Rough Exile

Chapter Three

IfI’dknownabout having to wear the fabric hood that covered my face the entire time we were traveling, I might have turned down the offer.

Not really, but the hood was dark and stuffy, and made me feel claustrophobic.

I’d thought the boat had been bad, but the turbulence in the plane was terrible. The ship in between had been better. The plane felt small, but I doubted we were on a commercial aircraft, considering they were traveling with a woman who was hooded and usually bound.

For the first leg of our journey, they hadn’t tied my hands, but when they discovered I’d taken off my hood—so I could breathe better, not to be nosy—they’d tied my wrists behind my back again. Someone checked on my arms and hands periodically, but it made me regret having done anything I hadn’t had permission to do.

At least they’d put a shirt on me. It felt like a very large man’s button-up—almost cozy if I pulled my knees up inside it with me.

I lay on what felt like a carpeted floor. No light filtered through the opaque bag. I’d slept so long my head hurt, but there was nothing else to do but sleep and wait.

How long would the trip there be? No one would say.

What if this ‘deal’ I’d been offered was no more than a sly way to keep me quiet while they transported me for trafficking? Sure, I liked rough sex more than most girls, but the idea of being trapped in a life where I’d be used until I died kept edging into my mind, keeping me scared. I had no reason to trust that Bronislav was on the level.

I wasn’t even sure who was tending to me, since they never spoke.

The Island had been so busy. To go from that to a complete lack of stimuli was jarring, but I was no stranger to boredom. I made up stories in my head to pass the time, remembering bits of my favorite books and movies and patching ideas together. I tried not to think of what would happen once we arrived at our destination. Too many unknowns twisted my stomach when I let my mind stray in that direction.

I woke from a doze with the feeling I was not alone.

There was the scent of heated food—something processed. It reminded me of the chicken nuggets that were a staple in our house when I was growing up, before I learned to actually cook. My stomach growled, and I struggled to sit up.

Strong hands helped me to my feet and mercifully freed my arms. I worked at the pins and needles as he walked me to the bathroom, then returned me to my spot, which was still warm. Unfortunately, he tied my hands again.

Damn it.

He rolled the bag up over my nose, and a forkful of food touched my lips.

“If you untie my hands, I can feed myself.”

There was no answer, only the tap of food against my lips.

Grumbling inwardly, I accepted the bite, chewing for a while, savoring having something to do and interacting with another human being, even in such a small way. I swallowed and opened my mouth to say something, but he shoved more food in before I could get any words out. I wasn’t sure what he was feeding me—maybe breaded chicken? Fish? It was terrible, like a microwaved TV dinner. They were always better in the oven, but they probably didn’t have an oven on the plane.

“How much longer?” I blurted before being assaulted with another mouthful.

He didn’t answer.

When I was full, I told him so, and he held a bottle to my lips and tipped it up so fast I almost made a mess. I expected water or soda, but beer was a welcome surprise.

I chugged it.

The man chuckled, his deep voice such a welcome input of sound that I smiled back. The slight buzz that came with the alcohol was almost immediate, and I didn’t fight when he put the bag back over my head.

A few moments later, lethargy swamped me. Was it a food coma, or the effects of the modest amount of beer I’d drank? Both seemed unlikely. Maybe I was worn out from being tied up and bored for so long?

Soon, the sensation became all too familiar, dragging at my limbs, making my body feel heavy and pliant.

“No,” I whispered into the close darkness of the bag.

Memories flicked past.

Sleepover night on the Island.

My date with Brandon after the game.

I tried to push that thought away, along with the sea of faces I remembered all too well. They’d starred in my nightmares long enough. Their names rattled off in my head. Their expressions as they’d each taken a turn with my limp body, jarring me, coming inside me.

The hospital the next day and the medication they’d given me. The bedside light turning on in the middle of the night as the doctor groped my breasts and told me it was normal to do more than one exam after an assault. I didn’t know any better at sixteen, but the anger still burned in me at twenty-two.

You couldn’t trust your high school boyfriend or the doctor.

You couldn’t trust your science teacher after he’d heard the rumor you’d fucked the entire team.

I knew I hadn’t failed that test, but who would take my word over his? I needed to pass and get the hell out of that school, so I did what I had to do, kneeling under his desk.

Mom and Dad were busy running the store. They didn’t need my problems. It was my job to take care of the kids, so I made sure they were bathed, fed, got to practice, and got their homework done. I kept quiet and didn’t make any more trouble.

Tears leaked from my eyes—pride for the siblings I’d raised and the good, hard-working people they’d turned out to be.