Pennies (Dollar #1)

He didn’t grab me or force me to slow. He knew as well as I did there was no escape. I’d been blindfolded when I’d been driven here, but they’d let me have my sight back once inside the building.

As we moved past locked rooms like any normal hotel, I forced myself to stand taller and brace myself for whatever came next.

You can get through this.

They wanted me alive, not dead.

For some reason, that thought didn’t give the intended comfort…if anything, it made my fear escalate.

“Get in the elevator. We’re going down.” The man’s voice boomed in the claustrophobic space.

Turning left, I entered the open foyer where four silver doors sat two by two. I cursed the slight shake in my hand as I pressed the button summoning one of them to open.

The chime sounded immediately, the elevator groaning wide, welcoming me into a dingy mirrored box.

I couldn’t look at my reflection as I stepped inside and turned to face the closing exit. My legs peeked beneath the faded yellow shorts I’d been given. My skinny arms held the last remnants of my juvenile age in the baggy moth-eaten grey t-shirt. I didn’t care to look at myself because the outward body didn’t portray the inward soul.

Yes, I looked broken.

Yes, I obeyed implicitly.

But inside, I’d somehow glued the parts they’d shattered into something I treasured. I was stronger now than when I’d first arrived. I was no longer the wailing girl who’d been stripped, rough-washed with angry paws, and catalogued with other women. I kept my screams inside because there, no one could hear me.

No one could use them against me. Silence was a weapon I could wield better than panic. And if it meant I never uttered another word until I found freedom, then so be it.

The man crowded beside me, pressing level four.

Judging from the numbers on the hotel room doors we’d passed, I deduced they’d stored me on level twelve. How many girls were locked behind those barricades? How many floors held prisoners just waiting to be sold?

The descent swooped a little too fast, gravity clutching my tummy. I held my breath as the elevator opened again, revealing an identical landing platform.

The man nudged me between my shoulder blades.

I shot forward. No stumbling. No begging. Not one question or plea.

There was no point.

I rubbed my cheek where I’d been punched within hours of my arrival all those weeks ago. I’d demanded all sorts of things. I’d promised them pain once my mother found them. I’d believed I was a princess with a regiment of knights who would chase after me.

I’d learned quickly with their boots in my stomach and fists in my face that everything I trusted was a lie.

“Down here.” The man pointed at the left corridor.

Padding in the chosen direction, I shivered as the softness of the carpet did its best to comfort me. The hotel was the perfect backdrop of nothingness. The temperature hovered at comfortable, so I never shivered or sweated. The lights shone an even illumination, so I never squinted or strained. Every sense controlled until I forgot what the wind felt like on my skin and the sun’s rays upon my face.

Would I be allowed outside now?

Where is he taking me?

The man paced in front of me, pushing open a door to the old gym. The hotel must’ve been a four-star establishment, once upon a time, before it’d been bought and shot to ruin.

Entering the female changing room, where ivory tiles had turned grimy and ancient hairdryers hung like gas masks, I stopped for further instruction. Hanging on the wall was a garment bag, zipped but translucent, showing a white dress. Even from here, the pearled bodice and diamante scarf draped on the hanger spoke of finery not welcome in such a downtrodden place.

The man behind his Venetian mask muttered, “Shower, do your hair, and get dressed. I’ll collect you in one hour.”

One hour of primping?

For what?

He leaned in close, smelling of fried food and beer. “Don’t get any thoughts of running.” Cocking his head, he stepped back as two other girls entered the space. “Ah, company.”

The recent arrivals’ shepherd pointed at matching garment bags on the opposite wall. Their dresses were black and grey. “Get ready, both of you.”

Just like every facet of sensation was stolen by regimented air, heat, and approved stimuli, so too were our wardrobes. White, black, and grey. Monotones with no spectrum of colour.

My handler nodded at his lion-masked colleague. “You stand guard. I’ll tell the boss we’re almost ready.”

The girls glanced at me. I glanced at them. We all glanced at the men who held our fate in their dirty clutches. The urge to ask what would happen burned my tongue. But I didn’t. Not because I daren’t or lacked the courage, but because I already knew the answer: the cold laughter, the mocking undertones, and the cryptic reply meant to terrify rather than console.

No, I wouldn’t ask.

But my conclusion didn’t reach the girl closest to me wearing a tatty pink sun-dress with tangled blonde hair. “Why are you doing this? What’s going to happen to us?”

Venetian Mask looked at Lion. Together, they advanced on her, backing her against the tiled wall. They let the force of their aura batter her rather than physically maul, leaving me to think they’d hurt us to control us at the beginning, but now, we were worth more unmarred.

After all, what good was merchandise if it was ugly and bruised?

“I told you already. You’re going to be sold, pretty angel.” Lion stroked her cheek. “You’re going to be chosen and transacted, and when that sweet, sweet money lands in our hands, you’ll be gone. Bye-bye. No longer our concern.”