Chapter One

Dorothy

Moans from other women in the shitty little shack filled the air. I knew the feeling. My head throbbed and every muscle in my body ached. The rooms were paper thin so we could all hear the screams of the others around us. The cruel laughter of men. The frightened whimpers of the women. And girls. I had absolutely no idea where I was or how long I'd been there, but I knew it wasn't Kansas.

"Levántate, perra. Afuera."

"I don't understand." It wasn't a new thing. And I'd paid for not knowing Spanish more than once since I'd been taken.

"?Ahora!" The guy knew I didn't understand. It felt like he took pleasure in the fact I didn't understand so he could single me out. I shrank back, trying to make myself smaller in the face of the brutality I knew was about to happen. He lunged forward and backhanded me before grabbing my arm and shoving me out of the tiny room I shared with five other girls.

I hit the floor, my knees slamming onto the hard dirt. Pain shot from my knees up my thighs, and I cried out. When I tried to get up, the guy kicked me in the side. My head spun with all the sudden movements. I thought it was also some kind of lingering effect of the drugs they kept shooting me full of. They did it to everyone who fought. Unless they wanted us to fight. I got dosed often.

"Perra estúpida," he muttered. I got the "stupid" part, and I could only assume the other was "bitch," but it could have been anything. The kick knocked the breath out of me and sent pain exploding through my ribs. I groaned but knew better than to make too much of a fuss. Noise drew attention I didn't want. Attention meant someone was about to hurt me worse than I already was.

"?Escuchen!" The big brute swept his hand through the air, obviously wanting everyone's attention. He spoke in a string of rapid-fire Spanish I didn't understand. I was pretty sure something horrible was about to happen and I sincerely hoped it didn't have anything to do with me. I'd been here maybe a week. Seemed like longer. I was surprised this guy or the men and women with him hadn't done more than terrorize me or the other women. Though I was sure the qualifier "yet" needed to be added. There was no way they'd brought us here for tantalizing conversation. Though I'd been smacked around a lot and was covered in bruises, they hadn't seriously harmed me. Again, there was that fucking qualifier hanging over my head.

I crawled very slowly to the wall where the other women were, trying not to make sudden moves so he didn't bring his focus back to me. The one thing I knew for sure -- in spite of the language barrier -- was that I absolutely did not want any of these men to focus on me for too long.

All the women around me were whimpering and trembling, looking as terrified as I felt. A few looked like they might have checked out and I didn't blame them. If I knew how, I probably would too. Fighting back didn't seem like the smart thing to do if I wanted to live. While I knew there were fates worse than death, I wasn't ready to contemplate them just yet. I was sure, at some point, I'd have to face that decision, and I wasn't looking forward to it.

More rapid-fire Spanish followed as one of the other men dragged a young woman down the hall and tossed her to the ground so she skidded several feet before rolling to her knees with a whimper. She'd been beaten, one side of her face swollen. I hadn't seen her before, but, given the track marks on her arms and how badly she'd been beaten, I was certain she'd attempted to escape. They'd likely dosed her as much as they'd dosed the rest of us when we got out of line. Only, this time, I got the impression this guy was done taking shit.

"Esto es lo que les pasa a las perras que no me obedecen. Si no me obedeces, esto te pasará."

I didn't understand. But I didn't have to. The next thing I knew, he'd drawn out a machete. The girl screamed and tried to scramble back only to be held in place by two more men. A third helped them wrestle her to the ground onto her back. Once they had her down, the third guy held her legs at the ankles. There was a whoosh as the blade cut through the air and came down on her right thigh.

Blood arced when he raised the machete and brought it down again on the same leg. It took three more tries before he hacked her leg off and started on the other one. Everyone screamed, myself included. When anyone turned away, there were men to force them to turn back. And watch.

Before he got her second leg hacked off, the woman was unconscious. There was blood splatter everywhere, but once a limb was completely severed, the bleeding slowed dramatically. Still, the men tied tourniquets above the stumps.

I'm sure I was one of the women screaming. If I was, though, I had no memory of it. All I could process was a young woman getting her legs chopped off.

"Esto es lo que sucede cuando intentas escapar." He spat on her. "Una puta sin piernas es más fácil de follar. ?Sí?"

I stared at the unconscious woman. Though he hadn't killed her outright, I was sure she wouldn't last long. One of the men grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the room, leaving a trail of blood as he went.

As I watched, one of the men approached me with an evil smirk on his face. "In case you're wondering," he said in thickly accented Spanish, "He said this is what happens when you try to escape, Americana." He grinned. "And a whore without legs is easier to fuck." He snorted a laugh. "I happen to agree. So, I'm really hoping you try to escape too."

