The other four cages held young women. Two of them were barely teenagers, and rage ate holes in Jane’s gut at the sight. Despite the taunt in the darkness, Jane understood that her own hope came from a place of privilege. They had all ended up in this hellhole together, but the two girls next to her would not have had her options even if they hadn’t been captured for sale. The two other women, who had been placed farthest from Jane on the other side of Fritz and Helene, looked to be in their late twenties. One appeared to have simply given up. She lay on the bottom of her cage curled into a ball. Her face bore the marks of a hard life, for despite having no wrinkles or spots, her skin had an almost gray tinge. If Jane had to guess, she’d hazard that the woman had worked in a sweatshop or some similar situation. She looked as if she never got out into the sunlight.
The last one was likely the one who’d spoken in the truck. Anger seeped from her pores, and a truculent expression set gorgeous features into severe lines. If Jane could get out, this was the woman she’d free first—she’d never stop fighting. If guards hadn’t been hustling to and fro in the warehouse, Jane would have spoken to her, tried to plan.
“How can you be so calm?” The whispered words came from Helene. “Aren’t you afraid?”
Jane glanced at the guards around them. Admissions seemed like a bad idea if the men were listening, but they did not appear to be paying the prisoners much heed. Two of them were bringing in heavy, plush chairs of red velvet. Another two were setting crystal glasses on a rolling table. The warehouse was becoming a fancy auction space before her eyes, and the platform on which the crates rested was obviously a stage. She shuddered.
“Terrified. But I learned a trick a long time ago, of putting the terror away. If I focus on planning, on facts and numbers like how many guards there are and where they’re standing and what kinds of weapons we have, then I don’t think about what might happen. I try not to worry about the future.” And once upon a time, when her life had revolved around her mother’s illness, she’d thought that was the way to live every day. She hadn’t even realized what she was missing. Before Eric, before Fritz, before Dani and poor, lost Varo. She’d lived insulated and isolated. It was surprisingly difficult to pull that shield back around her now, but the tools she’d learned from her childhood kept her stable. Otherwise, she’d likely have curled up into a ball like the woman on the end.
“But we don’t have any weapons.”
“We always have weapons. Your mind is a weapon. Your hands, your feet, your elbows and teeth. Your heart.” She remembered one of her mother’s favorite books. “Did you ever read the story of Scheherazade?”
“The Arabian Nights?”
“Yes. Now, there was a woman with no weapons, no options. She saved her own life with nothing but her imagination and her voice. You are never truly powerless. Never.”
“But that’s just a story.”
“Maybe. But the best stories all have kernels of truth. And that’s the truth I choose to believe from that tale.”
“These men won’t listen. They won’t want to hear stories.”
“No, they won’t. But neither are they monsters. They are men. Despite being corrupted, they have minds and hearts, too. Maybe you appeal to greed; maybe you appeal to kindness. You have to be smart. You have to find what they want and use it to get what you want.”
She thought about Juan. Would he be there? Could he be counted on to protect Fritz? Over the hours they’d spent at the hotel, he’d softened toward the child, but was it enough?
The auction space took shape around Jane. A fancy Persian rug was rolled out on the cement floor in front of the platform; a dozen of the velvet-upholstered chairs were set onto it, each with a small table next to it; and a bar with a large bookshelf behind it was set up with every kind of alcohol imaginable and a large icemaker that was wheeled in and plugged into the wall. Velvet curtains in a charcoal gray on rolling frames were placed all around the room, and men climbed up into the ceiling and rigged cameras that pointed down at the stage.
The process took hours, and the whole time Jane and her fellow prisoners sat in their cages. There was no way to escape, no chance to get free. The two girls next to Jane cried quietly, and one eventually fell asleep. The girl next to her reached out to check on her, but Jane understood. Sleep was simply an escape. The girl’s body needed to shut out reality for a while.
Eventually, when the warehouse had been transformed into an elegant and comfortable space that hid its true purpose, the guards turned toward their charges. Garcia, who had been at the motel with them, picked up the cattle prod that had been left lying at the edge of the stage and approached the angry young woman.
“Eres la primera, muchacha. Levántate y ven conmigo. No me de un problema, Entiendes?”
Jane got “primera” and “muchacha.” Whatever they had planned, this woman was to be first.
“Fuck off,” the woman said. Without hesitation, Garcia shoved the prod through the bars and shocked her. Her whole body convulsed, and Jane’s nerves fired in sympathy.
“Vamonos,” he ordered the minute he retracted the prod. She spat. He shocked her again, longer this time, and when he let her go she was a shaking mass in the corner of her crate.
“Vamonos,” he said again. The woman didn’t respond, but neither did she follow his order to leave the cage. “Juan! Gerardo!” he called. When the two men appeared, Garcia shocked the woman again and then had Juan unlock the crate. While she was still shaking and out of control, Juan and Gerardo reached in and pulled her out; then all three of them hustled her away. Another pair of men began bringing chairs up onto the stage. Unlike the fancy seats for the audience, these were tall metal chairs, like barstools with slatted backs.
