So, where are they?
Perhaps, our release has become political. Our treaty with the Arab nations, is tenuous, at best. I doubt the US would risk their relationship with oil to rescue a singer, a private eye, and a bunch of homeless teenagers.
By the time it’s my turn to shower, I give up being rescued and decide to take action. Watching days of grime swirl down the drain, I know what I need to do.
I twist the faucet, wrap myself in a towel, and gasp. In the bedroom, over a dozen dark women dress Sienna and the girls. One holds an I-Dream-of-Jeannie outfit in front of my face and I almost slap it away. However, that would cause a scene and I need to seem compliant.
For now.
As we try on four inch heels, the country singer bites her lower lip. Men’s voices sound from downstairs, too loud and too excited. Outside, cars stop, more get out, and then the engines fade away. Music plays and the sickeningly sweet odor of cigars drift through one open window.
I stand to see out, one of the women pulls down the shade. “No.”
Below, an Arabic male voice booms through what must be a very large speaker system and when applause breaks out, one of our dressers stands. She digs her claws in Cecile’s upper arm, the door opens, and she drags the youngster from the room.
Downstairs, what can only be described as an auction, begins.
One by one, they remove the teens until only Sienna, me, and a guard remain. However, he’s the size of a professional wrestler and stares like he’d just as soon shoot me as allow me the privilege of being sold to the highest bidder.
Fuck you, you khaki turd.
Spiked heels are the best weapon I’ve had since losing my revolver. We are not going to be auctioned off and none of my girls are going to have sex with Arab assholes.
Bolstering my courage with these and other thoughts like them, I sit on the edge of the bed, raise the silky fabric way up my thigh, and struggle with the leather strap.
I let my filmy dress slip up until my panties show, turn my open-toed sandal at the guard, and point to the buckle. “Would you mind?”
Khaki-man smiles, holds my foot to his chest, and ogles me.
He’s thinking seduction while I ponder his death.
Go ahead, grin all you want, mother fucker.
The country singer, seeing what I’m about, silently moves behind the guard, lifting a marble statue high.
I nod ever so slightly, take a deep breath…
“Hi Yah!” My heel slices through flesh and into his Adam’s apple.
Eyes wide, he reaches for his throat as Sienna smashes his skull with Athena.
“Is he dead?” She holds the bloody Goddess ready as I kneel down, my hand at his neck.
“No. Find something to tie him up with.”
She drops the figure and rips a scarf in pieces which we use to bind and gag him.
“Sorry dude, but auctioning girls is a shit move. You’re lucky I hate killing people.” While I lecture the unconscious man, my friend pulls the sheets off the bed.
“Fuck. The damn things don’t rip. The movies make it seem easy.”
“Shit. They’ll be back any minute.”
Outside, someone shouts, and the guard by the pool runs into the house.
“We have to go.” I point to the water below and Sienna’s mouth drops open. “Oh my God. Then what?”
“Run like hell.”
