Abby
The cold is what wakes me, and the only thing that makes me think I might not actually be dead. If I’m not dead, that means I’ve been dreaming, and I’m not sure if that’s a better or worse reality.
Snippets of moments I think truly happened are mixed with dreams that can’t be true.
Misha and me, married and happy.
Me with my mother and father, showing off a newborn wrapped in a blanket.
The baby looking just like Conor, and my parents withdrawing in revulsion while Misha stares at me, disappointment seeping from his pores.
Ellie and I sipping on fruity cocktails and ogling our men while they splash around in the pool with a bevy of children.
Nonna teaching Mom and me her pizzelle recipe.
Hearing a baby cry in Conor’s dark mansion and being chained to a bed and unable to go to it.
Before I felt the cold, I was cozy with Misha, just like I was before I fell asleep. Now, it’s like I’m trying to hold on to him and keep his warmth, but my grip isn’t strong enough, and I’m pulled away.
“There she is. My Sleeping Beauty.”
No.
I tremble against the cold, refusing to open my eyes and see the devil who’s just spoken. I tried so hard to get away from you…
Finally, I blink into the harsh, fluorescent lighting. Conor stands with another man, faceless behind a mask. He’s smiling at me, as charming as ever, through the…bars? Of my…cage?
My flight instinct engages, earning me nothing but a searing pain in my neck as I fall back to the hard floor, jerked by the collar around my neck chaining me to the floor. How the hell did I end up here? I remember Conor taunting me with the album, then…
Nothing comes out as I dry heave, crumpling to the floor in the fetal position. Waves of memories and emotions roll over me as my senses wake simultaneously.
Conor’s lies about my father. The pill he forced down my throat. The stench of urine I’m lying in. Dead eyes gazing back at me from the cage inches away from mine.
“Did you think you were getting away? That, after all this time, I’d just give you the coward’s way out of life?”
An ominous rattle warns me of the breach of my cage, and I’m roughly pushed onto my back by the sole of Conor’s leather shoe.
He and the masked man stand between my legs, pushing them wide, and I relax my knees, knowing from years of experience that trying to pull them together would only make things worse for me in the end.
“You weren’t lying.” The stranger laughs, voice low and raspy. “She’s clearly well trained if she doesn’t fight anymore.”
“She’s very used to spreading her legs whenever I say. Her cunt’s never loosened, though. As you can see, I never bred her. She knows she’s supposed to keep this out of my sight, however, so I’m not sure what she was thinking coming back here in this state. Completely unfit to fuck.”
Conor punctuates his opinion with a harsh yank of my pubic hair, likely pulling out more than a few as I shriek from the pain.
“Before long, I’ll have her back in suitable form.”
With that last judgment, I wait until they leave me and lock my cage to risk rolling back over to my side.
As Conor and the man continue throughout the room, I hear a horrific mixture of sobs, slapping skin, and silence.
Locking eyes with the woman next to me, she finally blinks, and I’m not sure if I should feel thankful she’s alive.
For her sake, it might be better if she weren’t.
After a few more minutes of low discussions of training, pricing, and auctions, I finally understand what the Santoris were trying to tell me.
Conor is a monster of the highest order.
Not just a murdering Mafia man. Not just a drug trafficker.
No, it’s clear that he’s an expert at selling human cargo as well.
We’ve attended countless galas together, at least a dozen of which were to benefit victims of sex trafficking specifically.
Similarly to when the charity was for domestic violence shelters, I always marveled at how Conor managed to be his normal, charming self even when I had to wear a long-sleeved gown to hide my bruises.
How could he be so happy to donate money to such a hypocritical cause?
I never imagined in my worst nightmares that he was taking part in the trafficking, too.
Once they leave, after threats from Conor that he’d see us all soon, silence descends again, and we’re plunged into inky blackness.
Apparently, the terrible, bright light that had greeted me when I first woke was only for our inspection.
Otherwise, it seemed all of us, however many were here, were destined to exist in dark squalor.
When I hear a few of the other women start whispering among themselves, I take a chance and try to get the attention of the one I’d thought was dead.
“Hey. My name is Abby. I know you’re not okay, but…”
Fuck. I don’t know what to say. None of us is okay. Death awaits us if we’re lucky, but more than likely, it’ll be unimaginable pain until we blessedly die. Am I supposed to ask what her favorite TV show is?
“She’s not going to answer you. At least, I highly doubt it. I’ve been here for a while now, and I’ve never heard her speak.”
The soft voice comes from behind me, and I flip slowly, chains barely rattling, to face it.
“My name is Sandy. It’s nice to meet you, Abby.”
I wish I could see her, but she sounds young. So many questions suddenly come to the tip of my tongue that I barely manage to squeak one out.
“What…what is this? How did you get here?”
It takes so long for her to answer that I almost think she’s died or fallen asleep. Finally, she whispers back.
“It’s Mayor Fitzpatrick’s basement. In his glitzy mansion, if you can believe it. Although, from what he said earlier, it sounds like you must know him pretty well? Have you been here before?”
