I’m so shocked, my body locks up, leaving me frozen in place.
I’ve been kept in a concrete cell and forced to relieve myself in a bucket. I’ve been stripped of my pride and clothing. I’ve even been grabbed, dragged around, and bullied into compliance.
But this is the first time anyone has dared to touch me like this.
The hand begins to drift down. Slowly.
So slowly.
Leaving no doubt of its destination.
Another test.
But even knowing it’s a test, my mind revolts against submission.
Fingers brush against the top of my mons, taunting me, and my very soul aches to slap the touch away.
To show I’m not okay with this.
The fingers wiggle and push lower.
Oh god, I’m not okay with this.
Muscles locked up, I start to tremble in place as the fingers near a place where no man has ever touched me before.
And I wish more than anything I had let one of the stupid boys in my life be the first to do this.
Anyone, even Tommy Baron, would have been better than this faceless person.
Suddenly, the fingers stop and the man in front of me chuckles. “But she will do.”
The hand leaves me, but the coldness of the touch remains.
Marking me.
Tainting me.
Someone further away snaps their fingers and says, “Prepare her for transport.”
My arms are promptly grabbed again, but it’s completely unnecessary because I’m still frozen in place.
My brain coming face to face with the true stark reality of my predicament.
I’ve tried to ignore it. I’ve done my best to keep it tucked back in the dark corners of my head.
But since the beginning, I’ve always known where this will all end.
When you’re grabbed out of a parking lot in the middle of the night and shoved into the back of a van by a group of masked men, there’s only one way this can end.
Awareness begins to creep in as I’m jostled. Awareness of the hood over my head and the stifling warmth of my own breath. Awareness of the damp fabric still clenched between my teeth, biting into my lips.
Awareness of men talking about… something. Something that’s probably important.
I try to focus on what the men are saying, but it’s hard to follow along as my brain plays catch-up, slowly putting together all the pieces.
The warehouse. The armed man.
Amanda.
The pinch before everything went black.
Without warning, the hood is ripped off my head and light blooms out of the darkness, burning into the back my eyelids.
“A blonde?” a deep voice grumbles near my ear.
Someone chuckles and all the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
That chuckle…
Driven by the need to see the face belonging to that chuckle, I crack my eyes open.
At first, I can’t make sense of what’s in front of me. It’s black and made of some kind of leather.
Then it clicks.
Car seats.
Shit.
“Yes,” the smooth, refined voice I recognize from earlier says. “I know he wants them to look like her, but alas, this was the only suitable one available. We’ll fix her hair during transport.”
I follow the sound of the voice, my eyes drifting up and locking on the back of the head of the man driving.
Before I can glimpse his face though, my chin is grabbed and my head is twisted to the side.
A low moan slips past the gag in my mouth as I take in the unfamiliar face of a new man sitting beside me.
“Yeah, yeah, he wants them to look like the bitch,” the man says dismissively as he leers down at me. “I’m fucking sick of brunettes, though.”
He tugs hard on my hair. “A blonde is a nice change.”
There’s a moment of quiet as we stare at each other. My eyes no doubt wide and full of fear.
His full of violent promises.
Then the smooth voice of the driver breaks the silence, sounding much colder. “Yes… Well, it’s not about what you want, is it?”
A range of emotions flash across the face of the man gripping my chin. Anger, annoyance, then finally a look of resignation. He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, something that sounds like Arabic, before saying, “We’d all be better off if he’d just fucking take what he wanted.”
The driver sighs. “Agreed, but until then we must fulfill our duty…”
“Yeah,” the man in front of me agrees sarcastically. “Our duty to supply him with boring American virgins.”
“A rare and precious commodity these days,” the driver quips.
Both men chuckle.
Then the fingers around my chin tighten.
“She’s awake,” my captor remarks as he pulls my face closer.
“So soon? Impressive.”
“How long until we reach the airport?”
“Fifteen minutes, give or take,” the driver answers flatly.
Teeth flashing in the dim light, the man staring at me says, “Plenty of time to check the goods.”
My chin is released, but before I can shrink back, he pounces on me. Grabbing me roughly around the waist, he tries to drag me onto his lap.