I barely held back a sob of despair. I knew he was trying to elicit a response from me, likely to give him a reason to hit me. There were some of us who tried to fight back when they came for us, but we were always overpowered. So far, all they'd done was beat me, but most of the others had been brutally raped and I knew that's what they were building up to. This was a whorehouse of sorts. Only, the women didn't get paid. The men who "owned" us did. A place where we were all used and trafficked.

The guy backhanded me when I didn't respond to him. I fell back with a cry, covering my head with my arms and whimpering.

"Don't worry, bitch. You won't suffer long. I doubt you make it a month once we start breaking you in." He gave a bark of laughter before kicking me.

My head swam from both the blow to my face and the remaining drugs in my system. More men crowded us in the tiny corridor only to shove us into various rooms. There were five more women in the room I landed in. Three filthy mattresses lay on the floor and a bucket sat in one corner for us to relieve ourselves. That's the way it had been since I'd been here.

The next thing was the men coming to shoot us full of whatever drug they were using. I suspected it was heroin. A couple of the girls screamed while the other three complied easily. Probably because they were addicted or figured it was better to endure whatever happened next while blissfully numb than stone-cold sober. I understood. While I couldn't put up much of a fight this time, I wanted to. Desperately. I hadn't given up hope of getting out of here alive. Not really. Not yet. But I wasn't too ashamed to admit I was fucking close.

A man held my arm while another jabbed a needle into my arm at the bend of my elbow and pressed the plunger. The pain of the dull needle sinking into my arm was soon replaced by a sickening euphoria. My eyes glazed over and my body went limp. I was still conscious, but… detached.

That was when one of the men shoved me onto a mattress and pulled at my clothes. He was breathing heavily and talking in Spanish, but I got the gist of what he was saying. He was going to fuck me. I caught the word "Americana" and figured he was taking bragging rights by fucking the American woman. They all looked at my blonde hair and blue eyes, going so far as to pry my eyes open and touch my eyeball, like a child testing if something was real. Maybe they thought I had contacts or something. Many of them felt my hair, fisting it and mimicked wrapping it around their cocks. I imagined far worse was going to happen shortly.

I whimpered but couldn't even form words to tell the guy to stop. Not that it would have done any good. I batted at him weakly, but he didn't seem to notice much less even acknowledge I was trying to fight him off.

Once he had me naked from the waist down, the guy crawled on top of me, pressing me into the filthy mattress. He reached between us and freed his cock. I could feel the head of it touching me. I shuddered, gagging as I pushed at him weakly.

"No!" I tried to shout the word at him, but it was a whisper at best. Just as he was about to penetrate me, there was a huge bang and the door splintered, throwing pieces of wood all around the room. I was sure some were embedded in my skin, but I still couldn't do more than try to roll away from the man on top of me.

He shouted, pushing himself to his feet. Once his weight was off me, I crawled as best I could to the corner of the room and tucked myself into a ball. It was all I was capable of. I couldn't even cry. Oh, tears poured freely from my eyes, but I didn't have the strength to sob out my fear and frustration.

I thought there were screams all around me, not only in this room but in others nearby, but it was hard to tell. The more I tried to move, the more the room spun. Somewhere in the background of all that, and the ringing in my ears, I knew a fight raged. Was it more men coming to chop off the legs of someone else? Oh, God!

Then someone grabbed at my arms. I was helpless to stop them. I thought I was even more groggy than I had been when I was about to be raped. Whatever drug they'd given me had started to take hold. It was only the adrenaline coursing through my veins that kept me conscious.

"Hold on, honey. We're gettin' you outta here."

"P-Please…" I managed to gasp out between embarrassing whimpers. "D-don't h-hurt me." It was a pitiful attempt at begging, and I knew it. But I had nothing else. No energy. No clarity of mind. I didn't know what to say to appease this man.

"No one's gonna hurt you. I've got you. Takin' you back to the States. You're safe." The man's voice was deep and rough. It wasn't soothing in the least. In fact, it was nearly as frightening as the voices of the men who held me prisoner here. The only difference was I understood what this guy was saying. At the moment, he was saying all the right things, but what if that was to get me to cooperate?

"No… D-don't h-hurt m-me…" I could barely breathe. My heart pounded and my guts churned. If I'd had anything in my stomach I would have puked. My insides rebelled at being moved. The way my head swam didn't help matters either.

He didn't say anything else, but it wasn't long until a harsh wind blew into my face. There was no rain, but it reminded me of home when a tornado was about to hit. There might not be rain, but the gale carried projectiles and blew so hard it would have probably knocked me off my feet. I vaguely remembered hearing the howling wind but had been too terrified to really notice.

"We've got to get to the airfield!" a man beside us yelled. "I doubt even Deke can take off in this shit!"

"We may need to find shelter and wait it out!" The guy carrying me had to yell to be heard over the roaring of the wind.

"Smoke says he's hoping for a break in the weather. Something about the outer bands having an uneven edge? I don't know." I was able to open my eyes and focus just as an old, light-colored pickup of some sort pulled up and skidded to a halt.

