“Where are we?” I ask, wiping at my cheek with the back of my hand and squinting up at Leo, who stands silhouetted in the doorway by the long rays of sunlight.
“We’re in Havoc Harbor,” he says. “Almost to your new home, sweetheart.”
“Don’t tell her that,” Julian snaps, appearing behind him.
“Why, you think she’s going to be writing postcards home to mommy?” Leo asks, his tone mocking. “She’s never leaving. Salem said her parents don’t even want her.”
The gut-punch only reminds me of my gnawing hunger. I try to calculate my chances. Adrenaline can give me a burst, but I can’t run far before weakness will take over. I need to find a place to hide. And eat.
I squint into the sun, looking around at the shabby buildings that stretch along an unlined, narrow road with more potholes and patches than the original asphalt that shows through. On the other side of the road, besides the large parking area where we’ve joined a few dozen other vehicles, a bunch of docks sit in the water, most with boats bobbing in the water next to them. The air is cold but thick with moisture and the salty scent of rotting fish and sea.
“Havoc Harbor?” I ask, shaking my head in confusion. “Where’s that?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Julian says. “Get out of the van. Act normal, or you’ll pay for it when we get there.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, climbing clumsily from the van. My muscles are knotted, my neck is stiff, and my whole body hurts from lying on the floor for most of the past few days, or however long it’s been.
“Just walk,” Julian orders, nodding toward the boats.
Leo’s words roll back into my mind.“I’m coming back over as soon as we drop her off.”
They must be taking me somewhere in the boat, though I can’t see anything when I look out over the endless water. The sun is going down over the land side, not the ocean, and it’s too cold to be Mexico, so I’m guessing we’re somewhere on the east coast. They couldn’t have taken me into Canada without going through customs, and I’m sure seeing a girl passed out on the floor of the van would have raised suspicions, so I think we’re still in the U.S.
My heart is hammering, my legs trembling as we start across the parking lot, crushed oyster shells crunchingunderfoot. Julian walks in front, and Leo walks behind. Curtis leaves the van and catches up with us at the edge of the lot. I glance around, searching for help, but the only people I see are a couple fishermen in waders pulling up their catch from a fishing boat at the far end of the docks. I doubt they could even hear me over the small waves jostling the boats, making them rock, the edges slapping down on the water with a hollow sound each time.
Across the road, I spot a few rough-looking men smoking outside a tavern. I shiver, remembering what I found online when I started searching for information about trafficking after we talked to Maverick. It said rates are highest in locations where the demographic is almost entirely men—places like truck stops, hunting camps, oil fields, motorcycle rallies. Is that what this is? A town of rough, godless fishermen who view sex as a right and women not as wives but as objects upon which to expel their lust?
Please, God, be with me.
“Walk,” Leo growls behind me, giving me a little shove. I must have slowed, trying to find a way out before they get me on the boat. That seems like a very bad place to be. Once I’m on that, there’s no escape except the ocean. Just looking at it, I can tell its hypothermia-inducing.
Julian turns onto the wooden dock and starts out along it. My heart is hammering wildly, but I’m out of time. If I bolt right now, they’ll catch me. If I hit Julian from behind, Leo will hit me. I doubt anyone out here would do anything about it, if they even saw us. No one is paying us any mind.
Leo pushes me again, and then I’m on the wooden dock too, my feet moving along obediently. My limbs are shaking wildly, though. I feel like I’m walking the plank, about to be dropped to my death. We stop at a speedboat, and it roars to life before we’ve even stepped aboard. Julian grips one of thecreosote-stained posts on the edge of the dock and hops down into the small white boat. The deck is narrow, the cabin dark inside. I can just make out the guy at the helm behind the glass, a hulking, dark shape at the wheel.
Julian holds out a hand to help me down. He may have done this plenty, have his sea legs or whatever people say, but I haven’t. Jumping down from a dock into a boat doesn’t come natural to me. It’s my only chance.
I jump.
My body slams into Julian’s, knocking him backwards. I wrap a leg around his, kicking the back of his knee so his leg folds. When he starts to tumble backwards, his face frozen in surprise, I slam his head against the railing at the edge of the cabin as hard as I can. He rolls away, groaning. I barely hear the shouts of the two on the dock, but then Leo lands in front of me, knees bent, absorbing the rocking of the boat while I sway clumsily.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “It was an accident. I thought he’d catch me. Please don’t hurt me!”
I blubber helplessly, motioning at the body like I’m horrified by the sight.
“Get inside,” Leo barks. “I’ll deal with it.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding tearfully. “I’m so sorry.”
I turn away like I’ll go into the cabin, then spin back just as Leo turns to check on his brother. I slam the ball of my foot solidly into the back of his knee, making it buckle. He crashes to his knees with a curse, and I dart forward, gripping my fist in my palm before bringing my elbow down in one sharp blow to the back of his neck. He flops forward, his forehead bouncing off the edge of the boat before he crumples on top of his brother.
“What the fuck?” Curtis asks, backing away on the dock, looking freaked out.
I grab the edge of the dock, trying to heave myself up, but my strength is already flagging. My arms shake wildly, and it takes three or four attempts before I scramble gracelessly onto the wooden planks. I keep expecting Curtis to stomp my fingers or kick me in the face, knocking me back into the boat, but he’s turned and is hurrying away. Out of breath, I stand and run down the dock, shoving him hard from behind. He turns around, raising his hands. “Now, listen,” he says, backing up a step. “I’ve never hit a girl, so don’t make me start now.”
“But you have no problem with selling them?” I challenge, advancing.
When he steps back again, I see my way out.
