She tried to move her body and dislodge the weight of all the other women lying on top of one another like some shield or something. “Don’t move. They’ll hit you again and drug you up,” one young woman whispered. Her eyes were swollen shut, her lip torn and her blouse ripped nearly all the way off.
Aspen shivered as she realized she was only wearing her bra and panties, and looked and felt pretty battered herself.
“Where are we?”
“I don’t know. It’s too dark in here,” she whispered.
They heard male voices, the sounds not so foreign to her. Russian? Slavic? Romanian?
She moved into a sitting position and the young woman next to her grabbed her wrist. Aspen gasped at the pain. She wondered if her wrist was sprained or broken.
“Who’s talking!” The voice came from behind them. Deep, thick accent and all. The woman screamed as the man pulled her up from the pile stepping over bodies in the process.
He smacked her across the mouth. The woman cried out.
“No! Stop that. Don’t hurt her. What are you doing? Let me go!” Aspen screamed out as she jumped up and attacked the man hurting the young woman.
His arm moved so quickly. The grunt, the gurgling sound indicating what he had done.
Aspen stepped back, falling over the other women who now cried and moaned, pleading for life.
The woman fell from his arms, all bloody. Dead. He’d stabbed her.
Aspen ran. Her legs ached, she damned not being able to run faster, because of the pain, the bruises covering her body. She could hardly see but there was a dim light. It was a good distance away, but the fear, the need to live and get free were greater than the pain.
She felt the blow to the back of her head, then the pain as her knees hit the concrete. She fell forward, the man landing on top of her. He was yelling in Russian and she was fighting him off. She swung her arms, her legs. She even bit him, and then he snapped her arm, breaking the bone. She screamed but continued to fight him until some other men came, grabbing at her, holding her down. His face was inches from hers.
“You go first, cunt. The boat leaves in an hour,” he spat at her. Then she felt the prick to her skin.
She cried and pleaded to be free, to be let go and to get to Porter. Her mind went fuzzy and she fought to hold on as they threw her into a metal cage, pulled her broken arm forward and attached handcuffs to it and then top of the cage. The pain was excruciating as her broken arm hung from the top of the cage on the inside. She barely fit into the thing. He shoved her in there, said filthy disgusting things to her as he cupped her breasts, pinched them and laughed telling the men he might fuck her before she was shipped off.
She cried out, screamed at him, and he slugged her in the mouth, ripped her bra off and grazed her with the knife he had killed the other woman with. “Keep your mouth shut. I’ll be back for you so we can play, in just a few minutes.”
She shivered and shook with fear. She fell backward and felt as if her arm would tear in half. She blinked in and out of consciousness fighting to hold on in desperation yet wondering if she should succumb to the sedative and give in to unconsciousness so she wouldn’t feel the man’s hands on her when he raped her.
She moaned and grunted. “Stay awake, stay awake,” she chanted out loud. Then she felt the second prick to her skin.
“She’s a tough bitch. Will make a great fucking slave won’t she?” one man said.
“She sure will. I’d love to have her for my own. But taking her means so much more,” the other said in a thick Russian accent. She recognized the voice and fought to hold on to her mind and figure out who it was. Time passed, the pain intensified to a throbbing, painful ache where she began to wish she would just die.
Her head rolled back, she felt the room spinning, the sounds seeming to echo in her mind as if they were miles away instead of very nearby. She heard thumps, yelling, then silence. Such an eerie silence.
The cage moved, she blinked her eyes open and saw the mask. It was black, over only the man’s mouth and something was over his head, too. It was as if he were wearing scuba gear but not rubber. His eyes. She focused on his eyes as she moaned. Dark blue, angry, determined, then calm. He lifted his hand and gave a signal. She felt motion around her,
the click of the handcuffs dislodging from the metal above, and then her arm fell. It was numb. She couldn’t feel it.
There were mumbled words. Words she didn’t understand as she forced her eyes to remain open. Dark blue eyes held her gaze, transfixed on her trying to infuse strength in her somehow.
“Storm?”
“Yes, baby. Come on now. Wake up and look at me, baby,” he whispered and she felt his hands on her touching her, caressing her.
Then came the Russian voice. “You both die.”
The gunshot echoed in her mind as she watched Storm get shot and fall to the ground dead. The Russian. The one who said he wanted her for his own showed his face. “Iakov.” Aspen screamed in terror and fear. Storm was dead. Storm got shot. Storm, Storm, Storm!
Aspen was screaming over and over again as she awoke sitting upward and rocking back and forth.