An eternity later, the men brought the woman back. She’d been bathed and dressed in a nightgown so sheer it left virtually nothing to the imagination. She was handcuffed, and her arms showed numerous burn marks that Jane assumed were from being hit with the prod. A good deal of the fight seemed to have gone out of her, but she dragged her feet and found the strength to push back a bit until Garcia threatened to shock her again. Juan and Gerardo forced her into one of the chairs, sliding her cuffed hands over the back and using a second pair of cuffs to attach them to the rungs.
They repeated the process with the second woman, who let them drag her out of her cage without a fight but would not, or could not, walk. Gerardo lifted her up, and Garcia followed behind, holding the prod against her skin in case she decided to kick up a fuss. Jane doubted she had it in her.
In minutes, they came back with her and—after securing her to a second chair—moved on to Helene. Helene huddled in the corner of her crate and refused to come out.
“You want what she got?” Garcia asked, jerking his head at the first woman. Helene shook her head but didn’t leave the corner.
“Let her and Fritz go together,” Jane said. “They’ll help each other.”
Helene turned huge eyes on her, and she nodded with as much encouragement as she could. “This isn’t the time to fight. Get clean. Help your brother. Protect each other.”
Garcia tilted his head, and for the first time Jane realized he wore an earbud like the one she’d had with Eric. Whoever was on the other end approved of her idea, apparently, because Garcia poked Helene with the prod but didn’t shock her.
“Okay, kid, you and your sister go together. You act up, I hurt her. You got it?”
Fritz nodded. Juan leaned down and unlocked his cage, and Fritz crawled out. Jane wanted to tell him to play on Juan’s sympathies, to do his best to continue bonding. Luckily, he was a smart kid. He cowered against Juan’s side as Gerardo unlocked Helene’s cage. The siblings shared a quick embrace before Garcia shoved the prod between Helene’s shoulders and told her to get a move on.
They were gone quite a while, and every minute, Jane’s blood pressure rose. What was taking so lo
ng? Was she wrong to have told Helene to take Fritz with her? But eventually they returned. Helene was carrying Fritz on her hip as one might an infant. They’d dressed him in pajamas, but they were as skimpy and sheer as the women’s gowns, and Jane felt a howl of rage and sorrow screaming for escape at the back of her throat.
“He can sit in my lap,” Helene was arguing as they approached the chairs.
“He cannot,” said Garcia.
“We won’t cause a problem if you let us sit together.”
“You won’t cause a problem no matter what.”
Helene turned pleading eyes on Jane.
“Why don’t you pull their chairs close together? What could it hurt?” Jane asked. “Let them hold hands.”
“This isn’t recess at a fucking preschool.”
“Do you think I don’t know that? Or they don’t know that? We get it. Life is going to suck from now on. What purpose does making it worse than it has to be now serve?”
And if they were going to get out of this, Jane needed Helene and Fritz—and the rest of them—as calm as possible.
Garcia studied Helene. “No laps. But I will hook you to his chair. You can hold his hand. It will make a pretty picture for buyers.”
He shoved two of the tall metal chairs close together and hoisted Fritz into one while Helene took her time climbing into the other.
“He needs a blanket,” Jane said. “He still has a fever, and you’re going to get him chilled sitting there wearing so little.”
“That’s not how it works,” Garcia said.
“You want him passing out? Sick like he was when you brought him to me? Put a blanket around him until the auction begins.”
Garcia grumbled but ordered one of the men to bring him a blanket, which he wrapped around the boy. Jane saw a tear slip down Helene’s cheek. Don’t fall apart now. Hold it together. The silent commands were as much for herself as for Helene.
“You’re next,” Garcia said, banging her cage with the cattle prod. What would they do if she rushed them when Juan unlocked the crate? Was this the right time? As if he could hear her thoughts, Garcia pressed the prod down onto her neck as Gerardo released the padlock.
No, surrounded by men was the wrong time to fight back even though every fiber of her being shouted for her to do so. Garcia behind her with the prod against her skin, she followed Juan down from the stage to an office at the back of the building.
“Bathroom’s through there,” Garcia said. “Gown’s on the vanity. Shower and get dressed by yourself, or do it with help. Your decision.”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” Jane walked into the bathroom and turned to shut the door, only to realize there wasn’t one. Garcia laughed. She gritted her teeth. You’re going to get out of this. You’ve survived worse. But the pep talk wasn’t helping much.
Once again she climbed into the shower fully dressed. Both the water pressure and the heat were better here than at the motel. All the comforts of home. Through the flimsy shower curtain, she saw Garcia, Gerardo, and Juan deep in discussion. She washed her hair and used the conditioning shampoo sitting in a small bottle in the corner. The last thing she did was take off her clothes and leave them in a soaking pile in the shower before grabbing a towel from the pile on the vanity and wrapping it around her. Another towel she used to dry her hair before attacking it with the wide-toothed comb next to the sink. She went as slowly as she could—not difficult considering how snarled and matted her hair had become. The towel, while small, covered her better than the little negligee would, so she kept it wrapped tightly around her as she combed out her hair.
“Get a move on,” Garcia ordered after a couple of minutes.
