Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
She was torn.
Makayla understood that letting on that Van was undercover wasn't an option.
If she let anyone else know, not only would he likely be horribly tortured and killed, but it would also leave the rest of them in limbo.
For now, at least, there was one person here on their side, one person working on finding a way to shut this ring down.
Without Van, they were all already lost.
But on the other hand, if she just sat here and did nothing, she and the rest of the women were going to be sold.
Van had been clear about that. He hadn't told her that he was working on a way to get anyone out, and she did truly understand that it wasn't an option.
Part of working undercover was doing whatever you had to do to keep your cover, including allowing or participating in the demeaning torture of innocent women.
It was obvious Van did just that given the fact her backside still stung and there was an ache in her jaw.
He had no intention of doing anything other than standing by, collecting his evidence, and letting them be sold.
Okay, he was going to make sure they got out eventually, but that wasn't good enough.
All she’d promised was not to do anything to give him away, she hadn't promised to stop trying to escape on her own.
Even though she’d force herself to survive whatever hell she wound up trapped in and focus on the fact that even if it didn't feel like it, there was an end in sight, that didn't mean she wanted to find herself trapped in that place.
If she could bypass it by getting herself—and the others—out of here, then she was absolutely going to do it.
Only she couldn’t deny that it felt wrong somehow.
Almost a betrayal of Van, although she knew it wasn't. In fact, she was pretty sure that if he’d thought it was possible to let her escape, even after her failed attempt with the knife, without getting himself in trouble over it, then she’d already be home by now.
The others had been disappointed that she hadn't been able to pull off the escape attempt, and she couldn’t blame them, even if she’d been completely honest when she’d told Van that she was glad she hadn't slit his throat. Makayla hated to lie, but there hadn't really been any other option, so she’d told the other women that she’d been almost to the door when Van caught her, disarmed her, and brought her back in here, changing the code before he locked her up again.
That was close enough to the truth that she didn't feel too bad about lying.
When they’d asked if he’d punished her and she’d said no, she had seen their surprise, so she’d had to make up a story about him being angry, yelling at her, and promising her that retribution was coming.
Since there was now a camera in here, it made escaping that much harder.
Yesterday had passed in a blur. After explaining to the women what had gone down in the hall—or the fake version of it anyway—the other guys had come with breakfast. Apparently, they were worried about starving her because there had been a little food for her, even if she hadn't complied with the on-the-knees thing.
Van had come in and installed cameras while the rest of the men rounded them up and taunted them, touching them, saying disgusting, lewd things about them, and all the things they wanted to do to them.
If she hadn't heard from Van’s own lips that he was here undercover, she might not have believed it, might have been tempted to ignore her instincts because he seemed so utterly at home here, and so completely unmoved by the plight of her and the other women.
Throughout the day, no matter what else was going on around them, Makayla was constantly thinking, plotting. There had to be another way to escape, she just had to figure out what it was.
“What are you thinking about?” Cecilia asked from the bed beside the one Makayla was lying on.
The men had taken all the pillows and blankets, insisting they had to earn them back, but at least it was a mattress, and with her injured backside, it was infinitely more comfortable than the concrete floor.
Because they had to be careful now about what they said and how they acted since they had an audience, and she wasn't sure if the cameras picked up audio as well as visual, she kept her head lowered as she spoke. “Same thing I'm always thinking about.”
“There’s no way out,” Cecilia whispered back, and Makayla hated that her biggest ally was already ready to give up.
“I don’t believe that. I won't.” It was as simple as that.
She’d see if she could convince Van to try something if she got a moment alone with him, but otherwise, she was going to keep on working things from her angle while he worked them from his.
There was no reason he couldn’t keep doing his job and try to find a way to destroy Azure, while she did her best to save herself and the others.
Even though they weren't really being much help, Debra, Tammy, Crystal, and Bethany were scared enough that they did everything asked of them, and Cecilia was already swaying, she would still try to save them too.
If she could.
