“Baby girl, answer me.”
Words didn’t work. I tried to form them, but my mouth refused to cooperate. My head bobbed, agreeing to his demand. He gave me a long look but seemed to come to some decision because he spun around and headed to a counter at the far end of the room. That’s when I smelled it—the amazing aroma of coffee.
While he poured my cup, I took a moment to glance around the room. Long and narrow, it held a row of chairs. Seven were occupied by girls like me; girls with sunken eyes and trembling lips.
The girl beside me sipped at the cup she cradled in her hands, or tried to. Her hands shook so hard, she nearly spilled coffee over the ivory silk of her gown. Fear ghosted across her face and she lowered the cup to her lap.
I took in the other girls. Beneath their terror and sallow complexions, they were all pretty like me. Some might be called gorgeous. All the races were equally represented and we all appeared to be about college age. Maybe I should find some solace in that. Whatever this was, they weren’t trafficking in children.
My gut sank with the sudden truth my mind refused to accept.
Human trafficking.
I’d been abducted.
The dress, the makeup, all of it pointed to only one thing. The hammering of my heart returned, and my gut clenched. The sudden urge to bolt died the moment the man returned with a steaming cup of coffee.
He held it out to me. “Drink up, baby girl. You need to be steady on your feet.”
I took the cup wordlessly. While I wanted to rant and rave, I already understood it would be a waste of energy.
Be smart?
Did that mean resisting wasn’t an option? Physically, I could do nothing. This fact I accepted.
None of the girls spoke. The one at the far end of the row whimpered, but shut up when the man snapped his fingers in front of her face. “You don’t want to ruin that makeup, sweetie.” It seemed he had nicknames for all of us.
The girl jumped with his harsh words. I gripped the mug, taking comfort in the warmth heating my palms. It smelled amazing, but was it safe to drink?
They’d already flooded my body with drugs. Could I afford to risk it? Instead of sipping the coffee, I held it tight and lifted it to breathe in the rich fragrance. Temptation pulled at me to take a sip, but I’d heard too many stories of girls getting roofied at bars…Wait a minute!
What was my last memory? My brain was so fogged, I couldn’t remember anything. How had I been abducted? When had I been taken? These holes were more frightening than all the rest.
It wasn’t amnesia. I knew my name.
With another sniff of the coffee, I sorted through the cobwebs. A sophomore in college, I had just turned nineteen. My major was undeclared, but I had plans to move out of Arts and Sciences and into the School of Architecture.
My fingers tapped the coffee mug as I tried to piece together my life.
Okay, last memory?
Squeezing my eyes together, I forced myself to churn through my memories. I remembered my childhood, beautiful moments full of smiles, laughs, and love. High school came in a rush of an awkward transformation from gangly youth to an unexpected beauty. I entered college with a swarm of boys eagerly seeking my attention.
But then what?
Why couldn’t I remember anything else? My major, or lack of major, was crisp in my mind. Thoughts of changing everything to pursue architecture came flooding back. But there were no memories of the past hours, days, or even weeks. It was as if a thief had come in and stolen not only my freedom, but my mind as well.
Be smart!
Shut up! I’m trying.
But was I? Another glance around revealed I was no different than all the others. In one way, or another, we’d all accepted our fate. We all sat in our chairs. We sipped our coffee. Some of us cried. Mine were not the only whimpers. Not a single one of us resisted. And to a girl, none of us looked like we believed we’d landed in this hell.
Chapter 11
The man overseeing us suddenly left. In his absence, I turned to the whimpering girl next to me with hopes of getting answers. Her fingers tightened on her coffee mug and her wide, terrified eyes, took me in. When I opened my mouth, she shook her head and pointed to the far corner of the room. Following the direction of her finger, I located the camera.
We were being watched.
No one told me not to speak, but none of the girls filled the silence with words. I curled my feet beneath me, realizing for the first time we all wore gowns of the same ivory hue, and I buried my questions in silence.
Without a table to put my cup on, I cradled it in my lap while waiting for whatever came next. Many long minutes later, the door banged open.
The man from before pushed a stumbling girl through the doorway. Her terrified eyes latched on to mine and took in the row of girls sitting with me. The man placed her in the chair beside me. Repeating the same scene from when I arrived, he went to fix her a cup of coffee. Without a word, I touched her hand.
There was nothing to say, and she was smart enough to know speaking wasn’t allowed. She brushed her fingers over mine as we shared mutual strength. For the next hour, that scene repeated itself. He came in, deposited a girl, made her coffee and left to grab the next in line.
What would happen when all the chairs were filled?
I wasn’t a person who scared easily, but the fear of God had been put into me. Unlike the girl at the front of the line, I refused to allow my fear to manifest. There was no way these men would see me tremble again.
Maybe.
The liquid in my cup cooled, but I didn’t need the caffeine, or whatever was laced in that drink. Slowly, my senses came back to me. I stretched out my legs and wiggled my toes. Not brave enough to get out of my chair, I did what I could to check on the status of my body.
My pinky finger was most definitely broken. Did I dare straighten it myself? The queasy reply of my stomach said No. I stared at my poor pinky finger and chose to ignore it. There were enough other places on my body which ached and throbbed.
