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Be strong.
Unafraid.
Have faith in my family.
Never let them see you sweat.
“I’ve got this. I can do this,”I chant in my head.“I’m strong. I’m resilient. They’ll never see me cower.”
Finding my backbone, I tell the scoundrel, “You’ll never take me alive.”
He chuckles before informing me, “That’s what they all say.”
From the recess of my lungs, a puff of humor escapes me when he reveals this. “But they don’t have an entire Motorcycle club and Italian clan of badasses behind them, do they?” I do a mental cross across my chest and repent for my foul language and letting my pettiness get the best of me. I know it’s a sin to be crass and vindictive, however, if any situation could be forgiven for going against a couple ofHismandates, this would be one of them.
He warily looks at me, then shakes his head. “They can’t help you now, and neither can I. We all have a price to pay, and this is mine. For what it’s worth, I am sorry this is happening to you. I hope that one day they do find you and you do escape, but trust me on this, it won’t be occurring today. This place is fortified with snipers and men are nonstop walking the grounds to keep intruders out. Anyone without an invitation is shot on sight. Survive. Keep your head down and do as you’re told. It won’t lessen the hardships coming your way, but it’ll keep you alive.”
My entire being deflates, and for a slight moment, so fast I nearly missed it, a crestfallen look crosses his face. “I’ll consider it.”
“Do more than that if you believe they’re coming for you, number twelve,” he says, using the number assigned to me. We aren’t people. We aren’t women and children, we’re nothing more than digits in a lineup. I look down at the big and boldoneandtwohandwritten next to one another on the bidding sign I’m supposed to hold up in front of me as I’m paraded around in front of these purchasers. “If you’re considering things, make your loved ones one of those things. They can’t help you if you’re dead,” he chastises. “Trust me, if I could’ve given that advice to my sister, she may still be alive and there might’ve been a chance that I could’ve gotten her out of this mess.”
“I’m sorry you lost your sister. But isn't that a reason to stand up for what’s right and wrong?” I ask him. I feel sorry for him, his loss is a sizable one, but I also have a family out there that needs and wants me. Depends on me. I’ll fight with every ounce of strength inside of me to get back to them. I don’t want to let them down by giving up and becoming a victim.
“It isn’t as easy as that. Not all of us have people we can count on,” he argues.
Over the sound system, I hear the emcee drone over the microphone as he begins describing my attributes. “Up next in our lineup, we have number twelve. Grew up in a convent, raised by nuns, and her hymen is intact.” When he announces that, I gag when I notice several men sit up straight in their seats, their interest in me growing substantially. “Natural blonde, toned and fit, and loves caring for kids.” How do they know that? I’ve never talked about the fact that I was one of the first ones to volunteer and help with the younger ones in the abbey since I’ve been here. They have insider information, a spy inside, which means the nuns aren’t as truehearted and trustworthy as we believed. Seems they are tempted by cash and can be bought just as much as those greedy communities of men and women they preach for us to avoid. “We’ll begin the bid at twenty thousand. Any takers?”
Paddles begin to rapidly elevate, one outdoing the other, and my jaw drops as the price for me skyrockets into unearthly amounts. I feel like I’ve fallen into the pits of hell, none of these men are honorable, they’re lascivious. They want to own me as if I’m a delicacy. They’re all about outdoing one another, proving who has the most money. They’re insatiable for me, acting as if I’m to be their last meal before they face eternal damnation. Revulsion runs through me. My stomach turns as putrid bile creeps up my esophagus, the acid burning as my mouth grows dry. I don’t understand what’s wrong with people. Why would they consider this entire ordeal as being acceptable? Does nobody have a conscience anymore?
My body jolts when I hear a gavel bang onto a wooden surface and it’s announced that I’ve been sold for one point two million dollars. When did the bid get so high? How long was I lambasting these sick freaks in my head? It’s critical that I pay attention now. Lifting my eyes, my body shudders when I meet the abominating black pools of pure evil. The man who’s won me is chilling, his entire demeanor speaks of inhumanity.
Whispering, I surmise, “Luca, if there was ever a time for you to pull a rabbit from its hat and get me out of this, it’d be now.”
“Good luck,” my jailer states, tugging on my lead and walking me over to the podium where money is exchanged.
The low said words of “prime meat” and “excellent choice” echo through my mind.
That’s all I am… beef to be devoured and a golden prize to be showcased.
I’ve been reduced to a price tag. I may as well be wearing an investment sticker with the amount charged to own me outright. I’m a mother fluffing profit. Extorted. Where’s my cheat sheet to show me how to act in a predicament such as this? I didn’t get a pamphlet with the dos and don’ts. Index cards with any sort of direction on how to circumvent my dilemma would work in this case. I’m utterly lost. Anger begins to emanate through me. Because honestly, all I want to do is kick him in the balls, feed them to him, and watch how far he falls from his accrued pedestal. I’m well aware that all that’d earn me is a beating, and I’m already psychologically drained, there’s nothing left of my neurosis to squash. Being mad is better than getting depressed and shutting down—I get intoxicated on my resentfulness and my vision clouds into a shade of red. I’m full of rage that needs an outlet, regardless of the context of my fate, and the fact that I can taste my ire on my tongue, I give into my senses and allow my crankiness to take over. I am no longer thinking, my brain has shut down and I’m reacting on my survival reflexes alone.
“You’re both pigs,” I screech. “You’re all going to burn in hell for this.” When they both begin to cackle at my warning, annoying me, my leg lifts of its own accord and strikes out.
My movements are lightning fast, and the emcee is my first target, followed by my contemptible acquirer. They both crouch over, but when I go to step away from them, my buyer reaches out and clamps his fingers around my ankle. My equilibrium gets thrown off kilter as I wobble and I end up falling to the ground. My knees and palms get scraped and start to bleed, my face barely misses touching the ground, but my brain rattles in my head. It takes me a slight moment to regain my bearings, but I’m too late. The man crawls on top of me, hovering, smiling down on me the way I’d presume Satan himself would.
“Where do you think you’re going? Nobody leaves me until I say they can. And the only escape you’ll ever get from me is in a body bag,” my buyer says in an odious tone. I’ve looked into the face of evil before, but none that are so shrewd and conniving.
I may have bitten off more than I can chew. In the background, chaos ensues, you can hear skin hitting skin, but I don’t trust this aberrant man long enough to remove my eyes from him. He’s demented, and I get the distinct impression that he wants me to claw his eyes out, to make him hurt, to make him feel pain. In my estimation, it must be the only way he feels anything. And I find myself stuck on the question of do I or don’t I. On one hand, it’d be a great pleasure to make him bleed. But on the other hand, I don’t want to give him anything he wants, I want him to suffer. I want him in agony, and the only way for me to accomplish that is by keeping my hands to myself.
“Anywhere you’re not,” I articulate, my tone seething. This man ignores the carnage taking place around us, his sight is set on me and that’s a vision he doesn't plan on steering away from anytime soon. His hard member presses into my belly, and my lip curls in response. “Get off of me.”
“I’m the one in charge here, little rabbit.” What is up with these men and naming me animals that are preyed upon? I’m not going to be easily tamed and captured the way they assume I will be.
I’m not a mouse.
I’m not a lamb.
I’m not a rabbit.
