at the exact same way Emmy had phrased the same question she had asked Dorin.

  “He said he wanted to check on me when he gets back to the States. Make sure I'm doing okay.” She tucked her knees up tighter, reaching down with her free hand to pluck at a toenail. The first thing she planned to do when she got home was get a pedicure.

  “Uh-huh,�
� Emmy replied suspiciously. “I think he wants to do more than that, Brooke.” She giggled. “How cool would that be? Your spy-knight in shining armor who came to your rescue seeks you out to declare his undying love for you.” She laughed even harder. “Sounds like one hell of a romance novel to me.”

  Brooke thought back to the little snippets of her dream that she had the night before. Her subconscious saw him as her hero, the white knight who rescued her and whisked her away to safety. What she remembered the most about him in that dream was those piercing blue eyes, the kind that rivaled Paul Newman, or Josh Lucas. She saw them in her dream even before she woke up and saw them for herself with a clear mind. He was one of the very few truly gorgeous men that she had ever seen; tall, lean but strong, and masculine without being too harsh. Part of her truly hoped Dorin kept his word and contacted her later. She would love to see him again.

  “Hey, listen,” Brooke shifted in her bed. “I'm going to go to sleep, I'll call you when I make it home.”

  “Okay, sweet dreams, hon.” Emmy replied.

  “Will do, bye.” Brooke hung up the phone.

  Brooke tried for hours to fall asleep; her nerves were still so raw that relaxing was an impossibility. She tossed and turned in her bed, pulled covers off, and then put more on, everything she could think of. She pulled up her e-reader app on her phone and tried to read a few chapters of a book that she had started months ago, but never had time to read. She was amazed she still remembered the plot.

  Finally, her eyelids weighed down, and she slipped into a light doze.

  CHAPTER TEN

  But you were given the money for her, why does it matter if she got away?” Richard bellowed into the phone, his hand shaking as he gripped it tight.

  “You don't quite understand how this business works. She may have been sold to one, but she could have gone on and been bought by many others. I like to think I lease my girls out to clients who send them back when they're bored, and then they go on to someone else. It provides a steady flow of income.” Anton's voice was eerily calm.

  “She's not a fucking piece of merchandise for rent! She's my child! Let me finish paying myself, I can come up with the money. Just please, leave my daughter out of this.” Richard pleaded.

  “You agreed to give me your daughter in return for your debts to be nullified. The moment she was returned to you, it was as if you had never paid a cent. This is not something you can back out of; it's either her, or you, and frankly, I'd rather not kill you until I feel I’ve been properly reimbursed. So consider which is going to benefit you in the long run; you'll find that just handing me your daughter will be the better choice.”

  “How was I supposed to know she'd be rescued?”

  “Yes, about that.” Anton cleared his throat. “Please enlighten me on how that happened. She was bought last night at the auction by a very enthusiastic bidder, and then just miraculously makes it home safe and untouched the next day.”

  Richard swallowed hard. He vaguely knew how Brooke was rescued, maybe if he turned the heat onto the man who saved her, it would look better for him. He hated the idea, because he owed that young man for bringing his little girl back safe and unharmed. “The man who bought her is an undercover U.S. government agent. He only bought her to get her out safely.”

  There was a long pause before Anton finally spoke. “Well, this is an interesting development.” Richard could all but hear the wheels turning in Anton's head through the phone. “Do you have a real name for this financially generous agent?”

  He bit his lip hard. God forgive me. “Dorin Milosovici.”

  ***

  Anton's blood pressure skyrocketed as he threw the phone across his spacious office, shattering it against the wall in an explosion of glass, metal, and plastic.

  Motherfucking Alexandru Cuza... no, Dorin Milosovici. A goddamn U.S. spy. Was his accent even real? Was the fucker even Romanian? A nauseating rush of humiliation and undiluted anger churned in his gut.

  He wouldn’t dismiss this kind of embarrassment lightly. The list of people who needed to pay for this clusterfuck was growing by the minute. He had no desire to kill Richard Kennedy. The dumb bastard simply got in over his head with gambling debts and turned to him for money. He was nothing but a sniveling, spineless American politician who served him no purpose.

  Though he did spit out a name for the U.S. agent pretty damn fast, hopefully, he wasn't the kind who sang like a canary. Maybe he should off him; he still had a reputation to protect and wasn't fond of the idea of going to prison.