For a moment, I consider whether I have anything to lose in telling her exactly who I am.
I’m sure it’ll come out soon enough, but something about admitting that I used to live in luxury upstairs while this hellhole existed in the basement I was forbidden from entering seems wrong.
Even if my luxury came with a constant, heavy price.
“Yeah, uh…I’ve known him for a while. I knew he was a bad man, but I had no idea he did…this.”
She huffs a barely there laugh, filled with bitter rage.
“Yeah, he manages to hide a lot of his shit from the public. Based on his latest polls, it seems like people might be seeing through the facade more these days. Plus, plenty of whispers are going around about what actually happened to his wife. He’s changed his story a few times.
Hopefully, he slips up and gets caught before the next event. ”
“Event?”
“They call them pageants. We’re fed extra calories in the lead-up to try to make us look more alive.
They take us from here and doll us up, dressed in ball gowns and with makeup covering our malnutrition.
Only one woman has ever come back. She’s the reason we even know what comes next.
The others…apparently men bid on them, and then… ”
There’s no need for her to finish her sentence.
Every woman who has ever watched the news knows what happens when men with money have the chance to own us.
I’ve never thought any man existed who was good enough not to take part, except my father.
Now that Conor’s told me what I’m still struggling to believe, I’m not even sure about him.
Misha would never. The Santoris would never…
Tears threaten again, and Sandy tries to console me.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure some girls go to nice men. And they feed us here and wash us once every few days.”
“Thanks.” I sniffle, trying to stay strong. If she’s calm, I can be calm. “How did you end up here, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“My good-for-nothing husband pissed Conor off. He failed to get a good enough exchange rate on a seedy deal with some Italians and decided to take me instead of killing him. I’ll be what he likes to call a ‘lease.’”
“A lease? What the—?”
“Yeah, it’s fucked. Instead of selling me permanently to someone, he’ll lease me for a few months, then send me back to my husband.
Used goods as punishment. He was never abusive to me before, but I’m not confident he’ll be understanding when I get back.
If I survive, that is. I heard Conor telling him that the ‘lease agreement’ would be his penalty and thought they were talking about cars.
Then I was offered a drink, and the next thing I knew, I was here. ”
“You knew what Conor did? Not being mayor, I mean, but the…Mafia stuff? Did you know when you married your husband?”
“When I married my husband, he was a nobody. But he was my high school sweetheart, and my family was anxious to get me out of the house, so we moved out and got married. Then when he told me he found a way to make more money, I should have known it was bad news. Long story short, by the time he asked me what I thought, it was too late. He was initiated, and my life became sitting with other wives gossiping and hoping he’d come home safe every night. ”
“I’m sorry. That doesn’t sound like a life you signed up for.”
Her reply is drowned out by the murmur of the woman I had turned my back to. The one Sandy had said wouldn’t speak.
“They’ll be here soon with food. Everyone quiet.”
The entire room heeds her warning, and within thirty seconds, the terrible light returns.
As my eyes adjust, I see Sandy and realize she looks familiar.
I must have met her at one of Conor’s functions, considering her to just be the wife of one of his associates.
How many women have I met over the years who knew their husbands were a part of my husband’s illegal activities, all while I had no clue?
How many of them had laughed behind my back because I was so ignorant?
Had Sandy’s husband been one of the countless men who had used me?
It takes everything within me to fight the nausea that seems only to wane and never truly fade and force myself to eat the bland but warm tray of food that’s been offered.
My eyelids become heavy toward the end of the meal, and it hits me that they must drug us regularly to keep our ability to gossip or form bonds to a minimum.
Not sure why they bother, considering that from what I can see when the lights are on, we’re all too weak to put up any semblance of a fight against our binds.
This must be a lower dose than what Conor gave me before, and I have more time to think as I curl up and wait for sleep to take me.
I’m scared, of course. I want to do nothing but live in my mind and dream of Misha and the life I might have had if I had just trusted him.
But underneath my fear is a simmering pool of rage, and although it’s small, I know it’ll never be completely snuffed out.
I’m still alive.
If he had actually killed me, I would have died never knowing what a devil Conor truly is.
I would never have had a chance to consider that now.
If I make it out of here, it’s possible I can make a difference and expose him.
I’ll at least fucking try, with my last breath, to save as many of these women as I can.
I also realize now that I have nothing but silence and my own thoughts, that there’s no way Misha isn’t coming for me.
The terror I felt when Conor threatened him and I fled blinded me to the absolute truth: Misha’s the love of my life.
My soulmate. He’ll burn down the world to get to me, and I was a fool to think for a second that my note would deter him.
As for Conor’s taunts about where Misha is now…I’m sure there’s a good reason. He’s plotting, planning…making sure that when he arrives, he can not only cut the head off the snake but also root out the very depths of the evil. I know he’ll come for me.
All I have to do is stay alive and stay sane until then. Once Misha arrives, I’ll be safe.
And all hell will break loose.