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I don’t listen to the rest, realizing this conversation is happening at two other places in the room. Ethan grabs Jade’s gun while Elliot points at the oxygen bag she carries everywhere. It’s a tiny thing, and she seems to barely ever use it, but I believe it’s just in case.
“And where will you take your little break when you need to breathe?”
“This is bullshit,” she snaps back. “I don’t even need this thing anymore. You’re the ones who insist I take it everywhere. Kay is like a sister to me. You can’t stop me!”
My gaze lands on my sister and her three partners.
“You misogynistic fuck,” she barks at Sam. “Give me that.” She’s trying to take back the gun he just snatched out of her hand. “I can aim better than all of you combined. My brother is suffering from this. We’re talking about people who hurt me. I get to go!”
I take a step back from the mess, checking my gun has ammo by undoing the magazine and sliding it back.
I’m almost there, little sunflower.
46
KAYLA
Soldier - Tommee Profitt, Fleurie
The door to my bedroom slams open, banging against the wall from the force, and Bogdan stomps in. His gigantic frame makes me retreat on the twin bed, but I don’t get off. If I do, he’ll tie me to it. I learned that pretty quickly.
I only leave this room when they allow us to use the toilets and shower. Every day, a handler comes in, tells us to get naked, and takes us to the communal bathrooms. We use the toilet, brush our teeth, and shower in silence, not allowed to talk to each other. I think it’s more than once a day because the girls need to shower often. But I couldn’t say how many times.
I haven’t spoken to anyone but my own handler and Bogdan. From what I understand, there’s one handler for four girls. Because this isn’t just my life now. It’s the life of all the other women the Wolves took from the streets for sex trafficking.
Bogdan said I was young and beautiful enough to be put in their luxury auctions. That I could have had a better life if I’d been bought by some man there. “Maybe even a prince,” he laughed that day. But this is my punishment for Nate stealing the place where they used to hold those auctions. Now I get to stay in what they call the “dirty brothel.” Wherever this place is.
On my first day, I broke the nose of my handler when he tried to put his hand between my legs while I was showering. That earned me the beating of my fucking life. Reminded me of when my dad didn’t care if he broke me beyond repair or not.
But I’m not stupid. I did that on purpose. Because if I’m black and blue, they can’t make me work. Even if this is the dirty brothel, they can’t offer a broken whore who won’t be able to satisfy their client.
I don’t know how much time that bought me. I have no idea how long I’ve been here. There is no window in my room, and it smells damp enough that I know we’re underground. All there is is a chest with all types of worn-down lingerie and a mirror leaning against the wall not far from it. A twin bed with an overused mattress, a thin gray blanket, and a single flat pillow. Oh, and a bedside table with a lamp that shines a red light and a drawer full of lube and condoms. How kind.
Without the sun, I’ve been unable to tell how many days I’ve been here. They bring small meals to my room, but they don’t come at regular intervals, and the food never indicates if it’s meant to be breakfast, lunch, or dinner. They do it on purpose.
And it works. I’m completely lost. All I know is that it’s been long enough for my bruises to heal and for the swelling on my eyes to disappear. Even the cuts from their boots stomping on my stomach are gone.
I’m as good as new, and I know that’s why Bogdan is here today and not the handler. He’s the boss in this place.
He throws a sandwich wrapped in plastic film at me, and it bounces against my chest, falling onto my lap. I’m wearing what the girls wear if they’re not with a client. A large gray t-shirt and some even larger gray sweatpants. That shit falls off my hips every time I try to stand.
“You look good, twenty-three.”
I feel my face twist when he calls me by my number. I understood every girl here has no name, just a number, when I heard them call them before showers. They check we’re all there every time we’re taken out of our rooms.
Say nothing, raise your hand, keep your eyes down. That’s what the girl standing right next to me said on the first day. She’s twenty-two.
I heard her cries coming from the other side of the wall that same day while I was recuperating from being beaten up.
“You’ll finally be able to start bringing us some money,” Bogdan says. “You’ve already got two bookings for today. But the numbers will go up. People love fresh meat.”
With a churning stomach, I stay quiet, sitting on the bed, avoiding his gaze by looking at my lap.
“Get up. Let me see what I’m selling.”
I fist my sweatpants, refusing to let them slip down as I stand up next to the bed. I keep my eyes on the floor, not trusting what I’ll do if I look at him.
“Your husband has stopped looking for you.”
