Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Lily
“We're here,” one of the men grunts as the van pulls into a parking lot and rolls to a stop.
There's a stone cottage in front of us. It looks unassuming at first, plopped in the middle of grassy green fields that stretch as far as I can see, with a blue sky and white clouds above us.
It would be picturesque if not for the way that they shove me out of the van.
I fall to the ground, my knees hitting the cobblestone driveway.
It feels like the stones are tearing up my skin.
My hands are scuffed, my palms bright red and cut, little droplets of blood trickling.
“Get on your feet,” one of the men barks. He's got a scar running down the right side of his face. Scar-faced man gives me a kick with his boot when I hesitate. “I said get the fuck up.”
Farrah shoots me a look that tells me to do as he says and quickly, before something else happens.
I push to my feet, ignoring the stinging in my hands and my eyes. I hold my head high. They're not going to take my dignity away from me.
“Get going,” he says, nodding to the door.
I keep my cuffed hands in front of me, walking to the door.
He follows behind me, the hair on the back of my neck rising, making me think his eyes are glued to me.
Prickles dance across my skin. Every little zap of electricity is a warning bell telling me to turn and run as fast as I can, as far as I can.
I could sprint through the fields. I don't think they could catch me.
I used to be on the cross-country team when I was in high school.
But it's been years since then and I haven't kept up with running much.
Not long-distance running, at least. But I don't have to be able to outrun them for long, just long enough to disappear.
As much as I want to run, I don't, and I hate myself for it every step of the way. I'm going to die here; that much is clear as I step through the door and am immediately met with stairs that lead down. A sick smell rises up—the scent of unwashed bodies.
Each step down the stairs feels like a march toward my death sentence. I'm surrounded by stone walls, the air slightly stale and thick with the scent of filth. I gag a little as we reach the door at the bottom, and the man opens it.
The scar-faced man gives me a shove inside, the muzzle of his gun digging into my shoulder. “Walk.”
One foot in front of the other. That's all I have to keep doing as I go down the line of cages on either side of me.
I try not to look into them, but it's hard not to when they are made of chain link.
Women cower on the ground, buckets in the corners that they're clearly using as bathrooms. They're dingy and dirty.
Most of them won't make eye contact, though some of them cling to the fence and beg to be let out.
I shiver as I keep my eyes straight ahead despite their pleas.
“Please help me.”
“Don't let me die here.”
“I can't die here.”
“I'll give you a blowjob if you let me out. Nobody has to know. It'll be our secret.”
“Run, girl, you're going to die here like the rest of us.”
The calls keep coming, getting louder and louder as more women join at the fence. The scar-faced man doesn't care. He seems immune to it all, shoving me forward again when I begin to slow.
There's an empty cage at the end. It's pressed against a stone wall on two sides, something wet creeping down the stone. I try not to think about it too much as he shoves me inside. Farrah steps in long enough to take off my cuffs and gives me an apologetic look.
Then she's back out of the cage, the door swinging shut behind her. The scar-faced man puts a padlock in place. “Try anything and I’ll shoot you.”
Being shot might not be a bad way to go at this point.
Footsteps echo on the stone down the hall, but my heart is beating twice as fast. Somewhere there’s the slow and steady drip of water that only seems to set me more on edge.
The women around me all seem to perk up, but not in a good way. It’s more like they’re going on the defensive, ready to attack at any moment.
Another man comes down the line dressed in all black, his hands tucked into his pockets and his head held high. When he stops in front of my cage, he smiles, showcasing a canine diamond tooth.
“You don't know how long I've been waiting for this,” he says in a tone that has me shivering and trying to get away from him. “One of the Andretti sisters. It’s like winning a golden ticket.”
I back into the corner of my cage.
“Now, now, don't be scared of me. I'm not going to hurt you.
You're not worth it to me if we mark up your pretty little face and body. The men I have coming into the auction want to break you themselves. I might just keep you myself. Tie you up like a dog on a leash. Imagine your father rolling in his grave knowing I have his daughter.”
“You had to wait for him to be dead to make a move. You know damn well if he were alive, you wouldn’t stand a chance at even looking in our direction, you worthless coward,” I spit out, causing the other women in their cages to go dead silent.
“My family's going to find out about this, and when they do, they're going to rip you limb from limb.”
An amused smile creeps up his face. “Sticks and stones, my love.” His tongue darts out, licking the front of his teeth, and over the diamond canine tooth.
Farrah shakes her head behind him, drawing a line across her throat with a finger. I ignore her. I keep going, fury building and spilling over before I have the chance to rein it in. “You’re so tough. But you couldn’t even come get me yourself. Everyone else did your dirty work.”
Never in my life have I done this, but the urge just comes to me, and I spit right at him. Farrah looks like she is going to faint, and I hear gasps coming from the other cages.
I want to scream and attack him, but the fury quickly dies when he opens the door and steps in.
He doesn’t even wipe off the spit spread across his cheek.
Frozen in place, I watch him pull out a machete and shove me against the cage, spin me around, and pin me with his elbow into my back.
Whimpering, I struggle to move, but the pinching of his elbow into my back has me paralyzed.
I feel his hand grab my hair into a ponytail and tug.
Using his body to press up against me, he whispers into my ear. “You like to learn the hard way.”
Pushing off me, I feel a weight off my head.
The ends of my hair fall around my shoulders.
I could kill the fucking bastard for doing this to me, for doing this to all these women here.
I don't get the chance, though; the door is already closed, the padlock already placed, and he's turning on his heel, walking away and leaving me in this fucking hole of misery.
Farrah trails behind him. She looks at me one last time over her shoulder, shaking her head slowly before climbing the stairs.
There's a heavy thud as the door shuts.