Page 87 of Pay the Piper

Misha and me, married and happy.

Me with my mother and father, showing off a newborn wrapped in a blanket.

The baby looking just like Conor, and my parents withdrawing in revulsion while Misha stares at me, disappointment seeping from his pores.

Ellie and I sipping on fruity cocktails and ogling our men while they splash around in the pool with a bevy of children.

Nonna teaching Mom and me her pizzelle recipe.

Hearing a baby cry in Conor’s dark mansion and being chained to a bed and unable to go to it.

Before I felt the cold, I was cozy with Misha, just like I was before I fell asleep. Now, it’s like I’m trying to hold on to him and keep his warmth, but my grip isn’t strong enough, and I’m pulled away.

“There she is. My Sleeping Beauty.”

No.

I tremble against the cold, refusing to open my eyes and see the devil who’s just spoken. I tried so hard to get away from you…

Finally, I blink into the harsh, fluorescent lighting. Conor stands with another man, faceless behind a mask. He’s smiling at me, as charming as ever, through the…bars? Of my…cage?

My flight instinct engages, earning me nothing but a searing pain in my neck as I fall back to the hard floor, jerked by the collar around my neck chaining me to the floor. How the hell did I end up here? I remember Conor taunting me with the album, then…

Nothing comes out as I dry heave, crumpling to the floor in the fetal position. Waves of memories and emotions roll over me as my senses wake simultaneously.

Conor’s lies about my father. The pill he forced down my throat. The stench of urine I’m lying in. Dead eyes gazing back at me from the cage inches away from mine.

“Did you think you were getting away? That, after all this time, I’d just give you the coward’s way out of life?”

An ominous rattle warns me of the breach of my cage, and I’m roughly pushed onto my back by the sole of Conor’s leather shoe. He and the masked man stand between my legs, pushing them wide, and I relax my knees, knowing from years of experience that trying to pull them together would only make things worse for me in the end.

“You weren’t lying.” The stranger laughs, voice low and raspy. “She’s clearly well trained if she doesn’t fight anymore.”

“She’s very used to spreading her legs whenever I say. Her cunt’s never loosened, though. As you can see, I never bred her. She knows she’s supposed to keep this out of my sight, however, so I’m not sure what she was thinking coming back here in this state. Completely unfit to fuck.”

Conor punctuates his opinion with a harsh yank of my pubic hair, likely pulling out more than a few as I shriek from the pain.

“Before long, I’ll have her back in suitable form.”

With that last judgment, I wait until they leave me and lock my cage to risk rolling back over to my side. As Conor and the man continue throughout the room, I hear a horrific mixture of sobs, slapping skin, and silence. Locking eyes with the woman next to me, she finally blinks, and I’m not sure if I should feel thankful she’s alive. For her sake, it might be better if she weren’t.

After a few more minutes of low discussions of training, pricing, and auctions, I finally understand what the Santoris were trying to tell me. Conor is a monster of the highest order. Not just a murdering Mafia man. Not just a drug trafficker. No, it’s clear that he’s an expert at selling human cargo as well.

We’ve attended countless galas together, at least a dozen of which were to benefit victims of sex trafficking specifically. Similarly to when the charity was for domestic violence shelters, I always marveled at how Conor managed to be his normal, charming self even when I had to wear a long-sleeved gown to hide my bruises. How could he be so happy to donate money to such a hypocritical cause? I never imagined in my worst nightmares that he was taking part in the trafficking, too.

Once they leave, after threats from Conor that he’d see us all soon, silence descends again, and we’re plunged into inky blackness. Apparently, the terrible, bright light that had greeted me when I first woke was only for our inspection. Otherwise, it seemed all of us, however many were here, were destined to exist in dark squalor.

When I hear a few of the other women start whispering among themselves, I take a chance and try to get the attention of the one I’d thought was dead.

“Hey. My name is Abby. I know you’re not okay, but…”

Fuck. I don’t know what to say. None of us is okay. Death awaits us if we’re lucky, but more than likely, it’ll be unimaginable pain until we blessedly die. Am I supposed to ask what her favorite TV show is?

“She’s not going to answer you. At least, I highly doubt it. I’ve been here for a while now, and I’ve never heard her speak.”

The soft voice comes from behind me, and I flip slowly, chains barely rattling, to face it.

“My name is Sandy. It’s nice to meet you, Abby.”