The Hitman's Secret Love Child: Second Chance Romance
Page 35
Maybe I’d never know the answer to that question...
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My head hurt and my mouth and lips were craving any type of liquid. I swiped my tongue across my lower lip, but it was only a temporary relief, making the dryness worse rather than better. While my head was feeling hazy, I knew I wasn’t home in my soft, warm bed. I was on a bed of some sort, hard and lumpy. I imagined it was what a prison cot would feel like. When I slowly opened my eyes all I saw was darkness; it took me a moment to realize I was blindfolded.
Lying completely still, scared any movement would gain the attention of whomever it was who took me, I concentrated on the sounds around me. My head was hurting so damned bad, a continuous thump against my temples making it hard to concentrate on anything but the pain. Forcing myself to focus beyond the pain I heard soft whimpers coming from the left of me and a couple of female voices. They were speaking too low for me to make out what was being said.
After an unknown amount of time, I finally felt assured whoever it was who took me was not in the room so I struggled to sit up on the cot and realized my hands were free. I immediately ripped the blindfold from my eyes and blinked several times, my eyes adjusting to the dim light of the room.
“OhmyGod…” I hardly believed my eyes as I scanned the room, which was actually a dungeon, with 6x8 cells of women lining the walls.
The murmurs of whoever was speaking a moment ago stopped and every set of eyes – all young women who I guessed to be between the ages of 15 and 25 – in the room focused on me. Slowly I slid from the cot and tested my legs on the concrete floor; they seemed to hold me so I rose up to my feet and walked to the front of the cell.
I counted the women in the room. There were twenty cages and twelve had women in them, a mixture of blonde and brunette, Caucasian, African-America, and Asian. All beautiful and slender and naked. I looked down at my cheerleader uniform and wondered why I was allowed my clothing when the others weren’t.
“Where are we?” I looked from one face to the next, but none offered up an explanation. They simply stared.
“Please. Tell me. What’s going on?”
“Shhhh. Lower your voice or they’ll come.” My head whipped to the cell to my immediate left to see a tall, black woman with long, mussed-up black curls motion for me to come closer.
Hoping for some sort of answer I walked over to her and leaned in closer. “What’s going on?”
“You’re for sale now, honey.”
“What?” Even though I asked the question the situation became perfectly clear. I was a hardcore book junkie and I loved true stories and documentaries, especially ones involving women who’d been taken for various reasons. A class I planned on taking for my fall courses was on the human slave trade – the irony that I may just be part of what I planned to study wasn’t lost on me. Never had I considered I’d be one of them. I had a very good idea of the scenarios that could play out for me; the knowledge was both a blessing and a curse.
“We stay here until we’re ready for sale. They take us out once in a while for training and to be put on display or to auction us and then throw us back here until they’re ready for us.”
“How long have you been here?”
The woman shrugged. Upon looking closer at her I saw her body was littered with long red gashes, especially on her backside and lower back. Her lip was cut and slightly swollen. I didn’t even want to imagine what she’d endured and the scary thing was she appeared to be one of the women in the best condition.
I looked around the room once again. There were no windows so there was no telling what time of day it was. One string of dim fluorescent lights running from one end of the room to the other hung above us, lighting the room, and there was only one steel door in and out. Looking behind me I saw my cell contained three things, a cot, a bucket and a roll of toilet paper.
So kind of them to supply ass wipe.
Seeing the bucket made me realize one more thing; it fucking stunk in there, a combination of piss, shit, puke and blood. It was nasty, but despite the smell it seemed to be as clean as a dungeon could be.
“So what happens now?”
We heard footsteps outside of the door and a key working the lock. The black woman’s eyes widened and she stepped away from the bars and rushed to her cot, sitting down and lowering her eyes to the floor. The other women followed suit, scurrying to their cots and keeping their eyes glued to the floor.
“Sit and pray they’re not coming for you. Now shut up and get in position,” my neighbour hissed under her breath.
I crinkled my nose up at her, get in position? Despite her warning I couldn’t. I walked to the front of my cell and prepared to meet my captors. I swallowed down a lump of fear threatening to overtake me. I needed to stay calm, focused, if I wanted to get out of this alive. Losing myself in my fear wasn’t going to help. I needed to plan, strategize, wait for the best moment to try and gain my freedom – until then I would go along with whatever they wanted me to. I’d be the star captive, until they let their guard down. Then I’d take my chance at freedom.
Gwen Anderson is nobody’s slave.
The lock disengaged and the door flung open.
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