Chapter 1 – Blair #2
A small compartment came into view, holding a locked box.
I punched in the four-digit code, and the box clicked open, revealing two of my favorite toys—a Glock 19, a military-grade pistol I used in the army, and a Ka-Bar combat knife.
I picked up the pistol and tucked it into my waistband, then strapped the knife to my belt.
I sealed the wooden floor back and covered the rug over it before rising to my feet. After a last look at my reflection in the full-length mirror, I let out a sigh and headed out of the house.
With the hoodie of my jacket flipped over my face, I stepped outside, my outfit blending with the night.
I arrived at the warehouse in no time, my feet soundless against the floor as I walked inside. The air was thick with the stench of rust and oil, and the place looked half-abandoned—a classic hideout for illegal activities.
The further inside I went, the darker it became, with the moon’s soft glow seeping through a cracked window as the only source of light. I turned on my phone’s torch, my eyes drinking in the shadows around me.
I kept walking like a ninja—silent and unnoticed until I spotted a closed door up ahead. I quickened my pace, rushing over to grab the handle. It wasn’t locked. Quietly, I pushed it, and it opened with a low creak, revealing the crates stacked with suspicious contents.
I dared to step inside for a closer look, my phone’s torch held up in front of me. There were women’s belongings in the crates, drugs—lots of drugs—and some stuff I didn’t recognize. Before I could take a picture, I heard some heavy footsteps approaching from behind.
Without thinking twice, I turned off my phone’s flashlight and glanced around, my pulse spiking. After spotting a dark corner, I ran over there and leaned against the wall.
Two men walked into the room, chattering in what sounded like Italian. My heart skipped a beat as I watched them from the shadows. They inspected the crates, as if searching for something in particular.
“Hey, check this out,” one said, his deep voice thick with an Italian accent. He held up a woman’s oversized underpants.
The other guy licked his lips, hands rubbing in glee. “Fuck, the owner of that must be plus-sized—my type.”
My eyes narrowed, fingers curling into a fist on my side. “Perverts,” I murmured to myself.
The two men laughed, seemingly unaware of my presence. Well, that was until my phone vibrated, the sudden noise drawing their attention toward me.
My breath hitched in that moment, and my heart sank into my stomach. “Shit!” I mumbled, struggling to turn it off, but the damn thing wouldn’t stop buzzing. My eyes glanced at the screen, and I realized it was my roommate calling. “Great, Lettie! Your timing is impeccable,” I whispered to myself.
Both men withdrew their guns, their attention focused on me.
“Who’s there?!” one of them demanded, his voice low and menacing.
“Show yourself!” the other commanded.
These guys weren’t the cops; they shot first and asked questions later. I should shoot first, take them down before they’d pull their triggers. But on second thought, I wasn’t sure how many of them there were out there. Just because I saw two men didn’t mean that there couldn’t be others.
If I fired right now, the gunshots would attract more attention to me, slashing my chances of survival. I needed to think of something quickly.
“You have three seconds before we open fire,” the second guy added, cocking his gun.
I tucked my Glock into the back of my pants and zipped up my jacket to hide the blade sheathed at my belt. Then, I raised my hands in the air.
“Please, don’t shoot,” I pleaded, tuning my voice to sound helpless and afraid.
Their eyes narrowed at me when I stepped out of the shadows, hands raised in surrender.
“Would you look at that?” the first guy said, his lips twisting into a mischievous smirk.
“How’d you get in here?” the second guy asked.
“It’s a funny story, really,” I began, taking slow steps forward, my sharp eyes roaming the surroundings, searching for the quickest exits. “I was playing hide and seek with my boyfriend when I saw this abandoned warehouse.”
That was the best lie I could come up with at the moment. It sucked, yes. But it was the only thing that popped into my head.
The second guy raised an eyebrow. “You expect us to believe that?”
“She’s lying,” the first guy said. “She’s a cop.”
“What? No, I’m not. I swear!”
At least this one was true.
