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I have no words.
I am stunned into silence.
He steps closer, his mouth brushing my skin. He inhales before he smiles against me, and as much as I want to rear back, I stay still. “This is going to be so much fun.” Then he steps away, and one of his guards grabs my arm. “Shower and put on a dress. I plan to make money tonight.”
The guard starts to pull me—not to the main house—to a small outbuilding. He opens the door and pushes me inside, following me and shutting the door behind us. Letting go of me, he then nods to a black dress on the couch. “Put it on.” He clutches his gun. “Any funny business, I have orders to rough you up. Even a few holes if I please. You can skip the shower…” He laughs. “I hear they like them dirty.”
Acid crawls up my throat as I turn back and reach for the black dress. Pulling off my sundress, I slide it on easily, and when I turn back to look at him, he points at the floor. “Heels.” I slide them on after I kick off my shoes. He opens the door, looks out, and then back to me. “The car is here.”
Have you ever felt like you’re in a nightmare that you just can’t escape?
I have.
And right now, I can’t seem to escape.
So I do as directed, almost on autopilot.
I follow this man to the car and climb in with him beside me. I look for options, but there are few, and those I have aren’t that great. So it’s either jumping out of a fast-moving car and hoping I’m able to run or staying and trying to plan my escape.
The guard’s hand stays on the gun as we drive, my hope sinking lower and lower the farther we get from familiar territory.
Jumping from this car is looking very good right now.
“Smile and keep your mouth shut,” he says as we come to a stop, and I take a deep, preparatory breath. I don’t know his name, and I don’t want to. I want to be back with my son, not wearing some slinky dress I don’t own, waiting to be served to men I don’t know. I’m an object to them—I always have been.
How the hell did I get here?
When the door opens to a lady dressed in a suit, she waves for me to get out, and the guard with the gun in my back pushes me toward her.
“Welcome. Please come in.”
A red carpet leads to an imposing and stately mansion. Whoever owns this has money—a lot of it. I'm not sure why, but that makes me feel sicker.
The guard stays behind me and gives me a little push whenever I slow down. When we reach the doors, two women, also dressed in suits, pull open the large doors and offer kind smiles. But I know better than that.
“What’s in there?” I manage to ask.
“You don’t get to ask questions. Now, move.”
He shoves me into a room full of women, all wearing black slip dresses like me, and men lounging in chairs everywhere I look. I don’t bother seeing if I recognize anyone, as I have no allies in this country.
I never did.
It’s why I flew to America.
“Walk around. You try to run… I will put a bullet in your shoulder.”
“Shoulder?” I ask him, my brows furrowing.
“You still need to be useful. I mean… some might have a fascination with fucking the dead, but these men want you alive.” He gives me another push, then takes up a post at the entrance. I feel his eyes on me as I take a few steps forward. I don’t know what to do, so I stay exactly where I am and take in my surroundings instead.
A server offers me a glass of champagne from a tray. I take one and down it quickly. My ribs burn at the movement, reminding me of my injury, and I wonder if they’re broken. Hopefully, they’re just bruised.
“I know you.” The voice is American, and it comes from behind me.
When I turn around, my eyes widen. “Jake.”
“Yes. Adora, if I remember correctly?”
