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"Good, maybe she left something," I say with a sigh of relief as I retrieve the note, only for my blood to run cold when I actually read it.
1429 Hemmingway Drive.
Come alone or she's dead.
22
MORGAN
Ihuddle up in a corner far from the intimidating men who hold us hostage in the cellar. Nervous eyes bounce around the room, fear hanging in the air while we wait for the unknown. I pull my knees tighter to my chest as I will myself not to cry. I'd been in my kitchen making a sandwich when four masked men burst through the back door. I'd felt the sharp sting in my side before the room began to tilt on its axis, everything ceasing to exist soon after.
Then I woke up in a literal hell.
I observe the frightened women around me. Many of them are covered in multiple bruises with dried blood streaking their skin. They seem to be around the same age as I am, the realization sending a wave of fear crashing into me. What if I'm now a part of the very trafficking ordeal that I'd unknowingly advertised on my live a few days ago?
The cellar door opens, fearful whimpers ricocheting throughout the room as heavy footfalls descend the stairs. A slim man in a tailored suit finally appears behind a cloud of smoke, a Cuban cigar hanging out of his mouth. He murmurs something to one of the guards before he turns his attention to us, a sinister smile stretching across his face.
"I'm sorry to leave you in suspense, ladies," he starts before taking a puff from his cigar, sending a stream of smoke from his nostrils when he exhales. It's almost as if watching the real devil in action, though the only thing this shmuck is missing are horns and a pointed tail. "I'm sure you have questions, and you're probably scared; that's normal." He straightens his posture a bit, his dark gaze passing over the sea of terrified faces. "As of right now, you're now my property, though that's temporary."
"Do we get to go home?" a timid voice asks from somewhere in the group.
He sighs dramatically. "That's a good question, a valid question, really. But no. What part of 'you're now my property’ did you not hear?"
My stomach flops at the thought of never going home again, of never seeing my father or Trent or my friends again. I can't fathom the reality of being stripped of my life to be sold into a life of abuse and pain until I'm finally killed. I wonder if Trent even knows I'm missing or how to find me. I don't even know where I am to even know if I'm still in town. For all I know, I can be clear across the country right now, and no one would know the first place to look to find me.
I'm so screwed.
"As I was saying," the man continues in grand fashion, pacing the open space in front of us. "You're only going to be in my possession temporarily because all of you will go up for auction soon." Someone begins to sob in the back of the group, which starts a chain of wailing that becomes so loud that it hurts my ears. The man pulls a gun from his waist and holds it up. "The next person who interrupts me will get a bullet." When all is silent, he tucks his gun away. "We will get you cleaned up in order to take pictures for the upcoming auction. And then we'llget you ready to transport overseas since someone's boyfriend raided the last auction and has forced us to move."
My breath hitches in my throat when he points at me, all eyes falling on me. He stalks over to me, his menacing eyes promising all kinds of evil things as he moves closer.
"Your boyfriend cost us a lot of money, you know." He releases a deep sigh. "Now how do you think we can remedy that?" My tongue remains stuck to the roof of my mouth as I only stare up at him with wide eyes. I yelp when he tightly fists my blond locks, pain blooming across my scalp as he pulls. "Speak!"
"I don't know!" I whimper. This must be what Trent meant when he'd said anyone close to him would be in danger. Granted, I was already in danger because of the hit, but this kidnapping seems to be in retaliation to whatever Trent had done.
"I'm sure I can think of a few things to do with you to recoup my money. Matter of fact, let's get you ready first."
"No!" I exclaim. He tightens his hold on my hair and forces me to my feet. I fall against his chest as I stumble. He smells of disgusting aftershave, cigar smoke, and old sweat, the clash of scents making me nauseous. He pulls me over to the stairs, where the two guards still stand.
"Cyrus, take our premium merchandise here upstairs and give her the special treatment," the man said before roughly thrusting me into the guard closest to me. Cyrus wastes no time tossing me over his shoulder and heading to the main level of the building. I pummel his back as hard as I can muster and kick my legs. I just need to knock him off balance just a little to give myself a fighting chance of trying to get out of here. If his plans were to take us out of the window, my escape window is tiny. If I don't try to at least find a way out of here while I'm on the mainlevel, I'm at risk of being lost forever, just like so many other young girls before me.
Cyrus tightens his grip on me and gives me a slap on the ass that feels as if pure fire has kissed my skin.
"Knock it the fuck off, or it won't be my hand next time," he growls, his warning crystal clear. I don't even want to think about all the things he can possibly do to me if I choose to continue fighting him. The farther we move away from the cellar, the more real this situation becomes. Any plans of escape fall apart as more guards materialize around me. Each heavily muscled man we pass is equipped with an assault rifle and a scowl that can invoke fear into any person they cross paths with. But even as we make our way down a maze of corridors, I've yet to see a single exit or window. If I'm lucky enough to get out of the building, I still don't even know where I am to know where I'm able to go from here. For all I know, I can be in the middle of nowhere with nothing around for a few miles, which will do nothing but make it easy for them to catch me again anyway.
It's no use, I think with a defeated whimper. A part of me wants to be mad at Trent. He always talked so much about keeping me safe, but now he's nowhere to be found. Why did he leave my care to other people who didn't care about me the way he did? Why did he leave me alone? Why isn't he here to get me?
Cyrus rounds a corner and walks into a room set up like one of those photo studios you'd see in the mall. He sets me on my feet, his dark eyes casing my body and leaving a slick film of disgust in its wake.
"Clothes off," he orders in a gruff voice.
Panic seizes my chest. I know he's only going to take pictures, but I also know the pictures will solidify my grim future. I want to hold on to the hope that Trent will somehow come for me, that he'll save me and the other women here, and all of this will just be another bad moment in time that I madeit through. But these photos will do nothing but emphasize that I'm now someone else's property, that my previous life is over, and my future will be at the discretion of my new owner.
"If it's money you want, I can pay you," I bargain. With all the deals I've done, I'm sure I have more than enough to cover whatever it is they think Trent has cost them. Even if I don’t have it, I'm sure my dad does. "And if I don't have it?—"
"Clothes off," he repeats, a little impatient this time.
Tears blur my vision, my mouth going dry as I slowly shake my head. "Please don't make me do this," I plead in a whisper.
