33. Sadie
Thirty-Three
Sadie
For a few seconds I don’t move after he leaves. My chin still burns where his fingers gripped it, my stomach is tight with nausea as I can still feel his fingers on my stomach.
I can feel the shake starting in my legs and force it still before it becomes visible.
Renee is watching me from the far wall. I’ll not give either of them the satisfaction of seeing me break.
I take a deep breath; the cold is getting worse now that the adrenaline is wearing off. It seeps up through the concrete into my bare feet and settles deep in my shoulders. The rope holds my arms tightly behind me, and every small shift makes the fibers dig deeper into the raw skin of my wrists.
Renee hasn’t said anything since they threw her in the room with me. They said maybe looking at her would make me not fight them, because all the girls break sooner or later.
I’m not sure if she’s not talking because she’s scared or just lost hope anyone will come for her. She sits with her knees pulled to her chest, her back is against the wall, and her eyes are dull but alert. When I look at her, she holds my gaze for a moment, then looks away.
“How long have you been here?” I ask quietly.
Her voice is rough from disuse. “Long enough.”
That’s all she gives me, maybe she’s used to not speaking, or she knows what happens when you talk too much.
I open my mouth to ask more, but the door opens again.
Two of the men from earlier step inside, they don’t speak to me.
One of them grabs the rope between my wrists and yanks me forward.
The sudden pull sends a sharp flare of pain through my shoulders.
I stumble. When I try to dig my heels in, the second man backhands me hard across the already-bruised cheek.
What the fuck was that for?
The impact snaps my head to the side, white noise floods my ears, and the taste of blood fills my mouth again. My vision blurs at the edges.
They drag me out of the room and deeper into the warehouse. The air grows colder; there are fewer lights here. My bare feet scrape and slap against the concrete as they pull me along. I catch glimpses of stacked crates, dark corners, and a corridor that seems to go on forever.
They stop in a smaller, windowless room.
The walls are closer; the single bulb overhead is dimmer.
One of them forces my arms higher behind my back and re-ties the rope to a metal ring set higher on the wall.
The new position stretches my shoulders until they burn constantly.
This is going to be worse than before. I can’t lower my arms. I can’t sit.
I can only stand half-turned, breathing through the strain.
They leave without a word. Silence settles like a weight. I test the rope. There’s no give, the metal ring doesn’t move. The cold climbs higher into my body. My cheek throbs in time with my pulse, and my blood trickles slowly from the corner of my mouth and cools on my chin.
I try to hold on to his words.
Whatever happens, I promise I will find you. Just have faith I will find you.
But the warehouse is too quiet, and too solid.
The walls feel thicker here, and I’m sure I heard a vehicle leave earlier.
The men’s voices when they pass the door sound too calm, it’s like they believe no one is coming.
Even though I don’t understand what they’re saying, there the tone has no fear in it.
Doubt creeps in. What if he didn’t make it?
What if the gunshots I heard before they forced me into the van were the last ones?
My breathing turns shallow. I stare at the opposite wall and force air into my lungs the way I do before a difficult beam routine. In. Out. Stay present. Stay standing.
Time stretches. Every small sound makes my body tense, the distant drip of water, the creak of the building, and the faint buzz of the bulb above me.
Then I hear two voices speaking Romanian somewhere nearby. One of them laughs under his breath, like they’re sharing a private joke. The sound slides under my skin. They’re not worried, and they’re not preparing for anyone to come through the doors.
They think they have all the time in the world. In the new quiet that follows, I hear footsteps They’re heavier than the previous men, and they stop outside the door.
The lock turns with a thick, metallic sound that echoes in the small room and the door opens. I stop breathing, what can they do to me now?
The door opens fully and a woman steps through first. She is nothing like the men who brought me here.
Her dress is sharp, expensive, and perfectly tailored.
Designer heels strike the concrete with clean, deliberate clicks that echo through the small room as she walks closer.
She stops a few feet away and tilts her head, studying me.
When she smiles, it’s slow and empty. And just that look makes my whole body shiver.
“You’re still standing,” she says.
Her voice is smooth and low, almost pleasant, but it slides under my skin like cold metal. It makes the fine hairs on my arms rise.
