3. Lila
Lila
Nausea pulls me from the blackness. I moan and will it away.
Everything hurts. My head, my arms, my legs. Even my eyelids hurt when I open my eyes. I force them apart anyway and immediately regret it. Sunlight blinds me.
I squeeze my eyes closed.
I have the worst hangover. I don’t remember drinking. Who was I with? Slowly, I open my eyes again and look around the room.
Where the hell am I?
I try to sit up, but my body doesn't cooperate. It feels like my head has been stuffed with cotton. My limbs feel heavy and disconnected, like they aren’t mine. I prop myself up on one elbow, look down at myself, and frown.
I'm wearing an oversized T-shirt that falls to mid-thigh. It's soft and feels expensive. Definitely not mine. I note the red marks on my wrists and the bruises all over my arms.
Panic claws its way up my throat as I look around the room. It feels wrong.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and have to grab the edge of the bed to keep from falling. The room spins. I feel the burn of bile at the back of my throat.
Did I fall off a horse? I try to remember. Was I training one of the colts? Sometimes, they buck. I've been thrown before, but I don’t have any recollection of a horse incident.
I stand in the room on legs that feel like rubber and close my eyes. I’m not well. Where’s Mama? She should be here.
The memory slams into me with the force of a freight train, and I fall to the bed. Every ounce of strength I have is gone.
The trailer. The black SUV. The men.
Mama.
Oh, God. Mama.
I see her face. That one eye staring at me. The blood. So much blood.
They killed her. They killed my mama, and then they took me.
I need to call the police. I need to tell them what happened. I need to get out of this place.
If I can get to a phone, I’ll call for help.
“Save yourself, Lila!” Mama’s voice is in my head, telling me to move.
I stumble back to my feet. My legs will not cooperate. I brace myself against the wall to keep from falling face-first.
"Mama," I whisper. My voice cracks. "I need my Mama."
But Mama's dead.
The grief tries to swallow me whole, but I can't let it. I need to focus. I need to get out of here.
I make my way to the door, using the wall for support. My bare feet are silent on the plush carpet. I reach the door and try the handle.
It’s locked.
I should’ve known. They’ve been keeping me locked away since they took me. I pound on the door with my fist, but the sound is pathetic, weak. I can barely lift my arm. My body is still off, making everything slow and difficult.
"Let me out!" I shout, but it comes out as barely more than a croak. "Let me out!"
I hit the door until my arm gives out. I lean my forehead against the wood, fighting back tears. I won't cry. I can't. If I start now, I won't stop.
I hear footsteps on the other side, and then a key turning in the lock. I stumble backward, looking around for something to use as a weapon. There's nothing. Just expensive furniture and soft pillows. This place is a lot nicer than the last room they had me in.
The door opens.
The woman in the doorway is holding a tray. Her bright red hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She's wearing jeans and a black tank top. She looks to be in her mid-thirties, but she’s got an edge. I’ve been around people like her. Hard eyes. The kind you earn, not inherit.
"Good, you're awake." She steps inside. "Sit down before you fall down."
"Who are you? Where am I?" My voice is hoarse, barely recognizable.
"I'm Cinder." She sets the tray on the dresser. "And you're safe. That's all you need to know right now."
"Safe?" I let out a bitter laugh that turns into a cough. Coughing hurts my head. And my chest. Everything is sore. "I'm locked in a room. That's not safe; that's prison."
"Prison has worse food." She gestures to the tray. "Sit. Eat. You need something in your stomach."
"I need to leave. I need to go. I don’t want to be here.” The room spins again.
I sway and feel myself going down, helpless to stop it.
Cinder moves quickly, catching my arm to support me. "I said sit."
She guides me to the bed. I don't have the strength to fight her. I collapse onto the mattress, hating how weak I am.
"Let me go," I say. "Please. I need to go home.”
I stop. There's no home to go back to. And Mama's gone.
Cinder offers me a sympathetic look. "Eat first. Then we'll talk."
"I don't want to talk. I want to leave."
"That's not up to me."
"Then who is it up to?"
She doesn't answer. Instead, she picks up the tray and sets it on the bed next to me. There's toast, scrambled eggs, and orange juice. The smell turns my stomach. It looks good, but I’m nauseous.
"I can't eat."
"You need to. There are still drugs in your system. Food will help."
Drugs. My stomach turns. "What drugs? What did they give me?"
