Chapter 2 Mattie
MATTIE
Seven months ago, the island
Mattie woke to the smell of perfume and disinfectant and the distant thump of music she could feel more than hear.
Her head throbbed, her mouth tasted like copper, and when she tried to move, she realized that her wrists were bound with zip ties. Panic surged through her, cutting through the lingering fog of whatever drug she'd been given.
She forced herself to breathe, to think, to assess her surroundings.
She was in a small room, lying on a narrow bed with simple sheets.
The walls were painted white, the lighting was dim, and she wasn't alone.
She could hear breathing nearby and see shapes in the low light that resolved into other bodies.
Other women. Five of them, on beds that were arranged in a line, like in army barracks or orphanage dormitories from days past.
The others were also stirring groggily awake.
She had a strong suspicion of what kind of place this was.
"Where are we?" someone whispered. A young voice, terrified.
"I don't know." Another voice, a little older but still youthful, trying and failing to sound calm. "Does anyone know what's happening?"
Mattie didn't answer because nothing she could say would be helpful.
They would find out soon enough.
Besides, she was trying to work her hands free of the zip ties, and it took all of her concentration not to cry out when the plastic bit into her skin. She had small hands and slim wrists, but whoever had bound her hadn't been taking any chances.
She couldn't get free.
The door opened.
A man stepped inside, but he wasn't Gabriel. This man was shorter and broader, with a face that could have been handsome if it wasn't clenched like a fist. His eyes swept over them with the dispassion of a butcher surveying livestock.
"On your feet," he barked.
His accent was foreign, but she couldn't place it.
No one moved.
"Move it." His voice cracked like a whip, and something in his tone made it clear that disobedience would be met with consequences none of them wanted to face.
Slowly, the women struggled to their feet. Mattie's legs screamed in protest, the scar tissue pulling tight, her left calf threatening to spasm. She needed to perform her stretching routine before her legs cooperated, but that was not happening right now.
She gritted her teeth and forced herself upright.
Suddenly, the need to pee became overwhelming, but she had a feeling that a bathroom break would not be granted even if she asked.
The man pulled out a knife, and for one terrible moment, Mattie thought he was going to kill them right then and there. Instead, he moved down the line, cutting their zip ties with quick, efficient movements.
"Strip," he said when he was done.
The word hung in the air, obscene and inescapable.
"What?" gasped one of the women. She was young, maybe nineteen, with dirty blond hair, freckles, and eyes that were wide with terror.
"You heard me. Take off your clothes."
Mattie's stomach heaved. She knew what this was.
She'd read the articles, seen the documentaries, and heard the statistics about human trafficking that she'd never thought would apply to her.
Pretty young women, isolated and vulnerable, snatched from their ordinary lives and sold into something unimaginable.
And here she was. Living it.
Around her, the other women started crying, but at the same time they were doing as they had been told. It hadn't taken any of them long to realize the hopeless situation they were in. Had the others also been snatched from nightclubs by conniving bastards?
"Faster!" the man commanded. "I don't have all day."
Mattie gripped the hem of her shirt, but her hands were trembling so badly she could barely lift the fabric.
Don't think. Just do it. Maybe if I cooperate, they won't hurt me.
She pulled her shirt over her head, unhooked her bra with numb fingers, pushed her trousers down her hips, stepped out of them, and stood in nothing but her panties.
"All of it," the man said.
She removed her underwear and stood there naked and shaking, arms wrapped around herself in a futile attempt at modesty.
The man walked down the line, examining each of them like merchandise, and when he got closer, Mattie lowered her eyes and kept them fixed on the floor. She heard him make approving sounds at some of the other women, his grunts and murmurs making her skin crawl.
Then he reached her, and she heard his sharp intake of breath.
"Turn around."
She did.
"What the hell happened to you?"
Mattie didn't need to ask what he meant. She knew what he was seeing—the scars that covered her legs from mid-thigh to ankle, the mottled, uneven skin where grafts had taken and where they hadn't, the patches where nerve damage had left her flesh permanently numb.
"Fire," she said. Her voice came out flat, empty.
"Turn back around."
She turned.
He stared at her face for a long moment, at the features that had always attracted attention—the blond hair, the blue eyes, the upturned nose, and the bone structure that people called striking. Then his gaze dropped to her legs again, and his lip curled.
"Get dressed," he spat. "No one wants to see this when they are promised the best of the best." He shook his head. "It's a shame, really. A waste of such a pretty face." He let out a breath. "You'll do as a maid or a waitress, so it's not a total loss."
Mattie nearly cried with relief as she reached for her clothes with shaking hands. For the first time since the fire, she was thankful for the disfigurement. Around her, the other women were still standing naked, waiting to learn their fate if they hadn't guessed it already.
She dressed as quickly as she could, pulling on her shirt, her trousers, her shoes.