Behind her, a man follows. He matches her in every way, polished shoes, immaculate coat, and the quiet confidence of someone who expects the world to move around him.
Together they look like they belong on the front of a magazine.
In this freezing room, with my arms bound and blood drying on my chin, they feel more dangerous than anyone who has put their hands on me already tonight.
The man stops beside her, he doesn’t speak at first, he simply looks at me, his expression is unreadable, as if he’s already deciding something.
The woman circles me once, her heels clicking softly. I force myself not to flinch, and not to shrink away, even though every instinct tells me to.
“She has fight left,” the woman remarks. “That never lasts long.”
She stops in front of me again. Her gaze moves over the rope, the bruises, the way I’m forced to stand. There’s no anger in her face, only ownership.
“This is your life now,” she says simply. “The sooner you understand that the easier it will be for you.”
My stomach tightens. I keep my chin up and say nothing. I won’t say anything, I’m not letting them get to me.
The man steps closer and the air seems to shrink around him.
“People always believe someone is coming for them at first,” he says. “They count the hours. They make promises to themselves and then the days pass, and the weeks, and eventually they stop believing.” He studies my face. “You will stop believing too.”
The woman smiles again, that same elegant, hollow smile.
“We’re very patient,” she says softly. “We can wait as long as it takes.” She smiles before continuing to talk. “I’ll let him have fun first." She turns and places her hand on his chest, licking her lips, and looks up at him. "Taste her, kiss her."
The man smiles, licks his lips, takes a step forward, and I freeze. I can’t fight because my legs are too heavy to move, my arms are bound, and what the fuck am I supposed to do?
He stops not even an inch away from me, his finger moving along my jaw to my ear, then the back of my neck, and before I can do anything he pulls me forward, and his lips are on mine.
I fight as much as I can, but there’s only so much I can do.
He pushes his tongue between my lips, and I hear him moan.
I’m going to be sick, I know I am.
He pulls away, and the most sickening smile spreads across his lips.
“Oh, that turned me on.” The woman behind him takes a step closer to the man, then kisses him. It’s not a simple kiss, no this is a full on kiss, I hear her moan into his mouth, and the whole time his eyes are locked on mine.
Finally breaking the kiss, she turns back to me.
“Be happy, you're special. I’m going to let him have some fun with you before the auction starts.” My eyes widen, and I glance at the man, then back to her.
“Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you, I'll be watching.” She takes a step closer to me, she brings her hand closer to me, and I see her perfectly polished nails as the tip moves over my jaw, over my lip.
She’s close enough I can smell the expensive perfume, and she leans closer and kisses me.
What the fuck is wrong with these two people?
She glances at the man, something unspoken passes between them. Then she turns and walks back toward the door, her heels echoing like a slow countdown. The man lingers one second longer, his eyes locked on mine, before following her out. The door closes, the lock turns with a thick, final sound.
I look at Renee, who hasn't looked my way once. I feel the tear drop escape the corner of my eye.
“Have you met…”
“I’ve never met them, and don’t want to,” she says turning her body to look at me.
“I wasn’t expecting them to be running this fucked up business they have made for themselves.” I look around to see if there is a camera in here or not. I see one but the light isn’t flashing, so did they turn it off while they were in here?
They’re not angry.
They’re not rushed.
They’re certain I will break.
And for the first time since they took me, I am no longer sure they’re wrong.
***
I have no idea what time it is.
It was in the early hours of the morning when they took me, more like three o’clock in the morning.
Now there’s no window, no clock, and no way to measure how long I’ve been standing with my arms wrenched behind me.
One thing I can say, with how much my muscles are hurting, it's been hours, maybe even half a day.
The cold has moved past my skin, it lives in my bones now, a deep, grinding ache that makes every breath feel sharper. My shoulders burn constantly. My fingers are numb, and when I shift even slightly, the rope bites deeper and sends fresh sparks of pain up my arms.
I try to hold on to memories of Miles. The quiet care in the way he made sure I ate, the way his voice dropped when he told me he would find me, no matter what. For a few seconds the memory is warm enough to push the cold back.