"I don't know. Whatever the Albanians pumped into you, it was a lot." She sits in the chair by the window, watching me. "You're lucky Maksim pulled you out when he did. You were headed somewhere much worse."
"Maksim?" The name means nothing to me.
"The man who took you from them."
“Took me,” I murmur. “Like I’m cargo.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“They told me I was being given to someone,” I say. Fragmented conversations flit through my mind. They didn’t speak to me much, but there had been plenty of threats.
“That’s generally the way it works.”
I stare at her. “No. That’s not how life is. People don’t give away other people.”
“That’s exactly how life is. You’ve been lucky to not see it before.”
I have so many questions, but my brain can’t formulate what I need to know.
“Where am I?” That seems like the most important question. When I escape—and I will—I need to know which direction to run.
“Maksim’s house.”
“Where?”
She tilts her head and stares at me. “Florida. Miami. Where are you from?”
“Texas.”
“What’s your name?”
The citrusy scent of the orange juice calls to me. I reach for it and take a tiny sip, then stop. “Is this drugged?”
She smiles. “No.”
“You wouldn’t tell me if it was.”
“We don’t drug people. Don’t drink too much without eating some toast.”
I take another drink. The flavor bursts over my tongue. I feel my body coming alive from the nutrition in just those few sips. I pick up a piece of toast and take a bite. This is the good bread. I take another bite.
“How long were you with them?” she asks.
I consider the question. “What day is it?”
“Tuesday.”
I do the math. “Three days.”
She nods. “Your name?”
“Lila.”
I take another bite. I’m still queasy, but the food and juice help.
“I assume you didn’t choose to be with them?”
I scoff. “Why would I?”
“How did you end up with them? They don’t typically leave Florida.”
I’m not ready to talk to anyone about that. I can’t give it words. Not yet.
“They took me,” I whisper.
She nods. “You fought them. That’s how you were injured.”
“I’m fine.”
“I cleaned the cut on your head. It should have been stitched, but it looks a couple of days old. What happened?”
“I got hit.”
“The drugs… choice, or forced?”
“I don’t do drugs.”
“Do you know what they gave you?”
I shrug. “I think it was in my water. I had a headache, and I remember taking a couple of pills that someone gave me.”
She nods again, and I think I see relief on her face. “Lila, I’d like to bring in a doctor to check for injuries I can’t see.”
“No.”
“You might need antibiotics. The doctor will check for other things. Blood work.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Because you might have contracted something without knowing you’re sick.”
“I have a concussion. Or had. I think it’s just the drugs.”
She almost smiles, and I feel like she wants to pat me on my poor, naive head. “How old are you?”
“Old enough.”
“Lila, I’m not your enemy. I’m trying to help you. It’s obvious you’ve been through hell, and we’re all trying to help you through it.”
“Why? You don’t know me.”
“Nope, I don’t, but Maksim has taken you under his wing.”
“You’re being forced to bring me food?”
“No one forces me to do anything.”
“You just said Maksim is forcing you to help me.”
“Not what I said.”
She gets to her feet. “Eat. Rest. The bathroom is through there. You can shower if you’d like.”
“Did you undress me?” I ask quietly.
“I did.”
I bite back a sob at being exposed and vulnerable. How many people looked at my naked body? What did they do while I was unconscious?
“Lila, it was only me in here,” she says softly. “No one touched you. I took that dress off you and threw it out. I removed some of the makeup from your face, but you’ll want to shower. You’ll find clean clothes in the dresser. Toiletries in the bathroom.”
“Am I his prisoner?” I ask.
She snorts as if that’s the most ridiculous thing in the world. “No.”
“Then why is the door locked?”
“To keep you safe.”
I roll my eyes. “From them, or you and your people?”
“You’re safe, Lila. Eat. Rest. I’ll bring you another meal in a couple of hours.”
“And if I want to leave now?”
“You can’t even stand.”
“Bullshit!” I throw off the blanket and stand to prove I can do it.
The world spins, but I don’t fall. I raise my chin and stare defiantly at her.
She laughs at me. “Oh, shit. No wonder he likes you.”
And then she’s gone. I hear the lock turn, and I fall back onto the bed.
What the hell is happening to me? Is this my life? Will I be passed from one man to the next until someone kills me?
I hear heavy footsteps and a deep, male voice saying something I can’t quite make out.
It’s him.