I wouldn’t stay quiet.
I wouldn’t obey.
My natural instinct was to lash out. To puncture their chests and rip out—
“Let go of me, you bastard!” The blonde girl, Tess, screeched and wriggled in the man’s hold. Her foot kicked his kneecap. I cheered for her. His palm crashed against her cheek. I pitied her.
He dropped her to the floor as if to stomp on her head, but his partner muttered something in Spanish, and he chuckled instead. Hauling her to her feet, he shoved her through the door, stepping out of the way as more men entered to shepherd the rest of us.
Another girl gave in to the urge to rebel, shouting something in Swedish. A man buried a fist in her belly, sending her crashing to the floor.
Backing away, he left her crumpled at his feet and snarled at us to follow.
I lagged behind the tired, shuffling captives, going as close to the punched girl as I could.
She pushed herself upright on wobbling legs, groaning and wrapping her arms around her middle.
Our eyes connected.
Our voices stayed silent.
We nodded in joint sisterhood.
She had the same instinct.
To fight.
To stand up.
To say no to injustice.
But there was a time for violence and a time for patience. Only a few could balance the righteous heat with cold calculation. I shoved that fiery desire to destroy them deep into a heart pumping antifreeze through my blood, granting icy control.
Tess and this other girl didn’t have that trick.
They gave in to the wildness being in a cage caused. They stormed ahead with attitude and hands fisted, painting a target on their backs to be hurt.
Up ahead, Tess refused another order.
She earned a heavy cuff to her head.
She stumbled.
A noise of hatred rumbled in my chest.
A swat came for me, but I ducked and kept my eyes on the ground. I didn’t let the monster touch me, but I didn’t look at him. I didn’t goad him into trying again.
Tess tripped but didn’t fall, and together, we all marched where the men commanded.
Passing door after door, I nursed my rage as we finally entered a room that looked transplanted from a jailhouse.
Multiple showerheads all in a line with no privacy or seclusion. Cracked white tiles held yesterday’s dirt and yellowed soap littered the unsanitary floor.
Tess was jerked forward by the man wearing a leather jacket. He laughed and commanded she strip.
She spat in his face.
A gasp sounded down the line of women.
I smothered a groan of despair and winced as the man ploughed a fist into her cheekbone. Most of the girls looked away as the man muttered something, then stripped her. Ripping off her clothes, destroying any belief that her body was her own.
By the time she stood naked and shivering, her cheek swollen to twice its size and tears trickling unbidden, my control over the lashing, licking fury rattled at its bars.
I wanted to bolt forward and murder the man who’d hurt her.
I wanted a gun to slaughter them all.
I wanted to save these poor women, huddled like little sheep, bleating before the executioner.
I was a swarm of buzzing, pissed-off hornets, and it was so, so hard to swallow back the sting of savagery. Instead, I focused on survival and undressed as men poked and prodded us to obey.
The ritual was symbolic.
Yet another play on our distress.
Take away our clothes—the final pieces of our past, and they’d taken everything. Look at our bare skin and perve at our naked breasts and demote us to nothing more than a toy.
A few girls reached their limit as the jailors leered and reached to sample the weight of a breast or the heat between their legs. They crumpled to the tiles only to be kicked until they crawled into the showers.
Outwardly, I didn’t move.
My spine stayed straight. My chin held high. My long brown hair kissed above my ass, and my firm breasts belied the racing of my vehemence-filled heartbeat. I didn’t look at them as they looked at me. I didn’t give them the satisfaction of breaking me just by a stare.
My body was mine.
It didn’t matter they’d taken my clothes or my freedom. As long as breath existed in my lungs and coolant continued to smother the tempestuous hate in my veins, then I was above them.
The guy with the scar wrapped his hand in my hair and forced me to kneel.
He spat as he shouted violent words in a language I didn’t understand.
I kept the glowing hatred far away from showing in my grey eyes. I let him jerk me side to side. I ordered my muscles to go ragdoll with submission and not leap to my feet to destroy him.
Patience was a virtue.
Patience was a gift.
Patience will grant my freedom.
Bored with my aloofness, angry at my non-reaction, the man tossed me into the showers with the other women. Icy rain fell from grimy showerheads, plastering my hair to my shoulders.