“If you’re not a cop, then you’re a nosy girl,” the first guy said, lowering his gun. “Do you know what we do to nosy girls like you?”
“Um…you—you let us go?” I asked, stalling while I observed the two men, running calculations in my head on how to take them down.
They weren’t huge or muscular—just two regular guys armed with guns. One was a tiny bit taller than me. The other, not so much.
The first guy nodded at the second. “Show the bitch what we do to her kind.”
Bitch?
Yeah, I hated that word.
The idiot must’ve underestimated me because he tucked his gun into his pants and approached me with an intimidating look on his face.
Big mistake.
Even the previous guy had lowered his gun and was lighting a cigarette when his partner approached me.
His hand lunged for my wrist, but I was faster, trapping his arm in mine.
And with a sharp wrench downward, I twisted hard, a sickening crack echoing through the room.
He yelled in anguish, but before he could make another move, I shoved his weight forward, denting his skull into the edge of the steel table beside me.
“What the fuck?” The other guy’s eyes widened in shock, his cigarette falling from his lips.
He lifted his gun, aiming at me—too slow. I’d already unsheathed my knife, and with a flick of my wrist, the blade spun through the gloom. He grunted at the impact after the knife sank hilt-deep into the right side of his chest. He stumbled and fell backward with a loud thud.
The other guy, still dazed from the impact, staggered to his feet, his head bleeding uncontrollably. He clutched his broken arm, his eyes blazing with fury, and right before he could throw a punch, I kicked him hard in the chest. He crashed into the crates.
This was my window, my chance to escape, and I took it. However, before I could reach the door, three other guys barreled in, blocking my path. They glanced back at their injured comrades and decided to launch an attack.
I dodged their blows and kicks, retaliating with my own, and soon the sounds of thick grunts filled the space. I was almost certain these men were wondering deep down how I could stand toe to toe with all three of them at the same time.
Well, I was trained by the U.S. Army, so I wasn’t just good with weapons; I was good with my fists, too. These guys were stronger, and that’s why I avoided their punches at all costs. One blow was enough to knock me unconscious.
This whole time, none of us had fired a bullet—not even once.
I drove my knee into the ribs of my closest opponent, then used his momentum to flip him hard onto the floor. Another lunged with a pipe, but I was quick to duck under the swing, my fist crushing my attacker’s balls.
His eyes widened in pain, his hands flying to his groin as if to help soothe the agony. “Bitch!” he cursed under his breath, straining with veins lining his forehead.
The second I turned around to face the last guy, I met a blow that almost crushed my skull. It was so powerful that it turned my head with a sickening crack. I honestly thought my neck was broken, and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor.
My vision was hazy, and the ringing in my ears wouldn’t stop. His heavy footsteps echoed off the walls as he marched toward me, slow and deliberate. I tried to stand, but my head was too heavy, my body too numb to move.
I could hear the sound of my own heart hammering like a drum in my heaving chest. Fear crept in, stealing my breath and leaving me vulnerable.
“The bitch broke my arm,” one of them grumbled, kicking me hard in the ribs.
I groaned on the floor, surrounded by these dangerous men, whom I’d just pissed off.
“Hold her down,” one of them ordered the others.
Before I could do anything else, I was restrained—hands and feet pinned to the floor so tightly that I could barely move. I struggled to fight back, but they were stronger.
My vision cleared, and the first thing I saw was a huge man towering over me. His lips twisted into an evil smirk. “I’m gonna enjoy this,” he growled, fingers taking off his belt.
I struggled, trying to squirm out of their hold, but I was too weak. “Let go of me!”
They laughed, holding me down with all their might. They handled me roughly, squeezing against my flesh. One of them was busy cupping my breast; another was slapping my face, while one was struggling with my zipper.
I struggled, crying out, begging those perverts to stop, but they didn’t listen.
“Not so strong now, are you?”
They laughed at me, molested my body, each touch fueling my hate and anger.
They’d already unzipped my pants, and the huge guy above me was now reaching for his shaft when a loud voice echoed through the room.
“Enough!”
