She had a strong suspicion of what kind of place this was.
"Where are we?" someone whispered. A young voice, terrified.
"I don't know." Another voice, a little older but still youthful, trying and failing to sound calm. "Does anyone know what's happening?"
Mattie didn't answer because nothing she could say would be helpful.
They would find out soon enough.
Besides, she was trying to work her hands free of the zip ties, and it took all of her concentration not to cry out when the plastic bit into her skin. She had small hands and slim wrists, but whoever had bound her hadn't been taking any chances.
She couldn't get free.
The door opened.
A man stepped inside, but he wasn't Gabriel. This man was shorter and broader, with a face that could have been handsome if it wasn't clenched like a fist. His eyes swept over them with the dispassion of a butcher surveying livestock.
"On your feet," he barked.
His accent was foreign, but she couldn't place it.
No one moved.
"Move it." His voice cracked like a whip, and something in his tone made it clear that disobedience would be met with consequences none of them wanted to face.
Slowly, the women struggled to their feet. Mattie's legs screamed in protest, the scar tissue pulling tight, her left calf threatening to spasm. She needed to perform her stretching routine before her legs cooperated, but that was not happening right now.
She gritted her teeth and forced herself upright.
Suddenly, the need to pee became overwhelming, but she had a feeling that a bathroom break would not be granted even if she asked.
The man pulled out a knife, and for one terrible moment, Mattie thought he was going to kill them right then and there. Instead, he moved down the line, cutting their zip ties with quick, efficient movements.
"Strip," he said when he was done.
The word hung in the air, obscene and inescapable.
"What?" gasped one of the women. She was young, maybe nineteen, with dirty blond hair, freckles, and eyes that were wide with terror.
"You heard me. Take off your clothes."
Mattie's stomach heaved. She knew what this was. She'd read the articles, seen the documentaries, and heard the statistics about human trafficking that she'd never thought would apply to her. Pretty young women, isolated and vulnerable, snatched from their ordinary lives and sold into something unimaginable.
And here she was. Living it.
Around her, the other women started crying, but at the same time they were doing as they had been told. It hadn't taken any of them long to realize the hopeless situation they were in.Had the others also been snatched from nightclubs by conniving bastards?
"Faster!" the man commanded. "I don't have all day."
Mattie gripped the hem of her shirt, but her hands were trembling so badly she could barely lift the fabric.
Don't think. Just do it. Maybe if I cooperate, they won't hurt me.
She pulled her shirt over her head, unhooked her bra with numb fingers, pushed her trousers down her hips, stepped out of them, and stood in nothing but her panties.
"All of it," the man said.
She removed her underwear and stood there naked and shaking, arms wrapped around herself in a futile attempt at modesty.