  Without a doubt, he planned to go after Milosovici. The smug sonofabitch sat in his club, shared drinks and smokes with him, and paid for one of his girls with what turned out to be U.S. government money. Kennedy's daughter belonged to him; there was simply no way around that. He might not have said so to Kennedy, but he planned to reclaim her; the thought of being able to collect more money on the pretty, virginal American made his mouth water with greed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Brooke startled awake at the sound of a doorknob turning. She lifted her head, and saw that the knob to her room was slowly turning, creaking quietly. Perhaps her father was coming to check on her.

  However, the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention, and her gut swirled with alarm. The door slowly creaked open, and she immediately sent up a prayer that she was just having a dream.

  There they were, in the guest room of her father's house—the men who took her from the restaurant two days ago. Her breath froze in her chest, her blood slowed to a soupy crawl, and the icy tendrils of dread needled at every muscle in her body.

  “Hello again, printesa.” The man from the ladies' room leered at her as he stepped into the room.

  Brooke sank back against the pillows, willing the mattress to open up and swallow her. Then, the last thing she could have predicted happened—her father appeared in the doorway of the room, adding to a wall of men attempting to surround her. His face was ashen pale, his brow glistened with sweat, and the most distraught and agonized expression she had ever seen was on his face.

  “D-dad?” She stammered. “What's going on? Why are these men here?” Where were Petre and Serghei?

  “I'm so sorry, Button.” His voice came out in a broken whisper.

  Brooke's mind completely shut down, and her instincts and reflexes took over within a nanosecond. The two thugs advanced toward her, and she exploded into action in a burst of pure survival. She sprang up from the bed, her right hand snapping up and cracking the first man in his nose with an upward swing. He howled in pain as he grabbed his nose, blood gushing from behind his fingers. The second man started toward her, arms outstretched to grab her. She folded herself at the waist, ducked under his questing arms, and with a solid shove of her shoulder, pushed her father aside as she bolted out of her bedroom door.

  She flew down the stairs, her sock-covered feet threatening to slip on the hard wood, and was out the door before anyone could catch up to her.

  Brooke didn't know how long she ran; only that she had disappeared around a corner before the men could get out of the house and to a car to catch her. They wouldn't have had any clue which direction to start looking.

  Her father... Her father was willing to turn her over to those men. Had he set her up in the first place? Her father had been acting strange that day, jittery; nervous, and wouldn't look her in the eye. The deep ache of betrayal began to set in.

  It was dark, it was cold, and she was only in a sweatshirt, leggings, and socks. She sprinted down the scarcely lit street, praying there was an open shop nearby.

  And then, as if the heavens opened up, she saw the lights of a small grocery store glowing on the street like a beacon of hope. She ran up to the door, and tugged on the handle. Thank you, God! The shop was open.

  A middle-aged, portly man stood behind the counter of the otherwise empty store, he looked confused by her distraught appearance. He greeted her in Romanian, and Brooke felt a sudden pang of fear that t
he language barrier would hinder getting help.

  An idea slammed into her head with the force of a hammer to the skull, and she was never more grateful for her photographic memory.

  “English?” She ran up to the counter, looking over her shoulder at the storefront window. “Do you speak English?”

  The shop owner lifted an eyebrow. “A little,” he replied.

  Brooke held her hand up to her ear in the universal sign for ‘telephone’. Her voice shaky, she managed to ask the shop owner if she could use the phone.

  “T-telephone?” Her hand shook against her ear. “Do you have a telephone?”

  Awareness dawned on the shop owner's face, no doubt finally recognizing that she was in trouble. He stepped toward the back of the store, gesturing at her to follow him. “Come with me.”

  Brooke followed him to an office. He placed an old, rotary-style phone in front of her.

  Her fingers still shaky, it took her three tries to dial the number. She prayed that she had memorized the number correctly. Finally, she held the phone to her ear, and it rang.

  Please, please pick up...

  “Hello?” A blessedly familiar voice answered on the second ring.

  “Dorin!” Relief flooded her.

  There was a short pause. “Brooke? Is that you?”

  “Yes, I need your help!”

  “What's wrong? Are you okay?” Anxious concern flooded his voice.

  Brooke proceeded to explain what had happened, her voice coming out in a frantic flurry of words.

  “Okay, it's okay,” he tried to reassure her. “Tell me where you are.”

  Where was she? She had no idea. “I—I don't know. I'm in a little grocery store a few blocks from my dad's house. I don't know the name.”

  “Is the shop owner nearby?” Dorin asked.

  “Yes, he's right here.” She looked over at the shop owner, who hovered near her with a curious expression on his face.