One of the girls sitting to my left lifted her hand over her head. The man who delivered us turned and cocked his head.
“Yes?”
“Please, may I use the restroom?”
He walked over to the last girl and handed over her cup. “Drink up, hun.” He pivoted to the girl who raised her hand. “Anyone else need to use the facilities?”
A nervous shifting preceded several raised hands. Not knowing what was to happen, I decided I didn’t want to face whatever it was with a full bladder. My arm lifted into the air.
He scanned us, then pointed to the first two girls in the row. “Two at a time. No talking and behave.”
The two girls stood. He took their cups from their shaking hands and placed them on the counter. Then without another word, he went to the door.
I looked on with the same longing as the girl beside me. None of us wanted to be in this room, waiting for whatever would befall us. But other than relief from the pinching in my bladder, were the devils out there any better than what awaited us in here?
An hour passed, maybe more. It was hard to tell, but we all took turns heading outside to use the restroom. Each time one of us rose, I couldn’t help but wonder at our gowns.
Ivory white?
Were we to be sacrificed?
My mind headed in a million directions. My gut refused to believe we were being led to some sacrilegious chopping block, but there had to be some madness to how we had been clothed. Were we meeting our maker? Why did that thought keep swirling in my head? Either our literal maker, or a devil revealed in the flesh, there was no denying what awaited us.
We were to be sold.
But to what purpose? I needed to know the answer. If we were to be sacrificed, if there was no room for rescue or redemption, then I needed to know. I needed to brace for what came next.
Whatever hell waited for me, I would face it without fear. But what if my end wasn’t in the cards? What if the hell
I envisioned wasn’t what I would face at all?
What if I was to be given to a monster? Sold to the embodiment of the worst the world had to offer? If I didn’t die, could I endure the horrors to come?
Honestly, I didn’t think I had the strength within me. I’d like to think I was strong and could survive anything, but the honest truth was that I was terrified of what happened next.
When my turn came, I handed over my mug with more regret than I should. Whatever was in that cup had to be laced with a terrible drug, but it smelled divine. The man placed in charge took the mug from my trembling hands without comment. I suppose the fact that I stood on steady legs was enough to convince him I didn’t need the caffeine. Which led me to believe that coffee had not been laced with a drug at all.
I filed out of that room with the girl beside me. We walked down the hall. The man gestured to a door. We entered and squatted on the toilets inside. Without a word, we washed our hands and rejoined our silent guard. There was no reason to speak. What escape could we plan?
This left me to wonder…who were they? If I knew who my enemy might be, I could combat them.
Be smart!
Well, I was trying.
I was always about pushing for success. Who could I beat? Who could I surpass? What glass ceiling could I break?
Women didn’t go into architecture?
Sign me up!
Women didn’t become engineers?
I knocked down those walls.
There wasn’t an obstacle that stood between me and my dreams. The ferocity burning in my veins led me ever forward. I just never imagined this would be my path, but I refused to be defeated. Somehow, someway, I would prevail.
I had to believe this because our guard went to the far door and ordered us to our feet.
It was time.
Chapter 12
I spent the morning and afternoon catching up on sleep. The past few days, playing the part of a playboy on steroids, taxed my limits. It was sad, but my body still followed the rhythms of prison life. Lights out at nine p.m. Quiet hour after 10 p.m. The hours between ten p.m. and six a.m. were the only moments I allowed my guard to drop.
My cellmate had been a weak man, but smart. He never once tried to pull anything on me. We developed an alliance of sorts with him reporting things I needed to know. In exchange, I protected him during the day and he allowed me to sleep without fear.
I slept like the dead within the safety of our cell, because when daylight spilled through the tiny window, it was time to unleash the monster who kept us both safe. I prowled the common areas, restless and on alert, looking for those showing signs of weakness and fools brave enough to challenge me.
I felt restless and cagey.
Preparing for the evening’s event left my gut a mangled, twisted knot. With each piece of clothing I put on, the sane pieces of my existence drifted away. To get through tonight, the monster within must rule. I gave grudging ground as it reared its ugly head.
I wasn’t used to wearing a tuxedo with the same confidence I carried prison orange. Not used to the confining fabric, it was a battle to keep from fidgeting, but I managed.
I took the Harley to the auction, even though I could have ridden in a Porsche, Lambo, or Viper. There was nothing I wanted which was out of my grasp. Money did that. Whatever I wanted was mine.
But, the freedom of the Harley was something I sorely needed. I made the choice to proceed with this insane venture. It wasn’t forced upon me. Once again, I would be on stage, judged from all those around me, and sized up for the power I either held or gave away. In this, I wouldn’t fail.
I was ready.
I arrived to the designated place and entered the lobby of a well-appointed residence. Following my greeter, I was led deeper inside, down a set of stairs where the walls turned from wood to cold concrete and then back again to rich, burled wood.
I was led to a theater of sorts with plush leather recliners arranged in two rows. My fingers danced over the buttery leather, tracing out the seams with a restless energy. The obnoxious sum paid for these chairs turned my stomach, but I kept an outward appearance of diffidence to the opulent surroundings.
