Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
It still ate at her that she’d done what he wanted.
Emma didn't get on her knees for any man, certainly not for a smug, arrogant monster like the one who had delivered her breakfast. It burned that he was right, that her body needed fuel to withstand whatever was coming next.
But he was right.
Which was the only reason she’d made a show of submitting to him.
A show was all it had been, though, because Emma was more determined than ever to fight as hard as she could. There was no way they could break her if she didn't let them. She was strong. Hopefully, strong enough to do this. Definitely stubborn enough.
The man … it was his voice she remembered from when she was first waking up from the drugs.
Don’t fight, blondie, it will make it easier if you just give in.
Just do as they tell you, don’t make this harder on yourself than it has to be.
Why would he tell her not to fight but then encourage her to eat so she kept up her strength?
It didn't make any sense. He wasn't the man at the car, that man’s voice had been a little higher, and he’d been younger.
But the man who called her blondie was the one who carried her into this cell, locked her in, and walked away after whispering his warning.
He was cocky and condescending, and she bet he loved that every single one of the other women had dropped to their knees before him without hesitation.
She’d never do that. Would she?
Doubt washed over her as she looked down the row of cells.
Because only bars separated them, she could see through them.
A couple of the women had already been collected and taken to rooms at the far end of the large space.
Screams, moans, and grunting had come from the rooms, and she didn't need to have an active imagination to know what was going on in there.
This was so much worse than a serial killer.
These people were traffickers. Sex traders.
They sold people like they were nothing but objects.
First, though, they had to break them.
These women appeared broken. They sat huddled in their cells, none of them would talk to her, even though she’d tried several times since waking to engage them. They did nothing but sit and stare into space. Did they even have thoughts anymore, or had they been beaten and tortured out of them?
“Number one three nine, you're up,” a man announced as he strolled down the walkway between the cages and stopped outside her door.
Was he talking to her?
Trying to dehumanize her by assigning her a number?
That wasn't going to work. She had to force them to see her as a person, accept what they were doing to her. They didn't get to make things easier for themselves by pretending she was just an object or an animal. She was a human being, and she wouldn't let them forget it.
“Are you talking to me?” she asked, arching a brow at the man. “Because if you are, then my name is Emma. You want something from me, you speak to me with respect and use my name.”
Instead of arguing with her, the man threw back his head and laughed.
A deep, rumbling belly laugh that made her cheeks heat with indignation.
How dare he laugh at her like that. Did he think he was better than her just because he was on the other side of the cage?
Didn't he know life could change in an instant?
Hers certainly had.
“Damn, I love the new ones. So sassy, and full of fire. Don’t worry, one three nine, you're no different than all the others. You’ll break.
Just like they did.” He swept a hand around the room, indicating the women sitting silently in their cells.
“You think they didn't fight against the inevitable, too? You’re going to break. The faster you accept that, the easier your life will be. Now stand up,” he ordered, his voice hardening.
“Make me,” she taunted. It probably wasn’t her smartest move, but anger and fear warred inside her, mixing together in a cocktail of strength that was probably only going to get her so far in this world she’d been thrust into. A world she didn't understand and was woefully unprepared for.
The man shrugged. “If you insist.”
With that, he unlocked the door to her cell by twisting the dial on a lock and swung the door open. Earlier, she’d wanted to make her move when the man who called her blondie had brought her meal, but she’d been trying to play things smart.
This time, she was going for it.
Wasn't like anything she did could make her situation worse.
Running was her thing. She was one of those people who enjoyed it, and actually did it for fun. She was quick and agile on her feet. So as the much bigger man came toward her, she darted down low, springing just out of reach as she went around him and then down the hall.
All she had to do was make it to the elevator that their food had come down in, get inside it, get up to a ground floor, and then make her way right out the front door. She could do that. Correction, she had to do that. Had to find a way out if she wanted to live.
“Going somewhere, one three nine?” a different man asked as he suddenly swung open a door down by the elevator and stepped through it, blocking her path.
