Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“But I—”
He holds up a finger to stop me mid-sentence. “When daddy speaks, you listen,” he says, and hell I wish he didn’t put it that way, because it makes me feel little and submissive, and I need to get shit done. I promised I would work with him to get to the bottom of this trafficking fiasco, and my gut says this girl beckoning me has something to say. But he won’t let me go.
“Fine,” I say with a sigh, while internally plotting how to get away from him, and thank God right at that moment the men from earlier approach us. Stefan puts me on my feet so he can stand to greet them, and I look about me for my chance. My heart’s beating so fast I’m lightheaded. He’s going to punish me for this. I know he will. There’s zero doubt in my mind that he would lose his mind if I got away from him right now, but I have to do my part in this job we have.
So I take my hand from his, pretending I dropped something, and to my relief, he’s deep in a conversation with one of the men. I fuss with my shoes and keep my head down and take one step backward. He doesn’t notice. This could be my chance. He looks at me for a moment, then someone else speaks to him, and when he turns to look at them, I bolt. I keep my steps at a fast-paced trot. He could see me now, but he couldn’t stop me without drawing attention to us.
In six paces, I’m in the bathroom. I open the door and shut it behind me. I’m panting, like I’ve just run from the police and made my escape. I’m shaking, because not only do I know that what she’s going to tell me is important, but I know when Stefan gets his hands on me, he’s going to punish me.
The woman I saw on the main floor opens the door and comes in when I do. “Thank you,” she whispers. She’s about my age but her hair is short, and she’s wearing even fewer clothes than I am. I start when I see finger-shaped bruise marks all along her upper arms. What cruelty has she endured?
But before she can speak to me, the door opens again, and the woman with the violet hair I saw earlier steps into the room. Tall and gracious, her exotic, almond-shaped eyes smile at me. She doesn’t speak but locks herself in one of the stalls. The woman who beckoned me here catches my eye in the mirror and holds a finger to her lips. I pretend I see nothing, and step into the second stall, pretending to use it while we wait for the other woman to vacate.
A moment later, I hear the flush of a toilet, and watch the silver, pointed-toed shoes of the woman beside me exit, then the sound of a faucet being turned on.
“Ferhana,” she says. Her voice is clear and melodic, like church bells. “Are you well?”
“I am. Just needed to freshen up a bit,” she responds.
“Your master will be looking for you,” the other woman says. My stomach tightens at the warning. He will indeed be looking for her. This woman needs to get the hell out of here.
Her fancy shoes click-clack on the tiled floor. I flush the toilet, so this all looks normal, and hear the door open and close. I come out of the stall and go to wash my hands when the woman who beckoned me in here goes to the door, shuts it, and flips a deadbolt, locking it.
“She’s right,” she says in a voice just above a whisper. “My master will be looking for me. I have to be quick. But I know, you are not one of the women from the auction, and you are with the man with the beard.”
I nod.
“We have to be quick,” she whispers. I don’t know how she knows she can trust me or how I know I can trust her—okay, I don’t know that I can trust her, I’m still very much taking a risk here. “They’ll kill us as soon as look at us,” she whispers, and the reality of the danger we face settles on me thick and smothering. “I’ve seen him do it. He says we are easily replaceable.”
Right outside this door are men that do unspeakable things. And just the fact that we’re both standing here, each bearing resemblance we can’t deny, it’s obvious.
Easily replaceable.
We’re expendable, and we know it. They could snuff us out like birthday candles.
But she isn’t expendable. I’m not. Hell, no human being is. Every single human who walks this earth, from the tiniest, most dependent child, to the frailest elderly person is worthy of a life well-lived, respected, and honored. A vision of my mother, so thin and weak, holding my hand, immediately assaults my memory. I think of Caroline, the woman who bears the scar of the cruelty she endured.