Chapter 9

Marissa

I tellmyself the screams I hear aren’t real. They are recordings or… or something. Designed to scare us into submission and obedience, not because our keepers have any compassion, but because they’re lazy. They’d rather hold the end of a whip and make us cower than break a sweat wielding it.

But tonight, the screams sound far too authentic. I cover my ears with my hands, but I can’t drive them out, and the happy thoughts I conjure up to distract myself don’t come as easily as they once did.

I’ve held onto hope all these days… months… is it years? One loses track of time when kept prisoner. My mind has degenerated into bits and pieces of memories. And one solid hope, one solid memory, keeps my heart beating.

The hope and prayer that one day, I will find Nicolai. That one day, he will find me. That when they captured us, they didn’t kill him.

I have no way of knowing. No contact with anyone or anything from my past that could trace him, and even if I did, if he somehow survived the ambush, he’d have gone into hiding. For stealing me betrayed the brotherhood. And the punishment for betrayal is so severe, death itself is a kindness.

But my heart still beats, and he owns my heart. Knowing it beats on is the one hope I have that somewhere, somehow, he isn’t gone. That he rose from the dead.

I didn’t see them kill him. I saw him restrained by vicious hands, hooded in black, falling to his knees and dragged from me, while I screamed until my voice was hoarse. But knowing I didn’t see his lifeless body brings me hope. The tiniest filament of light in the darkness.

“Get up.” The vicious voice tears me from my memory and I leap to my feet. When left on my own, I can remember a little, and it’s then that I rally myself with hope of escape. But when they talk to me, and I’m dragged into their presence, I remember almost nothing. Who I am. Where I am. Who I was. My only focus, blind obedience.

We are quickly taught we have no choice but to obey, though there’s a hierarchy of command, and the man standing in front of me now is on the lowest rung. Still, it doesn’t hurt to choose the path of least resistance.

“What is it?” I ask, keeping my voice humble and meek. I have to, or they punish me.

“You’re wanted,” he sneers. Our guards wear hoods or masks to protect their identities, and it’s just as well. It’s easier to hate someone whose eyes you can’t see. I don’t know what it means to be “wanted.” I’ve lost track of nearly everything I knew before my abduction.

They brought me here to be prepared for something, but I don’t know what. I’ve been fed a strict diet, and given proper rest. Every hair on my body save my head has been plucked or waxed, but the worst of it all has been the training.

Dozens of us, forced to our knees in a room that resembles a dance studio. Taught to obey. Taught to submit. Taught to respect our future masters. Violated in as many ways as they can get away. But I can’t think of that.

As I walk with my hands cuffed behind my back, I keep my head bowed as I’ve been instructed. No eye contact with anyone. Submit to those in authority. My guard keeps his hand on my arm, and doesn’t speak until we’re right outside the door.

“What do you say when addressed?”

“Yes, sir. No, sir.”

I watch him nod from my peripheral vision, even with my head bowed.

“Keep your eyes cast down and do as you’re told,” he reminds me. I won’t forget. It’s been beaten into me too many times for me to forget my place.

There are no exits here. I haven’t seen the light of day in so long, I don’t know how my eyes would even adjust. It seems our buyers prefer pasty white women, since we never see sunlight. I remember there’s a thing called sunlight… but I can’t remember how it looks, or how it feels. Just that it is. Like me.

This is the little I’ve surmised from the bits and pieces of conversations I’ve overheard: I’m being kept longer than the others for an elite auction, because I’m a virgin. I don’t want to remember the testing they put me through to prove my virginity. It was a violation just short of actual rape itself. I’ve chosen to block that from my mind.

“Sit.” He yanks the chains on my wrists and makes me sit in a padded chair in front of a desk.

The voice that addresses me is a new one, wholly unfamiliar. Scratchy, like he’s smoked cigars since infancy, and utterly devoid of human emotion.

“On your knees, woman.”

I fall to my knees in front of the desk, my eyes still cast on the carpet in front of me. My wrists are secured behind my back in cuffs.

“Eyes to me.”

I shiver at the unexpected command. I know that raising my eyes will get me beaten, unless it’s a direct command, and this is a direct command. Holding my breath, I look up. Stunning blue eyes remind me of the man I once knew, but it’s the only resemblance. This man is smaller, thinner, and swarthy. He’s clean shaven with a strong, authoritative look about him, inciting respect from the men around him. I wonder who he is.