I hated how much I enjoyed the warmth of the leather. The feel beneath my fingers as they skimmed across the supple leather had the beast within me growling. Eleven others joined me in this room.
I had been the last to arrive and all eyes fixed on me. No doubt, they had bank accounts the size, or larger, than mine.
Chambers had been uncertain whether to pad my account. I fed into his fears, knowing I would need the cash for what came next, but the truth was no matter the sum I bid, the girl named Clara would be mine. I didn’t know if I was the smallest fish in this proverbial pond or one of the mighty swimmers, but it was clear wealth dripped from those seated here.
They gave cautious nods. Knowing my past, and why we were all here. They welcomed me to the darkness. Not that it mattered. I would never see any of them again after tonight.
The chairs had been arranged into two loose rows. Mine perched in the back, elevated on risers to ensure I had an unobstructed view of the stage. There was no bad seat in the room. A raised platform at the front formed the stage and gleamed with the brilliance of too much gilded magnificence. Gaudy and overstated, it said more about the owner’s insecurities than anything else. A glance at my watch showed less than five minutes before the main event.
Of those gathered, I was the only one not engaged in hushed conversation with those seated next to me. This suited my purposes, and I used my time to observe those around me as I affected a bored disinterest. They had no idea what to expect of me, but they knew to be wary.
A gong sounded, announcing the beginning of the event. I leaned back, my newly manicured nails biting into the soft leather. Resisting the urge to lean forward, I straightened my bowtie. It was the only adjustment I allowed. Light flickered off my diamond cufflinks, splitting into a million rainbows.
The men gathered had made their fortunes any number of ways, but no matter the start, money made money, and these men swam in it. The one thing money couldn’t buy was relief from boredom. And what could be more exciting than controlling the destiny of another person?
The hush, when it came, began with the man sitting to the far left. His scratchy tenor stopped mid-sentence when the lights dimmed. Similar reactions bounced around the room. Yapping mouths closed, overtaken by rapt expressions on every face but mine.
Then it began, a swell of music, faint at first. I thought I might be imagining it, but the beat pulsed in my veins, building higher and higher, and sinking into my bones. A spotlight highlighted the center of the stage and fragile shapes appeared, all draped in ivory white.
Shoulders slumped and faces stretched with fear. All had long hair, blondes, brunettes, and fiery reds, glistening in tumbling cascades.
These girls had no defense against the men who lusted for what did not belong to them.
Twelve beautiful girls.
For sale.
Twelve devils with far too much power.
When this evening was done, their beauty would turn into an ugly thing as the gavel rapped and destroyed their lives.
All except one.
But Clara would not come out of this unscathed. I would become her Master and her destruction would come by my hands. It had to, or none of this would work.
The emotions of the girls were not hidden. Their eyes danced with fear. Pain creased in the deep furrows lining their brows. I searched their faces, curious as to which would belong to me.
Then I saw Clara.
Proud and defiant, my girl’s strength leapt across the impossible gulf separating us. She didn’t know she already belonged to me, but she did understand I would take her spirit and break it.
Beaten, bruised, but not defeated, her gaze held steady with a spark of intelligence which couldn’t be denied. I respected the mettle of her soul.
Forgive me.
A means to an e
nd, Clara and I had one purpose. An endless ocean of grief separated our worlds of what should and should not be. There would be no reconciling that gap, because to secure my freedom, she was the treasure I would destroy.
As I looked into her eyes, all the beauty of the universe couldn’t hope to compete with her pristine innocence. That I would be the man to ruin her perfect life forced the bile from my stomach to rise to my throat. The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few, or some such shit. I hated that saying. Tonight, Clara would be the one who suffered.
When did I become such a vacuous philosopher? Even I knew those words were those of the weak.
I stared into her terrified eyes and saw nothing but the spirit of a fighter. In her steady gaze and in the rigid set of her spine, she braced to survive. I would save her, eventually, but first she would break beneath me.
I wish I had a tenth of her strength. After everything I had endured, I didn’t hold an ounce of her power. Her passion, and the grit with which she held herself together, made her heart-stoppingly gorgeous.
Like the ivory billowing around her legs, her beauty overwhelmed me, hitting me with a punch to the gut. But hers wasn’t a classic beauty. Compared to the others, I could see how her radiance could be overlooked. I found myself riveted, needing to know everything about the woman with the clenched hands and impotent fists.
The auction began.
Men fought over the first girl. With hair the color of onyx, she wouldn’t command the sums the blonde beauties demanded or the feisty redheads claimed. I felt sorry for those girls because of the horrors they would endure.
Clara peered through the bright lights shining down on her to judge those of us who determined her fate. With shoulders rolled back and chin held high, she greeted us with unequaled character.
I almost missed the beginning of the bids placed upon her. She glided across the stage, guided by the firm grip of her handler. The slight slapping of her bare feet added a rhythm to the soft classical music piped in through the speakers. The music played as the women were paraded past us without pause.
Embracing Fate: A Captive Hearts Novel Page 10