"Get 'em in the back of the Humvee. Not too comfortable, but it's protection from the wind. Rain's comin' too."

The next thing I knew, I was being shoved into the back corner of an enclosed vehicle. I thought the same man had hold of me, but wasn't sure. I looked up at his face, trying to see through the haze over my vision and in the dim light.

He wore a combat helmet, as well as a dark T-shirt and a bulletproof vest over his shirt. A full beard obscured his lower face. Tattoos covered his arms and crept up one side of his neck which glistened with sweat. I could feel his strength where I lay against him as the truck jolted forward. About the time we took off, rain started coming down. There were a couple of small windows, one of them close to me. Water distorted the view as rain pelted against the glass, though it was possible my vision was simply too fuzzy to see. Combine that with the jostling of the vehicle as they sped over the rough terrain, and I had no idea what was actually going on outside.

The guy took a bottle of water from someone and twisted the top off it. "Can you drink for me?"

Was he kidding? I wanted water almost more than I wanted my freedom. I nodded, and he placed the mouth to my lips and tilted the bottle gently. I tried to gulp it down, but he forced me to go slow. If I'd been strong enough, I'd have grabbed the bottle and done it myself, but I couldn't make my arms move. It felt like they were weighted down, or tied. No matter how hard I tried to move them, I couldn't seem to lift more than a finger.

"Take it slow, honey. I don't want you to get sick."

"More," I croaked.

"I know. I get it. Let me help you so you don't get too much at once."

It wasn't like I had much choice. My body felt like it weighed a ton. My eyelids too. But, God, I was so fucking thirsty!

The truck bounced sharply. Every time the guy pressed the lip of the bottle to my mouth, my whole being focused on getting as much water as he'd let me have.

When we hit a bump, water splashed over my lower face and dribbled down my chin and neck. It felt like heaven. I knew I should be worried about this. About getting caught and having my legs chopped off -- and worse -- but all I could concentrate on was that delicious, invigorating water.

Shots rang out and the other women in the truck screamed. I probably would have too if I hadn't been concentrating on the water. More gunfire -- this time, it came from us. The men in the truck were shooting back. The man holding me shifted so I slid down to the floor of the vehicle. He tucked a blanket around me before shouldering the rifle and pulled out his own handgun. When I whimpered, his gaze landed on me again.

"I'll be right back. Just gonna teach these fuckers a lesson." He waited until I nodded at him before he moved. Things got a little hazy then as dizziness nearly pulled me under. Somehow, he slid a window open, stuck out his rifle, and started shooting.

I watched in silence as the other men brought out assault-style rifles and fired at the vehicle -- or vehicles -- following us. They spoke quietly and to each other. I could hear their voices but couldn't understand what they were saying. The ringing in my ears, from both the drug I'd been given and the report of the gunshots, made it hard to focus on anything else, other than the water bottle in my hand.

With my man not holding me back anymore, I gulped greedily at the water until the bottle was empty. Then I thought about the other women and was instantly ashamed and horrified at my actions.

"I'm so sorry," I croaked out as I met the gaze of another woman in the vehicle beside me. "I didn't even offer."

"We all have water." Her voice was as rough as mine but thickly accented with Spanish. "And no one else did either." She gave me a small smile. "Is what happens when we're all turned into animals." She wasn't wrong.

Shots continued to ring out. With every bump and slide of the truck, we were all jostled around. I tried to brace myself, but it was impossible. Even though I felt a little better after drinking the water, the drugs in my system still made it nearly impossible to focus, zapping what little strength I might have had.

The truck slid sideways before coming to a stop. Someone opened the back of the vehicle, and the door was shoved wide open. There was muffled cursing as well as more gunfire as wind and rain whooshed in, instantly soaking us.

Men shouted. Guns fired. Women screamed. All I could do was sit there and await my fate. The man who'd carried me out and fed me water looked back over his shoulder and our gazes collided. His was ice-cold, his features carved from stone. He reminded me of the men who'd held us captive, the men they'd rescued us from. There was that kind of intensity and cruelty there. For the first time since he'd carried me out, I wondered if I might not have landed in as bad a situation as I'd just come from.

He held my gaze for a couple of seconds before giving me a slight nod and turning back to the fight.

And just like that, my fate was sealed. I might not know what awaited me when we got out of this mess, but I knew I'd forever look back at this moment and know I was alive -- for good or ill -- because of this man. Whether I lived or died in the back of this truck, filthy, half dead, and drugged to the gills, would depend on this man's will. Because he was a warrior. The warrior. If he decided I was worthy, he'd keep me safe. If not? Well. He was the one to pull me out of hell. I'd trust him to get me across the gates.

With that last thought, I let the blackness of a drug-induced sleep have me. It wasn't like it mattered much anyway. If death was coming for me, maybe it was better not to see it coming.