The men stopped, their heads turning toward the speaker.
One by one, they let go of me and stepped away.
The second I was free, I rushed to my feet, taking the stance of a warrior who wasn’t done fighting.
However, deep down, I knew I was in deep trouble, and no amount of fighting would save me now.
The newcomer, an older man with gray hair and a well-trimmed beard, resplendent in a black tux, wasn’t alone. He walked in with about five other men, each one armed to the teeth.
His shoes scuffed against the floor as he approached me, his eyes wandering around the space. He looked at his men with raised brows, a glint of astonishment flickering in his gaze.
“She…did this to you?” he asked them, his focus shifting from one injured man to the other.
They hid their faces in shame, although the rage in their expressions wasn’t at all subtle.
He drew closer to me.
“Stay back!” I warned him, snatching a discarded knife from the floor.
“Ooh, temper, temper,” he said, his lips curling into a self-satisfied smirk. “This one’s got fire in her eyes. I like her,” he added, glancing back at his men.
He drew closer again.
My grip tightened around the hilt of the blade. “I swear to God, I know how to use this, and I will not hesitate to do so if you take one more step closer.”
He laughed. “Put the knife down, child.”
I locked my jaw, eyes shifting across the mean faces of the men around me.
“You fought well,” he said, taking another step further. “And I gotta admit, taking down five of my men on your own is very impressive.” He halted before me, his gray eyes boring into mine. “Now get that knife out of my face.”
I glared at him, then reluctantly lowered the blade.
“See, that wasn’t so hard.” He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and then blew a puff of smoke right in my face. “What do they call you?”
I didn’t respond, just glared at him.
“Who do you work for?”
Still not a single word.
He heaved a sigh, then rubbed his eyes. “You know what, I don’t care who you are. I know exactly what to do with you.”
At this point, my breathing was erratic, chest rising and falling as I struggled to mask my fear with fury.
“Bernard,” he called, glancing over his shoulder.
“Boss,” the big guy answered, stepping forward with his eyes pinned on me.
“Our clients will pay good money for a fiery woman like this one,” he said, a faint smirk curling at the corners of his lips.
Wait. What?
Panic set in, and I lifted the knife again with an even deeper scowl.
They laughed at me, mocking my willingness to keep fighting.
“Alright. I’ve had enough of the show,” the newcomer said. Then he ordered his men, “Restrain her.”
Before I could use the knife, it was snatched from my hand. The next thing I knew, I was being seized by two huge men. I fought against their strength, my legs flailing in the air, but nothing worked. “Let me go! Let me go!”
“Keep her with the others, but don’t touch her,” the boss added and headed out. “She’s for sale.”
I’d never been more afraid in my life, never hated myself more for not listening to Scarlett’s advice. If I hadn’t come out here tonight, maybe this wouldn’t have happened to me. Maybe I wouldn’t have been a victim of the very operation I fought so hard to bring down.
Everything happened so fast, and I could only hope that this was some kind of nightmare.
They bound my wrists behind my back and dragged me deeper into the warehouse, ignoring my struggles and screams.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” One of them smacked me across the face. He stopped in his tracks and gripped my jaw tightly. “You should be grateful we’re not taking turns on you.”
The other guy opened a door in front of us, and they hurled me inside, then slammed it shut behind me. On the floor, I winced at my aching body, and when I raised my head, my heart skipped a beat.
I was in a small room, lit by a single bulb that swung on its wire, throwing restless shadows across the walls. My wrist burned from the ropes, but honestly, it wasn’t the pain that made my skin crawl; it was the helpless faces around me.
Women sat huddled in clusters on the cold floor, their backs against the damp walls and rusted pipes. The women were a mix of Asians, Americans, Europeans, and Africans. Some wore dresses that had been ripped off or wrinkled; others were still in their work uniforms.
These women stared at me with fear and hopelessness in their eyes. Their humanity was stripped down to shivers, ragged breaths, and the sounds of chains clinking whenever someone shifted.
They were prisoners—all of them.
And now, so was I.
Fuck.