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There is a clap of hands, and an older woman wearing a cheetah-print skintight dress appears from behind a curtain. “Alright, ladies, let’s get you dressed.”
The cold, calculating way she examines us with her dark eyes tells me instantly that she isn’t here to help us. Not in any way that matters, at least.
“Are you here to-to help us?” a young girl, barely a teenager, softly asks in broken English.
The woman snorts and turns her ice-cold gaze on the poor girl. “The sooner you realize no one is here to help you, the better off you’ll be.”
“Then why are you doing this? Why are you helping them? Don’t you know what’s going to happen to us?” I demand, unable to keep quiet after the poor girl bursts into tears.
“The same thing that happened to me,” the woman spits toward me. “Now shut up and sit down. It is my job to prepare you so that you bring in the most money. The better you look, the higher the chance a good man will buy you.”
“You’re delusional if you think that. No good man buys a woman,” I sneer. “And no good woman helps sell others either.”
The woman says nothing more, and I know I struck a nerve by the deep frown on her face. She claps her hands rhythmically, and two more women appear around the curtain. One pushes a rack of dresses while the other carries a large box of makeup and accessories.
“We’ll need to find a dress that covers the abrasions on her knees,” the older woman comments as she circles me. She tuts like she found something she doesn’t like. “We’ll need to tell the auctioneer that she has a few stretch marks, but she’s otherwise in excellent condition. Tell me, how long ago did you have a baby?”
“Go to hell,” I hiss. I’m not about to tell her a damn thing about my baby.
“You would do well to shut your mouth and lose the attitude. No man wants a mouthy bitch,” she warns me.
“Good.”
The woman scowls but says nothing more before she leaves to inspect the work of the others.
In the end, I’m forced through a cold shower, strapped down to a chair, and waxed from head to toe before being dressed in a tight black velvet number with a keyhole back and a high halter neck. The front of the dress dips dangerously down, showcasing my supple breasts made more alluring and round from breastfeeding Liam. They ache from the number of days I’ve gone without pumping or feeding him. I did my best to relieve the pressure on the ship, but it’s not the same as holding my baby to my breast.
“There,” one girl says admiringly. “Now you’re beautiful.”
“Great.”
The other girl sprays me with some kind of perfume that makes me want to vomit. “The higher the amount of money you fetch, the less likely they’ll just use and abuse you. No one wants to spend thousands of dollars on something they’re just going to destroy.”
Something?
I stare at her in shock, unable to believe the words that just came out of her mouth. “Are you fucking serious right now? Do you even hear yourself? I am a human being. About to be sold. I’ll probably be raped and tortured, and if I’m lucky, they’ll kill me after they’re finally done with me.”
The girls share a somber look before one turns to push a body-length mirror on wheels over in front of me. They’ve transformed me into a glamorous doll, but all I see is a pig dressed for slaughter.
One by one, the women and men and children ahead of me disappear around the curtain to go stand on the stage. The announcer describes each one like he’s reading items off a menu rather than living beings. The bidding war is intense and disturbing as the dollar amount climbs rapidly until the auctioneer’s voice finally rings out, going once, going twice, sold, followed by the sound of the gavel, signaling the ruin of another life. Once bought, the victims must be taken somewhere else and prepared for the sick bastard who just bought them because they don’t return.
“You’re up.” A man grabs my wrist over the handcuffs, causing the metal to bite down even harder into my already rubbed-raw wrists.
I hiss at the pain and keep my feet planted still. They’ll have to drag me onto that stage, kicking and screaming, if they want me to go up there. Call it a last-ditch effort of desperation or whatever, but if there is even a chance I could break free right now, I’ll fight for it.
The man tugs harder on my wrist. “Now, you slut.”
“No.” I attempt to yank my wrist back, but the man’s unyielding grip sends another wave of pain up my arms. “I’m not going up there.”
The smile he throws me sends a shiver racing down my spine. “I like a good challenge as much as the next guy. Maybe I’ll get to sample you before you’re handed to your buyer. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Touch me and I will cut off your hand and shove it so far up your ass you’ll taste it.”
A man pops his head around the curtain, annoyance clear on his face. “What’s the holdup, man?” His eyes flick between our faces. “Get her up here, man.”
“She won’t fucking budge. Help me out here. Grab her other arm.”
The man starts toward me, triggering my fight-or-flight response into a second gear. “No! Let me go!”