The implications of what had just happened were solidifying, and they were terrible, but not as horrific as what awaited these other poor girls.
They'd been trafficked for sex slavery. Kidnapped and drugged and transported to God knows where, sold like a commodity. Thankfully, she'd been rejected, cast aside because her body was too damaged to be worth violating.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up in her throat, but she choked it back.
The fire that had killed her parents, leaving her scarred and traumatized, had just saved her from a fate worse than death.
Some blessings came in the most horrific disguises.
"Get dressed," the man told the others. "You'll be shown to your rooms and given instructions for your assignments."
Mattie tried not to look at the other women as they reached for their clothes, tried not to see the despair on their faces as they realized what their assignments would be. She'd been spared. They hadn't.
The familiar survivor's guilt twisted in her chest, sharp and bitter, and as before, she asked why not her rather than why her.
Why had she been spared while the others hadn't?
The man, who had not yet told them his name, opened the door and waved someone in. "Take her to Nuri. She's not suitable for the brothel, but she can work in the hotel."
The other man glanced at her and then arched a brow, but he didn't ask why she was being sent away.
"Come with me," he said.
She followed him out of the room and into the corridor.
The music was louder here, and she could hear other sounds too—laughter, moaning, the clink of glasses.
A bar at the end of the hallway was bustling with activity, men in expensive clothes were being served drinks by women wearing next to nothing.
Mattie kept her eyes on the floor and walked faster.
She still needed a bathroom desperately, but she was afraid to ask.
As the man led her out of the building into the night air, the humidity and heat hinted at the tropical location.
The other hint was the lush, tropical vegetation interweaving the buildings of the resort complex.
In the distance she could see the dark shimmer of the ocean, and above, more stars than she'd ever seen in Sydney's light-polluted sky.
Was this an island?
"Where am I?" she asked. "What is this place?"
"Your new home," the guard said. "Get used to it because you are never leaving."
A choking sensation stole her breath. "What do you mean?"
He stopped walking and turned to face her, his eyes devoid of sympathy.
"You're on a private island, and the only way off is in a casket. Is it clearer now?"
Mattie's blood turned to ice, but she nodded.
"Let me give you some friendly advice," he said.
"If you behave, do your work, and don't cause trouble, you'll have a comfortable life here.
Food, shelter, and even some small privileges eventually.
But if you cause problems—" He drew a finger across his throat in a gesture that needed no translation.
"Expedited trip into the casket. Clear?"
"Yes," Mattie whispered.
"Good."
They entered the hotel through the staff entrance, and the corridor they walked down could have belonged to any business anywhere else in the civilized world.
He brought her to an office where an older woman sat behind a desk. She must have been beautiful in her youth, and she still took pride in her looks, as evidenced by her careful makeup and styled hair.
"I've got a present for you, Nuri," the man said. "Fresh off the boat."
"What's wrong with her?" she asked.
He shrugged. "I don't know. Domah didn't say. She must be damaged in some way." He looked at Mattie. "With that face, it must be really bad where it's not visible."
Nuri nodded, and as he left, her gaze turned to Mattie. "I'm head of housekeeping. The rules here are simple. You work hard, you keep your head down, you don't ask questions, and you stay alive. Cause trouble, and you won't. Understood?"
"Understood," Mattie said.
"Good." Nuri stood up. "Follow me."
They walked into a large storage room, and Nuri pulled out several articles of clothing.
Uniforms that consisted of black trousers, white blouses, and sensible black shoes.
She added undergarments, a pair of pajamas, and a bag of toiletries.
"If you need anything else, you can come here and take whatever you're missing.
" She handed the bundle to Mattie and walked out of the room, expecting Mattie to follow her.
"You'll be sharing a room with three other girls.
Tomorrow, you start work. One of the other maids will show you what to do. "
They walked through corridors that were clean and well-lit and utterly soulless. Mattie's entire body ached, her bladder was close to bursting, and her mind was still struggling to process everything that had happened.
How long had it been since she'd celebrated her friend's birthday? Hours? Days?
Now she was on a secret island, a prisoner, facing a future of servitude with no hope of escape.
"How long have you been here?" Mattie asked her guide quietly.
The woman glanced at her, something flickering in her tired eyes. "Thirty-two years."
The number landed like a stone in Mattie's stomach.
"Is there any way out?"
The woman's expression shuttered. "If you have any brains in that pretty head of yours, you'll realize that asking such questions will only get you in trouble." She stopped in front of a door marked 14B. "This is you."
The room was tiny, with four narrow beds crammed into a space meant for two, a single window that looked out onto a tall fence, and a shared bathroom barely big enough to turn around in.
"Clean up and get some sleep," the woman said. "If you get hungry or thirsty, follow the corridor to the staff kitchen. It's at the very end."