Then the lock turns with a loud sound. The woman from earlier steps into the room. She’s wearing the same expensive dress, and the same calm, empty smile. Her heels click once on the concrete as she stops in front of me.
“Time for some fun,” she says softly.
The words slide under my skin like ice. She clicks her fingers, and two men enter.
I know I should fight. Every part of me screams to fight, but my body is already past its limit.
The cold, the rope, and the earlier blows have drained the strength from my legs.
When they untie me from the wall I almost collapse.
They catch me by the arms and haul me forward.
We move into a long corridor. The air is even colder here.
Every sound echoes: the men’s boots, the woman’s heels, and my own bare feet dragging against the concrete.
The polished man from earlier joins us halfway down.
He walks on my other side. I hear them speaking in low voices, Romanian mixed with English, too quiet for me to catch the words, but the tone is easy, almost casual.
My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. I know this isn’t going to be better than what came before. I know whatever waits at the end of this corridor is designed to break something in me.
We stop at a heavy door. The woman opens it and walks in first. The two men push me in after her. I dig my heels in at the last second and try to twist free, lunging back toward the corridor.
A large hand closes around my upper arm and yanks me hard against a solid chest. He’s so much bigger than me that my bare feet almost leave the floor. I thrash anyway, kicking, twisting, and driving my elbow back into him with everything I have left.
He doesn’t even rock.
“You’ll enjoy it,” he says, his voice low and almost gentle against my ear.
“I promise.” I keep fighting. My shoulder screams. My wrists burn where the rope still hangs from them.
I try to drop my weight, to make myself harder to hold, to buy even one second of space.
He simply adjusts his grip and walks me farther into the room as if I weigh nothing.
The door closes behind us.
I’m still struggling in his hold when the single overhead light comes on, it’s harsh and white, and I see what is waiting for me inside.
A bed.
I freeze. My body simply stops.
The fight drains out of my arms and legs at once. My breathing turns shallow and distant, like it belongs to someone else. I feel the man's hands on me, but my body doesn't react.
I know, with perfect clarity, that I have no control left, whatever is about to happen, I can’t stop it. My mind narrows to a single white point of panic and then goes strangely quiet, as if it has stepped back from my own body to survive.
I’m still standing only because the man’s holding me up.
Another light switches on to the side. I turn my head slowly, my movements delayed and heavy.
The woman is already seated on a low couch against the wall, her legs crossed, and a glass of dark wine in her hand.
She watches me over the rim with that same calm, empty smile, completely at ease, as if she has all the time in the world.
The polished man releases me just enough to guide me forward.
My bare feet drag against the concrete. I can’t make them move any faster. I can’t make them stop.
He stops me by the bed, turns me to face him, and he slowly removes his jacket, then his tie. He pulls my hair tie out and moves his finger through my hair, and something in me snaps awake and I knee him as hard as I can.
They're not touching me. I won't let them fucking touch me.
He quickly stands straight and slaps me hard making me fall back onto the bed.
“It’s always so much more fun when they fight,” he laughs, and I hear the woman laughing to the side.
“Nooooo!” I scream. He grabs my ankles and pulls me closer to him.
I try to kick him, but he grabs my leg, and kisses the ankle area, so I kick him with my other leg. The man stands up tall and laughs, then slaps me so hard I swear I’m seeing fucking stars. I try to get my bearings around me, but then my arm is yanked, and I feel something around my wrist.
No, no, no.
I try to pull my arm away, and trying to get my sight back, but my arm is stuck, both of them are. No, no, no.
My sight finally focuses and the man is right in front of me, the fucker has handcuffed me to the bed. He slaps me again, and I lie down. Before I can move, he’s sitting on top of me.
I’m screaming, spitting in his face, and kicking my legs about. I’m doing anything to stop him. He grabs the top of my t-shirt and rips it open, exposing my breasts. He leans down and sucks on one hard. Again, I try to fight him.
“No! No! Stop!” I’m screaming, I’m screaming so much I feel my throat starting to hurt so much. I don’t even have a voice left.
My body freezes when I hear the zip of his trousers, and the tears escape the corner of my eyes.
No, this is not going to happen to me, this is not happening to me.