“I see you’ve been well-trained,” he says coldly, his lips pressed thin as he rakes his eyes over me. I’m dressed in a simple sheath, the only garment we’re allowed during grooming.

“Yes, sir,” I say quietly. I don’t recognize my voice. Long ago, I had fire in me, but the fire was quenched. My voice is quiet and subdued. Lifeless.

“Do you know why you’ve been brought here, woman?”

I shake my head. “No, sir.”

Leaning back in his chair, he places the very tips of his fingers together and nods.

“We’ve prepared and saved you for the virgin auction,” he says with a smile, standing at his desk and wandering over to me. To my surprise, he falls to one knee before me. Our keepers never kneel.

Placing one finger under my chin, he holds my gaze. “And you are a pretty little thing. I would take you as my own, but I have too much work to do.” I inwardly cower at the thought of being his. There’s something in his eyes that warns me he is an exacting master. Something cruel.

He speaks softly, as if to himself. “I can’t devote myself to your training the way I’d like to, not for some time yet. I have too much work to do.” He releases my chin and strokes my hair. “But it’s a shame. You would make a beautiful slave.”

My stomach clenches. Though I’ve heard similar words before, his musings make my skin crawl. I’ve been taught to obey. I’ve been taught to submit. But does anyone ever get used to complete subjugation?

I swallow, not sure if I’m required to respond to his thoughts or not. I watch as he gets to his feet and stretches his back, then cracks his knuckles.

“She’s fully prepared for the next auction?” he asks someone who stands at the back of the room.

“Fully, sir.”

“You have the paperwork certifying her virginity?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Very well. Bring her with the rest being moved.”

Where are we going?

He turns his back to me, effectively dismissing me. I stifle a whimper when I’m drawn to my feet by guards on either side, their hands on my elbows biting into my skin.

“And do not harm her,” the man says sharply, causing the guards to gentle their touches. “I want no mark on her when she’s brought to auction. If she disobeys an instruction, bring her to me.” He smiles, a slow, sadistic half-smile that makes nausea swirl in my belly. “If she disobeys, I’ll find a means to punish her without leaving a mark.”

He looks as if he wants me to earn punishment. They all do. They enjoy inflicting pain.

But I won’t. I know better.

Somewhere, in the dimmest part of my mind, a ray of hope shines. But before I can form a thought… before I can grasp the memory of something I can do, something that feels like the word free… the thought is gone, and I’m walking in line between the guards.

I’m brought to a large room that looks like a warehouse. I tremble so badly my knees knock into each other. For as long as I can remember, we had a very particular routine, and even though the routine was brutal, there’s comfort in familiarity. Wake up. Groomed. Cleaned. Breakfast. Exercise. Training. Rest. Training. And on it went. I know there was some sort of drugs they imparted to us. I have the vaguest recollection of being stuck with needles, and we were on occasion physically forced to take pills they gave us. I hate that what they’ve done affects my memory. I keep doing my best to remember, but even the most basic facts I hold onto sometimes slip away.

Every moment of every day was structured and routinized, and I’d learned by now not to upset the apple cart. Often enough, one of our own would fall out of line and suffer public punishment as a result. It was enough to keep the rest of us obedient… for the most part.

I gasp when they bring me to a flight of stairs that seems like it leads… outside?

I look in panic from one to the next, but as soon as I look up, one strikes me across the face.

“Eyes down,” he barks.

I gasp in pain, immediately realizing my error. I looked at him.

“You bastard,” the second guard hisses, yanking me to him. “If you mark her, he’ll kill you.”

He grasps my face and holds it between his hands, scowling. Drawing a thumb along my lip, he shakes his head. “Fortunately you hit like a girl,” he says to his partner with a sneer. “Maybe you won’t leave a mark.” I shudder. Just when I think I’ve gotten used to being treated like an animal, one of them reminds me of something I once knew. Something I once believed. But then the memory is gone with the next breath I take.

I march outside beside them. It’s blue and darkish out here, and I try to remember the word for this time of day. D. D.It starts with a “d…”

“Dusk?” I whisper, hope blossoming in my chest when I remember something of my past, as if being outside in the fresh air reinvigorated my memory.

