by Nicole Fox
It’s that thought that propels me across the room with the half of the granola bar extended.
She stares through me and my food offering, but when I press it into her hand, her fingers close around it.
“You can have it,” I whisper. “Please. We’re all worried.”
The blonde woman snorts. “I’m not worried about her. I’m worried about being sold to some man in eastern Europe who doesn’t speak English.”
Despite this, the silent girl lifts the bar to her mouth and takes the tiniest of bites. It is barely enough to even notice, but it is something. I spin around and grab her a glass of water, watching as she takes a sip of that, as well.
It isn’t much, but it is something.
“Europe?” Sadie asks. “What do you mean?”
The girl continues to eat—slowly and sparingly, but still—and I move back over to sit next to Tati, distracting her so she won’t read anyone’s lips. I don’t want her to know more about our situation than she needs to.
“That’s where we’re headed,” the girl says. “I’ve heard about the operation a few times on the streets, but I didn’t think I’d ever have to worry about it. Now look at me.” She laughs grimly.
“The streets?” Sadie asks.
“I’m a prostitute,” the woman says with one eyebrow raised, waiting for Sadie to blanch or reprimand her. “Or a ‘sex worker,’ as the politically correct among us like to say.” She laughs, a dry, bitter sound.
“What’s your name?” Sadie asks.
The woman casts her gaze to the ceiling like she’s too good for the conversation, but she crosses her arms and answers. “Annika.”
“I’m Sadie. And these are Courtney and Tati,” Sadie says, introducing us. “What do you know about this operation, Annika?”
She shakes her head. “Not much. They send women to eastern Europe via ships, sell them, and then return for more. That’s the nice thing about human cargo. It’s always reproducing. Like fucking rabbits.”
Suddenly, I can smell the salt in the air. And the rustle from outside that I’d written off as the wind in the trees is obviously waves.
We’re near the water.
Near the docks.
My stomach clenches. We’re going to be sold.
I push my packaged dinner to the side and lean back against the wall, no longer hungry.
It’s good to know something about what is happening to us, I suppose. But then again, maybe I’d rather not know.
I close my eyes, trying to drown out the now obvious sound of waves lapping against the shore, and try to focus on Dmitry. I have to believe he is coming for us or I’ll never survive. I have to believe he didn’t betray me, or I’ll die.
I fall asleep, wondering what Dmitry is doing right now.
He is just a bump under the covers, sliding lower and lower down the mattress, and I swat playfully at what I suspect is his head.
“Tati will be up any minute,” I argue, though I open my legs wider, letting Dmitry crouch between them.
He pulls back the blankets, smiling up at me with a lopsided grin. “Then we better hurry.”
It should be illegal to feel this good first thing in the morning. I have bad breath and I know my hair is a mess, no doubt sticking up in every direction, but my body is liquid heat. Dmitry works my panties aside and swipes his finger down my center, and I roll my hips, moaning softly to encourage him.
He doesn’t need any encouragement, though.
We’ve been married for six months, and Dmitry still treats every day like our honeymoon. Constant kisses and touching, letting me know he wants me, desires me.
Part of me worried after I had Olivia that he wouldn’t look at me the same way, that he wouldn’t desire me the way he did before. But if anything, his taste for me has grown, and I don’t have a single complaint.
Dmitry lowers his head, and when his breath hits my center, I gasp. His hands are strong on my thighs, holding my legs apart, and I tense. Waiting for the moment when he’ll finally touch me. Anticipating the moment when he’ll put me out of my agony and kiss me in all the places I long to be kissed.
“You taste so good to me,” he says just loud enough that I can hear it, though I’m way more focused on the warmth of his words against my sensitive skin.
I slip my hand under the covers and caress his stubbly cheek. “Prove it.”
His lips are soft and gentle as they suck and massage, but it’s like an electric bolt through my body. My thighs clench, and I grab a fistful of his silky hair. I hold him to me even though I know he isn’t going anywhere. Even though I know he’s going to stay there until I’m crying out his name, until my body is limp and spent beneath him.
Dmitry is a lot of things, but he is not a selfish lover. He gives and gives and gives.
His tongue flicks across me, and I tumble over the edge before I can stop myself. I’m gasping and shaking, and then I give in and it isn’t falling at all. I’m flying.
Dmitry presses a kiss to me, peels my panties down my legs, and then crawls over me.
Then, he takes me.
I wrap my legs around his lower back, hooking my ankles, and he slides into me in one thrust.
Our bodies slap together at a crushing pace that still isn’t enough. I roll my hips up to meet him halfway and arch my back, trying to give him more. To give him everything.
Then, his mouth is on my breast.
I don’t even remember when he took off my shirt, but it’s gone, and now that his warm mouth is over my nipple, his tongue flicking me, I don’t want it back.
His hand snakes through my tangled hair and tugs, arching my back even further, and he bites my nipple until I’m on the verge of pain.
But this could never be pain.
The way our bodies come together is art. Pure and simple.
“More,” I gasp. “Please.”
