Tears sprang to my eyes, but I endured the pain.
I did not flinch.
I did not cry.
I just kept staring at the ceiling, commanding my blood to calm, my heart to behave, and my will to survive to stay stronger than my call to be feral.
When his abuse earned no reaction, the man let loose a stream of Spanish slurs and grabbed a sterile packet with a syringe.
The packaging crinkled and crackled as he tore through it.
The light glinted off a thick needle.
Nausea clawed through my tight control. I almost broke. I almost thrashed and begged not to be drugged or knocked out, but…I stayed as silent as a tiny mouse. A mouse that could slip through cat’s claws because it was wily and quick and nimble.
That was me.
I would be that mouse.
I would slip free…eventually.
One man jerked my neck to the side, while the other happily caused me pain by shoving the needle into my flesh and shooting something inside me.
It burned.
It bruised.
I bit my lip to silence my internal and external reaction.
With faces blackened with hate for me, they scanned my throat with a technological device. Pain blazed as a small beep sounded, and they nodded. “Works. She is tagged.” The man tossed the syringe onto his tiny table of horrors, ripped off the gloves, and added them to the pile on the floor, then snapped his fingers. “Take her. Vamoose.”
The buckles were unlatched from my wrists and ankles, and the rope around my neck tugged until I collapsed off the chair. The towel slithered off my body. The twine cut off my air supply. I battled with the urge to be above what they’d done to me versus the need to breathe.
Standing, I ignored my nakedness and reached, as regally as I could, to loosen the knot around my throat.
The man with nose hair and bad breath blew putrid kisses at me, grabbing his crotch and promising, “If you not sell tonight, I have you. I’m gonna stick this inside you and find a way to make you scream.”
I allowed one act of rebellion.
Two, actually.
One, I gave him the finger.
Two, I strode toward the door without waiting for him, without my towel, and unlocked the handle before storming forward.
My long hair clung damply to my back. My bare skin puckered with cold. The rope snagged tight before he lurched into action and followed me.
The captor following the captive.
He yanked on my leash, signalling to go right instead of left back to the bunkroom. I yielded to his direction. No other girls. No familiar darkness.
I was once again on my own.
One step in front of the other.
Head held high.
Spine braced.
Was Scott looking for me?
Had he alerted the authorities?
Had he been proactive and reported my disappearance or slow to make a decision, thinking I’d gone off on my own?
Our fight a few days before my abduction came to mind.
I’d wanted to travel to Asia next. He’d wanted to go to South America and Mexico. Normally, we could compromise, but I’d found out he’d promised a friend that he’d be in Cancun for a bachelor party next month. I felt cheated out of decision-making, and he was pissed at my unwillingness.
The joys of a new relationship.
The struggles of knowing how to find common ground.
But despite our little domestic, surely he would know I wasn’t the type of girl just to walk out after a spat? I was loyal to a fault. I would never cheat or backstab. I would always accept if I was wrong and do my utmost to fix a problem or have the courage to admit it wasn’t working.
The trafficker slapped my ass, dragging me back to hell.
I didn’t look over my shoulder.
He spat at me.
His horrid saliva trickled down my shoulder blades, sticking in my long hair.
I didn’t even shudder.
“Puta,” he hissed. “You notice me. You respect me.”
I didn’t stop walking.
I probably should have stopped walking.
I shouldn’t have been so bold in my dismissal of his control. One moment, I was free, the next, a sickening hug enveloped me, his arms coiling tight, squeezing me into him.
His tongue entered my ear.
He ground his erection into my lower back.
His lust was a vile, villainous thing.
I almost snapped.
I almost let out the blood-curdling scream that lived just above my heart. I almost sliced him with every nail I possessed.
But I bit my tongue.
I endured.
He gyrated against me. “Maybe I buy you. Use you for one week and then kill you.” He grabbed my hips and pistoned hard into me. My breasts jiggled. My stomach threatened to evict its measly contents.
I just waited for him to stop.
Temporary!
It pissed him off.
It was the last straw on his temper.
Shoving me to the floor, he jerked at the rope around my neck, strangling me from behind. Instinct shot my hands up to link fingers under the twine, pulling at the tightness, seeking air.