“Quiet,” the guard snaps, but he doesn’t strike me again. I close my mouth and bow my head on instinct.

They march me into a large van with rows and rows of seats. Others were brought here before me. The seat up front is the last one to be occupied. In silence, they buckle me in.

I don’t raise my head. I don’t look at anyone around me at all.

We drive for only a few minutes. Even if I were allowed to look out the window, I wouldn’t recognize anything. I haven’t been in a car so long, it feels odd to be bouncing along the streets like this on our way to our destination. Somewhere long ago, I remember I owned a car. I think. Perhaps more than one? Did I drive it, or was I driven like I am now?

Who was I?

Nicolai’s.

The realization comes to me so quickly, so strongly, that tears spring unbidden to my eyes, and a weird lump rises in my throat. But these tears aren’t the ones I’m used to shedding. They’re not from helpless pain or brutal treatment. They’re not remorseful. They’re somehow more poignant. More vivid.

I’m Nicolai’s.

Nicolai.

I close my eyes and remember him. The memory of Nicolai is the one thing they can’t take from me.

My fierce, stern Russian bodyguard.

The man who tried to lay down his life for me.

The man I loved.

The man I love still.

But who was I?

What was my name? I can remember his, but only because they didn’t know I held onto this, this one memory of my past. I wish I could piece it together, but when I try, the thoughts muddle together like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle tossed in a box.

The van comes to a stop and a guard opens the door. None of us move until the harsh commands makes us jump.

“One row at a time,” he barks out. “Let’s go.”

I realize with a start I’m in the front row, so that means I move. I get awkwardly to my feet, and stumble toward the exit.

“Come, you foolish girl,” the man who struck me orders. He yanks me angrily out of the van and places me on my feet. I’m at the head of the line, being dragged onto a sort of platform. I realize with surprise that it’s a walkway aboard a ship. A huge, luxurious ship the likes I’ve which I’ve never seen.

Or have I?

I breathe in deeply. Though it’s nearly nighttime, the sea breeze fills my lungs and lifts my spirits. It’s the most cleansing breath I’ve taken since my captivity, and something in me springs to life with vivid awareness, like a watered flower reaching heavenward for rain. There’s hope in the air tonight.

Once aboard, we’re taken down, deep into the belly of the ship, to a dark, dank room that resembles a dungeon of sorts. I exhale a breath of relief, even though I feel my reaction isn’t right. But this is familiar. My handcuffs are removed and I’m placed in shackles that line the wall. I breathe in deeply again. I am used to this. My wrists almost welcome the chaffing of metal.

I keep my eyes downward, not looking at my companions, until the doors are shut and we’re cast into a semi-darkness. Ahead of us, there’s a table with overhead lighting, and several armed guards sit watching us.

“Pity they don’t let us sample the wares,” the man who struck me says in a thick English accent.

“Shut it, you bastard,” another says.

“They’re pretty,” he says in self-defense, and I’m not the only one who shifts uncomfortably. We’re nothing more than lambs led to slaughter.

A door opens above us, and someone walks down the ladder to where we huddle together. I blink in surprise. It’s the man who was in the office earlier. The guards fall into immediate silence, sitting up straighter. They fear this man.

“Welcome, ladies,” he says, turning to address us. “You are the elite, you know,” he says, in his gritty, gravelly voice, like a pleased headmaster addressing a roomful of freshmen at orientation. “Unsullied by other men, you’ll be presented to your future masters as pure and virginal. Be sure to remember your training, and no harm will come to you.”

But he lies. This isn’t truth, and I know it isn’t when someone begins to cry quietly beside me. I blink, trying to process where I am. Who I am. What he’s telling us.

Our future masters?

He goes on and on about expectations, then tells us the auction is tonight.

“You’ll be taken one at a time to be prepared, then out to the main arena. Be quiet down here, so you don’t disturb our guests. Soon, after those of you who are chosen are taken to the main deck, you’ll be free to sleep where your master bids you.”

Those of you who are chosen.

Does that mean some of us will return to the warehouse? I shiver when I see gleaming silver cages being brought up the small flight of stairs. I know these cages well. They fold for transportation. Large enough for slight women like us.

