Page 10

“Careful, love. You don’t want to hurt yourself now. You’ve been out for a while.”

I gasp when a woman’s voice catches my attention. My vision’s still blurry, but I can make out her form seated in a chair nearby.

I look down to see I’m wearing nothing but a white slip dress. Someone changed me, then.

What else did they do?

“I’m here to get you ready,” she says, walking closer. She’s petite, with short, cropped black hair, vibrant eye shadow, and bubble-gum-pink lips.

“For what?” My memory’s still hazy and confused as she slices through the rope and my wrists swing free.

“The big event tonight,” she says quietly, but she averts her gaze before I can react. That’s when I remember.

Auction.

I’ve been moved out of my cell and brought here to get ready for an auction. I go still when she gestures toward the door, where two uniformed men stand.

“Now,” she says quietly. “These two will make sure you behave yourself while I get you ready, see?”

I go still like I always do when I’m scared. And maybe if I’m still, she won’t consider me a threat.

Even now, I wonder if I could escape. My eyes dart around the room and quickly note a sign that says Fire Escape, a metal hair dryer secured to a wall, and a telephone by the bed, its plug dangling uselessly. I guess they took no chances.

“Jesus, didn’t you feed the girl?” she mutters. He hisses something at her.

I won’t escape from this room. There’s no point in even trying. My best hope right now is to identify where I am and escape somewhere between here and the auction.

She makes quick work of washing, drying, and styling my hair, applying copious amounts of makeup, and putting me in a little black dress. It feels good to be properly clean again.

“There, now, don’t you look lovely?”

She spins me around and places me in front of a huge mirror. I haven’t seen myself in so long… it feels strange now, like a blind person being given the gift of vision.

I make myself look. I have to.

My whole life, I’ve been called “beautiful,” “exotic,” and all that, as if New Yorkers have never seen an Italian. I filed it all away as data. And while I still have my mother’s olive complexion and pale blue eyes, even after everything the stylist worked on, my hair hangs limper than usual, with none of its usual sheen. My cheeks are hollowed out, and my body’s lost any sense of curves, falling into straight lines and angles.

The classic little black dress, obviously chosen for display, shows a too-prominent clavicle and arms so thin they look foreign even to my own eyes. I know what my body looks like, and this one is wrong.

Something moves at the edge of my vision.

Someone’s left the door open on the fire escape. The drape is fluttering in the breeze.

I’m going for it.

They can’t hurt me and risk marring precious goods for auction.

I’m up and running before I’ve fully seen where I am. I make it to the fire escape just as the guards realize I’ve gone. I swing my leg up onto the ladder and start scurrying down before I’ve even made a plan. Someone yells, and someone else curses. My legs are slow and drug-heavy, my body half starved, and I know within minutes it won’t be enough. It doesn’t matter. You don’t stop running because your chances are slim. They’re better than if you don’t try.

An arm hooks around my waist as my foot hits the first landing. Fuck. Someone was stationed here. He lifts me clean off my feet. I claw at a thick forearm, get a grip of skin under my nails, and he doesn’t even slow down.

“Feisty.” It’s Ginger from the cell. “Figured you’d try to get away eventually.”

I don’t dignify his comment with a response.

His absolute nonchalance at my escape attempt makes me want to scream in fury as he carries me down the hall like a sack of potatoes, my feet dangling off the ground. He’s not angry, but deadly calm. Angry men are sloppy. This one isn’t.

A door’s already open, as if someone planned for this. I’m not alone. Other women, some gagged, and some handcuffed, wait in a freight elevator. Some have wide, terrified eyes. One cries. Others look furious. One seems sympathetic but looks away when I meet her gaze.