Dmitry growls and slides out of me. In an instant, I’m lying on my stomach, and he is propping me up on my knees.
Taking and taking and taking.
But you don’t need to take what is freely given.
I want this. I want him.
I can’t imagine there was ever a time where I didn’t burn for him this way. Where I didn’t ache for him to fill me the way he does.
Dmitry digs his fingers into my hips and thrusts into me. I gasp and then roll with his pace, pushing against him as he meets me again and again.
I spread my arms out in front of me and bury my face in the mattress so I can scream his name as loud as I want.
Dmitry grabs my hair and lifts my face. “I want to hear you say my name.”
“Dmitry,” I moan, settling my hips back against him until our bodies are flush, and I’m filled with nothing but him and my love for him. My husband.
“Courtney,” he whispers, caressing me with his words and his touch. His hand slips around my waist and finds my center, and I can’t see straight. I squeeze my eyes closed and fight to keep in the scream of pleasure dying to break out of my chest.
His finger circles and flicks to the pace of his thrusts, and my body is his. He owns me entirely.
“Dmitry, yes,” I whimper, my legs shaking with the impending orgasm. “Please. More.”
He doesn’t tease me. Dmitry grabs my hips again and sets to work to give me what I need. At the same time, he is finding his own bliss.
I feel his movements become more purposeful. He pauses with each thrust, moaning to the speed of our connection. When he jerks with release, I am already falling.
Our bodies find pleasure together, clenching and pulsing, entirely vulnerable in front of the other.
When we’re both finished, Dmitry falls on top of me with a loud sigh, and I laugh, pretending the weight of him on my back isn’t perfect. “You’re crushing me.”
“What a way to go, though, huh?” he teases. “Most people would love to be so lucky.”
“You sure do have a high opinion of yourself.”
He rolls to the si
de, kissing my shoulder blade, and then gives me a devastating smile. “Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t cry out my name so often. It’s giving me a big head.”
I press my thumb to his bottom lip. “Well, we can’t have that now, can we? Maybe I should call someone else’s name to keep you from getting too cocky.”
His eyes spark with amusement. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I shrug and smirk. “Maybe I would. Who can say?”
He growls and crawls over me, and I can already feel he’s ready again. “Maybe you already need another reminder of who you belong to.”
I don’t say anything because I’m incapable. I’m so happy and already so desperately, desperately ready for him. I bite my lip and nod, and Dmitry has kissed halfway down my midsection when I hear our doorknob rattle.
Tati walked in on us enough times that we finally installed a lock.
She knocks three times, and Dmitry groans. “This isn’t fair.”
I drag him back up to my face and kiss him. “There will be time later.”
He’s still pouting as he pulls on his pajama pants and opens the door. But the moment he sees Tati, he beams and scoops her up into a hug. They’re still having a tickle fight when I hear Olivia start to stir through the monitor.
Within ten minutes, we’ve gone from one bliss to another with our girls lying in bed with us on a sleepy Saturday morning, and I can only look at Dmitry and smile. There are no words for this kind of happiness.
There is only love.
I’m still smiling when the door bursts open and the other women begin to scream.
There are three guards in the room with us. One of them—a man with a large tiger tattoo inked down his forearm—yanks my arm and hauls me to my feet. I carry Tati with me, holding her to my chest so she won’t be taken.
With no explanation, we’re marched out of the room and down the hallway.
A door at the end of the hall is unlocked, and I can smell the ocean. I can hear the waves clearly. And when we get outside, I can see the water.
And a ship.
I instinctively jerk against the man’s arm, and he squeezes me tighter until I wince.
“Where are you taking us?” Sadie asks.
I turn and see her guard is the man who offered us blankets and checked on Tati. I think of him as the “nice guard,” but nice is a very relative term with this crew. He is nicer, but still a monster. Still loading women onto a ship like cargo.
“Shut up,” the man holding me spits back at her. “You don’t deserve to ask questions.”
Just as he finishes, a woman at the back of the group screams, and I hear the guard scramble after her.
It’s the catatonic woman. She never said a word in the cell, but now she is shrieking and running across the dock like a madwoman.
She’s escaping.
At least, it certainly looks like she will escape. She’s running too fast for anyone to catch and no one is chasing after her.
Only when the sound of gunfire cracks through the air do I realize why. No one was chasing her because they didn’t have to. Because they have other means of making sure she can’t escape.
Her body jerks with each shot, and then she collapses on the dock.
The man with the tiger tattoo jerks me forward, tearing my eyes from the woman’s dead body on the ground. “Don’t run, or you’ll face the same fate.”
Half of my mind is still trapped in my dream with Dmitry, so I can’t understand that this is real. That this is happening.
Even as we are taken aboard a ship, walked below deck, and then locked in a small room behind a false wall, I don’t recognize that there is no going back.
Dmitry isn’t going to make it in time. He is not coming for me.
The thought tiptoes around the edge of my mind, but I don’t allow myself to focus on it. I can’t. If I do, I’ll fall apart. And I can’t do that. For Tati’s sake, I need to stay present, stay ready.
