“Iwon’t be doing anything with you. At all.” He jerks my chains forward after that kind sentiment, but based on the smooth bindings around my neck and wrist, I’d say that’s a fucking lie.
When I step into the cold, drafty hallway, he pauses at the bedroom door. His head leans in there, and I can’t see him as he looks behind the bedroom door.
But I hear him clear as day.
“Were you two hoping to see something?” His tone is stonier now. It isn’t warm and captivating. It’s harsh and accusing.
“Were you hopin’ to show us somethin’?” Another voice asks with slipping laughter peeking through his words.
...there was someone else in the room? A knot tangles in my stomach at how out of control every single aspect of my life is. I was alone in a room with men I don’t know…
What do they want with me?
“No. We thought you might need us,” a second man says.
There weretwoother people in the room!
What do they want? Why are they doing this? Did Van send these men after me?
My heartbeat drills harder, but it calms instantly when I reassure myself that Van isn’t smart enough to arrange a pizza delivery, much less a kidnapping.
A dark hum of a reply is all my captor gives them, but the other men follow us out into the hall. I don’t look at them. I don’t give reason to be treated any worse than I already am. I tuck my chin down and look at the floor, all the while counting the steps as we trail through the elusively dim hall.
The trail becomes long and twisting though. He leads me through a maze of halls, and my counting fumbles far too soon. I’ll never have an escape route in a place like this.
My chest deflates, and I close my eyes hard to hold all the emotions inside.
We make a right turn then, and my bare feet brush over thin shoes. I stumble right into someone, causing them to stagger into the man leashing me. A pale, beautiful woman kneels to the ground instantly. She throws herself down so dramatically, the white towels she was carrying messily flip from her small hands. Her head lowers until it appears she’s kissing the floor.
“I—” Do I scream for help? Rattle my chains at her and hope she’ll call 9-1-1?
But she’s bowing. Not to me.But to him.
“Prince Christian, please forgive me. I didn’t mean to touch my prince’s arm. My deepest apologies.” The woman’s strange words are quiet. Fearful.
Prince Christian?
Another stony hum of a reply is all he gives her before hauling me away. His arm, the one she stumbled into, he shifts tensely with that shoulder, as if he’s trying to shake off something that no one else can see.
His pace quickens as her words spin through my mind. My feet scatter over the cold flooring and through my fumbling steps, I realize this is far worse than I originally thought.
I’m not in New York. I’m not even in the U.S. anymore!
The handsome stranger from last night is a prince.
I’m being trafficked by a foreign prince! This is the shit my crazy, paranoid foster parents warned me about. Yes, they were fucking insane and refused to have basic internet service because, ya know, “the CIA,”but this is real! They were right about this one!
“You’re bringing her to him this early in the evening?” one of the men asks. “He’s more rational after he’s fed.”
His concern is concerning. If my kidnappers are worried about what this ringleader psycho is doing to me, then I’m having second thoughts about our complicated arrangement as well.
“Wait.” I stop abruptly, and surprisingly, so do the three men.
Wow, they’re very considerate captors. Gentlemen, really.
“Um... I have to pee.” It’s the very first pathetic thing that sputters through my mind, but it’s also something that has been repeated over and over and over again to girls.
They don’t like us dirty. They aren’t worried about our comfort but theirs. And they don’t want us pissing all over ourselves in case they’d like to...useus.