We eat in silence, our food served on metal trays. We’re uncuffed in small groups to be allowed time to eat, which we do hurriedly. The man from the office watches all with a stern, foreboding expression. A young blonde woman with frightened eyes is taken first, escorted out by two men. She bows her head and walks quietly between them. But when a second is taken, she begins to scream and flail. She fights the guards, and they immediately restrain her.

The man in charge takes her by the hair. I wince in sympathetic pain when he yanks her head back so harshly she screams in pain. “Who deemed her ready?” he asks in a voice of deadly calm.

“Blykov,” one says. I can’t focus on what they say next, for the name triggers something. Blykov.

Blykov.

Do I know that name? It isn’t quite right, but it reminds me of something…

I shake my head, when I realize the screams have been muffled. They’ve gagged her, and someone’s putting a hood over her head. “Bring her back,” the cold leader orders. “Punish her for disturbing our operation, and release Blykov permanently.”

She writhes and though her screams are muffled, they break my heart. I want to comfort her. The rest of us fall into utter silence when the leader folds his hands behind his back.

“Anyone else want to scream in protest? Disturb the peace, as it were?”

A chorus of “No, sir,” rises in the small area.

“Very well. Next.”

Two guards approach me, one on either side, dragging me toward the exit. I freeze, unable to cooperate, at the thought of being brought upstairs. I will be sold. They’re going to sell me. To whom? What will they do with me?

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. My feet are sealed in concrete, too heavy to move.

“You saw what happened to the other girl,” one guard says menacingly in my ear. “You want the same, do you?”

I shake my head. No, I do not. The guard grasps my arm so firmly I gasp in pain.

“Do not harm her,” the man in charge growls. The guard drops his hand so quickly I stumble.

“You fool,” he chides. “We’re selling these women for the highest profit we’ve ever seen, and you’d harm our wares before we’ve even displayed them?”

They drag me in front of him. I keep my eyes cast down as I’ve been taught. I’m walking to my demise, trembling so badly I can hardly walk.

“Wait.”

I freeze, the guards stiff beside me.

“Is that a bruise on her cheek?”

“No, sir,” the guard lies. It sure as hell is. He’s the one who struck me.

“Speak, woman. Did one of them strike you?”

If I tell him yes, they’ll seek their retribution. But if I tell him no and he finds out I’m lying, I’ll be punished.

“Tell me.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Who struck her?”

No one speaks.

“Woman, you have my permission to look at the guards here and identify the one who hit you.”

Oh, God. What is he doing? If I point out one of them, they’ll kill me.

“Do it,” he orders in a low, commanding tone. I have no choice.

Shaking, I look around the small cell until I see the jerk that hit me earlier. I close my eyes briefly before I point a finger in his direction.

“It was him, sir,” I whisper, before I drop my head.

“She lies!”

I don’t look at anyone. I told the truth. And I’m being sold anyway, so it doesn’t matter. My life is forfeit now.

“It’s an easy matter of finding out whether or not she is lying,” the man in charge says evenly. “Video footage will confirm who defied my instructions.” The guard freezes and I feel something rise in me. Relief?

He pauses. “Come here.”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s addressing me. The guards release me, and I walk to him on shaking legs. I have no choice.

When I reach him, I keep my eyes cast down. To my shock, he runs a thumb down the side of my cheek.

“You will bruise,” he mutters. “No auction tonight.”

“We can cover it up, sir,” one of the guards says. “If she isn’t brought out tonight, we’re short numbers.”

He curses. “Fine. Have one of the staff cover it up, but be quick about it. I want her on display tonight. We have no more time to dawdle.”

“And you,” he says to the guard. “I told you not to touch them.”

He removes a gun from a holster on his hip, points it at the guard, and pulls the trigger. I scream when his body hits the floor, but the other guards don’t move.

He’ll kill you if you touch her.

“Walk,” the guard clips. Shaking, I go where he instructs, and we climb a small flight of stairs, as another guard removes the body of the man killed, and the leader who pulled the trigger wipes his brow with the back of his hand.

The boat begins to move, and I lose my footing. I grab the railing to steady myself, trying to keep my eyes down, but it’s hard to remember. There are people up here, and I want to see. I sneak a curious look. I can’t see much, but I can surmise this floor is wall-to-wall luxury, like a decadent, five-star hotel. Men in expensive suits sit drinking at round tables, while dancers perform on a stage before them.

Where are we? What will happen to me tonight?

Will I be sold?

And then what?