Van’s warning echoed in her mind. She was in a survival situation, and she had to prioritize getting herself out.
That was the most basic principle of first aid.
Don’t put yourself in danger because then you just become another victim who has to be rescued.
It was kind of like that now. The others were terrified, she got that, and she couldn’t ask for more from them than they could give.
But she also couldn’t let them be like a drowning person, pulling her down with them.
The best thing she could do for all of them would be to get herself out. If the others could hold it together and she could make it work, she’d take them with her, but if not, she was getting herself out and sending back help for them.
“Nothing we’ve tried so far has worked,” Cecilia reminded her as though she needed it.
“Doesn’t mean the next thing won't.”
“They’ll punish you for it.”
“Then they’ll punish me. They're hurting us either way.”
“And you're really okay with that?”
“No. I thought I was done with the abuse once I aged out of the system, but I can handle it. Besides, what other choice do we have? Give up and just all but disappear?”
“I'm scared,” Cecilia whimpered, and Makayla finally looked over, no longer caring if the cameras caught her. They’d been told they shouldn’t be speaking to one another, but what she’d said was true, they were going to be hurt regardless of what they did.
“Me too, Cecilia. But I won't give in to that fear.”
“You have an idea,” the woman said, cocking her head to the side.
“Shh,” she murmured, reminding the other woman to keep her voice quiet.
While the other women weren't bad people at all, just in a horrible situation, she wouldn't put it past them to tattle if they thought they would save themselves some horror.
It didn't make sense to do it, but they were under enormous amounts of stress and more than ready to crack.
“You do.”
“I was just thinking that getting out of this room is going to be impossible now, but they want to train us, and they have rooms out there to use to do it.”
“You're going to try to make a run for it when they have you out there.”
“Seems like the best time to do it. I was able to get my hands on a weapon before, I'm sure I can do it again. They’ve barely fed me since I won't get down on my knees for them, only enough so that they can keep me going. They’re hoping that making me weak will make me compliant, but I'm going to do the opposite.”
“Make them think you're weaker than you are.”
“Exactly.” Makayla shot her new friend a grin.
“The best way to beat people obsessed with power and being in control is to let them think you're as weak as they already believe you to be. Then, when they don’t see it coming, I'm going to strike.
I learned a lot from that last escape attempt.
I can't do it thinking as me. I care about people, hate hurting anyone, and spend my life trying to help others.
But these people are beyond help. They already forfeited their souls.
So I'm going to remember that, and if I get another chance, I'm going to go as hard as I can and destroy anyone who gets in my path.”
August 28th
10:16 A.M.
“Van!”
Looking over his shoulder, he saw the last thing he expected as a little tornado came rushing toward him.
If it were anyone else, he would have side-stepped to avoid contact.
People touching him was a trigger, one he worked hard to ignore when he was on a job, because sometimes it couldn’t be avoided.
If it were up to him, he would be perfectly happy for no one to ever touch him again for the rest of his life.
But in this case, he remained in place, allowed the small arms to wrap around his leg, even went so far as to lean down and awkwardly ruffle the red pigtails of the little girl hugging him like he wasn't one step away from the monsters he was sure she believed lived under her bed.
“Miss you, Van, miss you,” the two-year-old sing-songed in a voice that even his empty, hardened heart thought was sweet.
“I think that’s enough hugs for now, Azalea,” Hope Oswald said, coming to his rescue and sweeping in to scoop up her toddler.
“Buts I like Van,” the little girl pouted, turning big blue eyes his way and grinning at him like he was Santa Claus or something.
“Well, Van came here to talk to your daddy, not to you. Why don’t you come and play on the swings with me and your sisters while they talk, then maybe Van will stay and have some lunch with us before he has to go back to work,” Hope suggested.
“Stay for lunch?” the toddler pleaded, those puppy dog eyes of hers actually making him feel guilty for the no he was about to answer.
“Maybe,” he said, not willing to commit, or lie to a baby, but not wanting to hang around any longer than he had to either.