Buttons and Lace (Buttons 1)

She nodded and beckoned me to follow her. She reached a door in the hallway where another cell was located. When we peered through the window, we saw not one woman, but eighteen. They were all housed together on small cots.

Why were they all together but I was alone? Why was the other woman alone?

The woman walked inside then pressed a forefinger to her lips, telling everyone to be quiet. Then she beckoned them to follow us. There was no way we would escape without being noticed. But some of us would get away. It was better than none.

“What the fuck are you doing?” A man grabbed me by the shoulder and jerked me around.

He clearly didn’t know I had a gun because I shot him right in the stomach. I didn’t even hesitate. I’d always thought I was the type of person who could never kill someone, even if it was my life or theirs. But that quickly changed once I was in a life-or-death situation. I didn’t have time to think. I didn’t have time to react. I just did what I had to do to survive.

And I wouldn’t apologize for it.

He clutched his stomach and fell to the floor, bleeding out of his mouth.

“Drop the gun!” Another guard peered around a corner with his gun trained on me. “Now.”

A man emerged from behind us, a rifle in his arms.

We were surrounded.

I should have left when I had the chance. I shouldn’t have gone back.

The man behind me confiscated my gun while the other moved forward. He raised his gun to smash me in the head, his intention to kill me or at least make me black out.

“Stop.” The guard grabbed his arm and steadied him. Then he spoke quickly in Italian.

The man lowered his gun and stepped away. Whatever the other man said was enough to make him stop.

What did he say?

Why didn’t they hurt me?

What was going on?

They rounded up the girls and locked them in the room before they snatched me, dragging me down the hallway. I was being escorted to my room where I would wait for the auction—whatever the hell that was.

Why didn’t I just shoot myself in the head when I had the chance?

They marched me past my door and kept going.

“Where are you taking me?” I tried to fight their hold, but they gripped me tighter.

“Answer me.” I tried to kick the one on the left but ended up hurting myself in the process. I stubbed my toe under his heavy boot and took a sharp intake of breath.

They escorted me into a white room with a leather chair. It had footrests that opened my thighs. It was the same type of chair I sat in when I visited my gynecologist.

And that wasn’t a good sign.

They moved me into the chair and held me down until all the straps were secure. Even my head was locked in place. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Exam,” the guard answered. “Then you’ll be gone.”

“What kind of exam?” I struggled against the leather straps even though it was pointless.

“You’ll see.” The guards walked out and shut the door behind them, leaving me to wait for the unknown.

A doctor came in a moment later, wearing a white coat despite the fact we weren’t in a doctor’s office. He was substantially older than the others. He wore a face of indifference, his thick glasses hanging off his nose. He grabbed a chart and browsed through it.

“Who are you?”

“Dr. Wayne.” He had an American accent.

Had he been on the ship the entire time? I’d never seen him. “Where did you come from?”

“Shore. The ship docked ten minutes ago. You’re my first patient.”

“Docked where?” This guy wasn’t part of the crew. I could glean that much. Maybe he had information that could help me.

“To shore, like I said.”

“What shore?” I demanded. “Where are we?”

“Does it really matter?” He pulled on a pair of white gloves.

He thought this was boring? Uneventful? “What the hell is wrong with you? I’ve been kidnapped. I’m a slave. And you don’t care?”

He grabbed a pair of scissors and cut my pants off. Then he moved for my underwear.

I fought so hard the straps almost cut my skin.

“No,” he finally answered. “I don’t care. Now let’s get this over with.”

“Get what over with?”

“I’m going to check your sexual health. It’s important information for the auction.”

“My sexual health?”

“Yes. Are you a virgin?”

I gave him a defiant look. Like I would ever tell him.

“Let me put it this way. The more you tell me, the less invasive I have to be.” He held up two fingers.

I knew what that meant. “No.”

“How many partners?”

“Two.” I hated myself for answering.

“Anal?”

“Anal what?”

“Have you ever had anal intercourse?”

Who the hell had? “No.”

He wrote down some notes. “Any STDs?”

“No.”

“Are you on the pill?”