Jane didn’t answer but gritted her teeth and pulled the little nightie over her head. God, it was worse than walking out there naked. Which she supposed was the point. A little tease, a hint of covering that did nothing to hide her nudity. The men hadn’t seemed to care with the other women, however. They were cattle, widgets, totally interchangeable products for sale, which provided an obscure kind of comfort. It’s just a body. It’s not really you.
After a long breath for courage and calm, she stepped out of the bathroom, passed the three men, and walked back to the stage without pausing. She settled herself on one of the high chairs, pressing her thighs together to maintain a sliver of privacy. The metal of the cuffs was cold as Gerardo snapped them to her wrists, and she twitched.
The process went on until all seven of them had been washed, dressed, and seated for display. Jane’s heart skipped beats, sped up despite almost constant self-admonishments to remain calm, to watch for the right time to fight back.
Screens were brought in, and the cameras that had been set up earlier were focused, tested. Jane saw herself appear at least ten feet tall on giant screens on either side of the stage. Well, hell. No hiding from that. Several of the women were openly crying now, and their sobs called to her soul, bringing a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes, but she blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall.
The lights in the warehouse, with the exception of the spotlights pointed at the stage, went out. Jane squinted and thought she might see flashlights moving about, but the stage lights were too bright to make out any details. Over the crying of the women, she heard shuffling and low voices. Near as she could guess, they sat there for about half an hour while sweat gathered on her skin from the lights and dripped down her back. Fritz, who seemed to be cried out because he’d not made a single sound since they’d brought him back from the bathroom, shrugged off his blanket.
Then out of the darkness, Velasquez’s voice came over a speaker.
“Welcome, my friends,” he said. To Jane’s surprise, he spoke in English. Perhaps it was easier for his buyers. “I am aware that you may have heard rumors about difficulties the Hijos have been having. I am here to assure you that those rumors are, if not entirely untrue, at least greatly exaggerated. As you can see, we are still in business, still providing you with the highest quality merchandise. It is true that we had hoped by this time to have a new kind of weapon to offer you, but that particular program is taking longer than we anticipated.”
A new kind of weapon. That would be men like Juan. Men she’d helped create. Jane’s stomach muscles clenched, and bile rose in the back of her throat.
“I won’t say more than that we have had breakthroughs in that arena as well, and at our next meeting I anticipate being able to offer at least a few trained soldiers. For that, I will contact interested parties individually.”
A murmur arose from the darkness.
“But this afternoon, we have an excellent array of merchandise for you to choose from. As is our usual practice, I will begin with the items I think will bring the highest prices, so you don’t have to worry about saving your money for them and then missing out.”
Jane swallowed the vomit coming up in the back of her throat.
“The first piece comes with a stipulation. She must be removed from Mexico and North America. If you cannot assure that, don’t bother bidding. If I find out she has remained here or returned to the United States or Canada, I will take it as an insult to the Hijos as an organization, and the purchaser will be punished accordingly.”
The screens at the side of the stage blinked, and Jane’s face came up on them. Then the camera panned down her body.
“This is Dr. Jane Evans. She’s about to become famous. She’s also a raging bitch.” Glee colored the words, and Jane couldn’t help remembering his comments about buyers liking to tame women. “Get her up, Gerardo.”
Gerardo came over and released Jane’s hands from the back of the chair but left her wrists cuffed together behind her back.
“Spread your legs,” he said. “Give the men a show.”
“Fuck you.”
Gerardo looked off into the darkness, then smacked Jane across the face so hard he knocked her
down. With her arms cuffed behind her, she couldn’t catch herself and landed hard on her shoulder. He was hauling her to her feet again when doors slamming and the sound of gunshots exploded through the warehouse.
Eric. She could feel it, feel him. Her hands reached behind her for the leg of the chair, and she tipped it over, then held on tight as she swung her whole body in a circle. Halfway around, the chair was ripped from her hands as it connected with Gerardo’s body. He crashed to the floor behind her, and she tried to twist, but he grabbed her hair and yanked her in front of him and stood, using her as a shield. She’d just gotten her balance when he stumbled back, almost pulling her down with him. Jane scrambled away on her knees, sure he would grab her again at any second, but he didn’t. She reached Fritz’s side and pushed to her feet. She looked for Gerardo, but he lay still, a massive blood pool spilling out around the back of his head. The bullet must have passed damned close to her face.
Thank you, Marco.
A minute later, a blond stranger was beside her with a pair of bolt cutters in hand.
“Friend,” he said when Jane jumped between him and Fritz, shielding the child. “I’m Travis. Turn around and give me your wrists.”
Christ, she didn’t want to turn her back on this man. On any man. But he looked like one of HSE’s guys, dressed in black with that same hard, battle-worn appearance Eric, Marco, and Trey all shared.
“Free Fritz first.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He went around the back of the child’s chair and snipped the chain of the cuffs, then moved down the row. The minute Helene was free, she grabbed her brother and lifted him onto her hip. He clung to her but turned his head to look at Jane.
“You didn’t lie.”
“We’re not safe yet.”
As if to prove the statement, a bullet whizzed by. Helene screamed, chaos erupted on the stage, and Travis slammed Jane to the floor, covering her with his body. “Everybody down!” he shouted.
Mind Games Page 24