“Guess she doesn’t want to do things the easy way,” the man from her cell said with a dark chuckle as he came up behind her and snagged her waist, lifting her up and throwing her over his shoulder.
“They always choose the hard way,” the other guy said.
There was zero chance she was going down without a fight, so Emma kicked her feet into the man’s stomach and twisted around to claw at his face. Maybe she couldn’t get out of his hold, but she could make him suffer.
When a hand came down on her backside, she yelped in shock. That hurt, and she’d never ever been spanked before in her life. Her parents believed in consequences for actions, but they’d never hit her or any one of her eight sisters.
That hand came down a second time, harder than the first, and she yelped again but stopped fighting. She’d never been so humiliated as she was being carried on the man’s shoulder down the rows of cages, being spanked like a naughty little kid.
“One more to make sure you got the message,” the man warned, then his hand came down again, and her already smarting skin stung like it was on fire.
Tears of mortification burned the backs of her eyes as she was carried into a room.
It was about twelve feet by twelve feet.
Various whips and paddles hung from hooks on the wall, metal cuffs were embedded in the wall, and there was what looked like a gymnastics vault padded on top with cuffs on both sides down the bottom.
“Livewire, isn’t she?” a third man asked as he closed the door behind him and eyed her with interest.
“Taught her a little lesson, one I'm sure she won't forget easily, at least not every time she sits down for the rest of the day,” the man holding her said with a chuckle as he set her on her feet.
“She’s going to be learning a lot of lessons today,” the newcomer said as he propped his shoulder against the closed door, his gaze traveling over her body like she was a piece of meat. “Strip.”
“No.” The word came out without any conscious thought, but as soon as she’d said it, she glanced at the spanker, who was grinning at her as he held up his hand.
“Need another one, one three nine?”
“Stop calling me that,” she growled. “My name is Emma, and I'm a twenty-six-year-old teacher. I have eight sisters, and I'm right in the middle of them. My parents—”
“Nobody cares about your backstory here, girl,” the man by the door said. “Now strip.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him. “No.”
Stalking toward her, Emma refused to cower before him. She kept her back straight and her gaze locked on his. She wasn't going to become like those women in the cages, meek and pliable. She was going to fight every step of the way and make them regret bringing her here.
“Strip,” the man said one last time, and when she shook her head defiantly, he held out a long metal stick.
It wasn't until he jammed it into her side that she realized what it was.
Pain skittered along her skin as he sent an electrical shock through the cattle prod.
“Strip,” he ordered as he pulled the prod back.
Breathing hard, Emma managed to maintain her glare. “That the best you’ve got?”
Another wave of pain crashed over her as he held the cattle prod against her side for longer this time.
“I can do this all day, girl. Strip.”
“Never. You can't make me.”
“Oh, but I can, and I will.”
More pain seared her system, making it feel like fire was flooding through her veins, consuming her from the inside out.
By the time the man pulled back again, Emma was breathing hard, doubled over, barely able to remain standing.
“Ready to strip yet, one three nine?” the spanker asked, his grin taunting her, mocking her.
“No.” She gasped, her lungs still feeling like they couldn’t properly draw a breath.
“Little livewire enjoys being set alight, I guess,” the cattle prod guy said with a smirk. “You're not leaving this room until you strip, girl. We can do this all day. I can switch out with someone else when I get bored. But you won't be walking out of here until you're naked.”
“Then I guess I'm not walking out of here at all,” she muttered, eyeing them defiantly. Giving up and giving in wasn't an option, which meant that fighting was all she had left.
July 31st
12:36 P.M.
Satisfaction rolled through Nathan as he looked at the article.
It was everything he’d hoped for and more, and he was infinitely glad he’d linked the intel on Azure to a reporter friend of his.
Well, friend was probably a little strong for what their connection entailed.
He’d saved her life when she found herself in a bad situation, and then he’d used her to pass along intel to save another woman’s life.
Used her again to get the word out about Azure and the threat it posed.