She is trembling and crying at my side, and I hug her, whispering words she can’t hear into her hair.
Sadie and I huddle around Tati and around one another, offering what little comfort can be had in such a cold, damp place.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, but the next thing I know, the door opens and the tiger man is standing there with a little girl in his arms.
When he hands her to me, I can’t even reach for her. Sadie has to do it for me.
Olivia.
Pink and perfect and asleep.
I don’t grab her until the guard is gone, and Sadie lays her in my arms.
I know on some level that I don’t want Olivia to be here. Not on this ship. Not headed for whatever horrors lie ahead.
But I can’t deny myself the pleasure of looking at her perfect face and her beautiful round cheeks. When she opens her eyes and sees me, she smiles, and I’m struck with how much she looks like her dad.
I hug her and Tati to me, crying silently as I squeeze them, and I wonder how anyone could ever hurt them.
I don’t believe Devon. I don’t believe Dmitry would ever do anything to me or his girls, but even the thought of it feels like a dagger in my stomach.
And now, at my weakest, it’s enough to kick me even lower than I already am. I don’t believe it, but I also can’t disprove it.
And now that we’re on the ship headed for our destination, I doubt I will ever know the truth.
5
Dmitry
My beard is longer than usual. I hate the sloppiness, but I try not to fuss at it as I sit in the park.
Birds peck at the cold ground and dry leaves rattle across the sidewalk. Otherwise, there is no movement. I’m alone.
It’s too cold for children to be playing. Too late for a normal person to be out. So, the few people who have passed through in the last hour have avoided me.
I don’t mind. I prefer it that way.
I stayed at the safe house for a day while I gathered my thoughts, but as soon as I had a plan, I left, and I’ve been moving ever since.
If I slow down, the Yakuza will catch up with me. They’ll find me, capture me, and any chance of saving my family will be gone.
My ratty clothes and long beard are enough to fool the basic street criminals. They weren’t suspicious at all of the man asking about the ship heading to Europe. Some of them knew nothing, some of them knew everything. They all had a price.
I paid for information on where the ship is docked, which ship it is, and where it’s headed. Within a day, I knew exactly where my family was and it took everything inside of me not to storm the vessel and get them back.
Still, sitting in the park, it’s a struggle not to move. Not to run towards where they are.
I can’t.
I can’t fight the Yakuza on my own, and I can’t take my men with me.
This has to be covert, stealthy. I can’t show up guns blazing and expect to walk away with my girls, no matter how badly I want to.
I check my watch—one of the few items I kept with me—and see that I only have a few hours left to wait.
A pimp downtown told me the ship would leave tonight. I didn’t know whether I could trust him, but he assured me the information was legit. He’d just sent one of his girls there.
“She was washed up,” he said coldly. “Stick-thin and half dead already, so I figured I’d sell her for whatever pennies the Yakuza would offer and move on. I doubt they’ll make much off her, but what do I know about the taste of European men? You got someone on board, too?”
I wanted to strangle the man right then and there, but instead I just thanked him for the information and left before I could draw any more attention to myself.
I push my sleeve down and stretch out my legs in front of me. I’m about to stand up and leave when I hear laughing. I turn and see three men moving towards me.
They’re gaunt with pockmarked faces and teeth so yellow I don’t need daylight to see them. Clearly meth heads out looking for a fix.
“Ni
ce watch,” the man in the front says. He nods to my wrist as if I don’t know where my watch is located.
I give him a one-fingered salute. The middle finger, to be exact. “Thanks.”
He laughs, but his eyes narrow. “Mind if I see it? What did it set you back? A couple hundred?”
More like a couple thousand. “Something like that.”
He steps forward and holds out his hand. “Let me see it. I’ll be real careful.”
“No thanks.” I don’t have time for this. Well, technically I do. But I don’t have the patience for this. I have enough on my mind without dealing with three junkies looking to roll over a helpless hobo.
He steps in front of me and blocks my path, his two friends flanking him. “It wasn’t a question.”
Before the words are even out of his mouth, I jam my palm into his nose.
I hear the crack of it, and then he screams.
I wipe the blood on my jeans before pivoting towards the man standing stunned on his left and leveling him with a right hook. His head snaps back, and before he even hits the pavement, the last man standing gets a straight jab to the jaw.
“Fuck!” the first guy roars, clutching his nose. “What is wrong with you?”
I rear back and kick him in the stomach—not because I need to, but because I want to. “You have no idea.”
I want to do worse to them. I want to leave them all dead and rotting on the pavement, but I don’t want to deal with the cleanup or the attention. So, I shove my hands in my pockets and walk away, listening to the men groan and try to rally behind me.
To their credit, they don’t follow after me to pick another fight. Maybe they aren’t total idiots, after all.
I don’t have enough mercy left in me to spare them a second time.
I use the last of my cash to buy a burner phone and take a taxi to another safe house within the city limits.
Pasha opens the door and grins when he sees me. “It’s good to see you.”
I hand him the phone and stalk past him into the house.
He closes the door and bites the corner of his lip nervously, his smile entirely gone. “Did you find what you needed to?”