The men walked Kate through the doors of a run-down warehouse and shoved her down on her knees. The air inside was stagnant and thick with humidity. A row of offices on one side of the building had been converted to cells with bars covering the windows and sturdy metal locks in place of doorknobs.
The men bantered for a while, discussing plans to retrieve Alex. Kate paid them little attention. She was afraid; she found herself yet again caught in the clutches of men she did not know or trust, and the fear was crippling.
One man, Luke, demonstrated that he was the apparent ringleader as he delivered orders to the others. Men walked up and down the halls, opening doors and carrying supplies from one place to another. Kate shifted on her knees, the concrete floor biting into her flesh. No one seemed bothered by her predicament. Kate was nothing more than a commodity, her life purely transactional.
After what seemed a lifetime, Luke picked her up by her bound hands, removed the ties, and directed her down a hallway. They entered a locker room complete with rows of showers.
“Wash up,” Luke ordered. Kate eyed the tiled room, the rusted shower heads.
“Go on, I’ll turn my head.” Luke gestured to one of the stalls, then stepped to the locker room entrance showing his back to her.
Kate stared at his figure. This man expected her to disrobe as though it were nothing. He stood rigid and expectant, then let out an indignant sigh. Kate was not undressing or stepping intothe shower. She was a statue, a frozen block of fear affixed to the floor.
Luke turned and started toward Kate, ripping a sidearm from the holster around his waist.
“I’m not here to touch you or hurt you or whatever sick thoughts are going through your head,” Luke said, the end of his gun now pressed to Kate’s head. “Get in the fucking shower and wash all of this grime off. You’re filthy.”
“Okay,” Kate relented. “I’ll do it. Just please, turn back around.”
Luke glared at her a moment longer before taking up his previous position. Kate let her clothes drop to the floor, stepped onto the chilled shower tiles, and turned on the faucet. The water sputtered and then progressed into a powerful stream, ice raking Kate’s skin. She wiped dirt and sweat from her body until her hygiene was satisfactory.
The faucet creaked as she cut the cold water off. A towel hung on a rack nearby, and Kate was quick to wrap it around her soaked body blotched with goosebumps.
“I’m finished,” Kate announced.
From a nearby shelf, Luke sorted through folded clothes until he settled on dark gray sweats and a plain white shirt. He handed them to her and turned once more as she donned the outfit.
“Done,” Kate said again.
Luke led her down the hall and directed her to one of the makeshift cells. Everything in her body seized up as Kate prepared herself to be caged behind bars for the second time in her life.
Yellowed plaster walls enclosed her, and the smell of years-old sweat trickled into her nostrils. The room was devoid of anything other than metal shackles welded into the floor. Kate huggedherself as the chill of the room crept across her skin—a stark contrast from the sticky heat of the main area.
“Why am I here?” Kate uttered as Luke shackled her feet.
“There’s a market for everything. Even these days.”
Chapter 34
Kate went to great lengths to fall asleep, her body curled up in the corner of the cell. The concrete floor was like a bed of ice, and she tossed and turned for hours. Fears and worries raced through her mind, eradicating the peace she longed to find, if only long enough to get a bit of sleep.
The next day was busy in the most secluded way. A man named Derrick brought Kate a bowl of vegetables, which she scoffed at. As soon as he left the room, she scarfed down the corn and beans mixture, leaving a clean bowl. Not even the juice at the bottom was spared.
Derrick was soft-spoken and carried himself as a man doing a job—one he did not consider good or evil, just one that needed doing. Still, the act sent her emotions traveling back to a time when she was locked away and brought various slop for sustenance. Kate felt like a pig eating from a trough.
When another of Luke’s guards, Travis, escorted Kate to the bathroom, they passed by a group of men at the warehouse entrance. She recognized Luke, and possibly Derrick, though it was difficult to discern one man from the other. Besides Luke,each guard wore something to mask their faces. From ski masks to tactical masks, every man hid their identity.
Kate’s time spent with Travis was short—a quick trip to the locker room where toilet stalls stood beyond the showers. Yet, the way he smirked at her and devoured her with his eyes made her uneasy.
Travis returned Kate to her prison, and she was once again cold and alone. Every interaction with the guards sent Kate’s stomach into queasy cartwheels. She observed them, picking apart every word and every gesture.
With Kate clean, fed, and toileted, the rest of the day was spent listening to cell doors open and close, grasping at bits of conversation among the men, and hearing the shuffling of captives in other rooms. By pressing her ear to the door, Kate heard mentions of someone named Margot and an exchange that was to take place. Luke reminded the guards that the prisoners were to remain unharmed, lest Margot deem them worthless.
When footsteps resounded in the hall, Kate scurried to the corner. Derrick appeared with dinner. As had become the habit, she waited for him to leave before eating every bite.
Two days went by this way. The same routine: eating, showering, toileting, and poor attempts at sleep.
The next evening, Travis collected Kate for a bathroom break. On their walk back to the cell, several of the guards working the warehouse were chatting about new equipment one of the men had come to possess. Kate focused on their words, unable to hear the conversation entirely. What she did hear ripped her apart.
