Wynter moved back into the shower room, and my eyes moved to Ville. To his ugly face, where a vile smile was waiting for me. It didn’t tell me anything about Wynter’s knowledge and neither did the voice box hiding behind it, as he remained silent.
“Come here!” Wynter was getting impatient.
“What is it?” I asked, basking in the doorway, almost afraid to turn my back on her husband.
I could feel the caress as his eyes moved over my ass. And it made me feel sickagain.
“We have guests coming over today. I need you to make dinner, okay?”
“That's it?” I asked, instantly regretting my assumption of it being something worse.
Dinner, I could do. I’d already assisted Wynter once or twice throughout my stay here, telling her of my love for cooking, hoping she’d be happy to incorporate some of my heritage into the dishes. She never did, blaming Ville and his fussy eating habits. He liked grease. . . and cared little for the flavor of something new.
“That’s it? It’s a big deal. A few friends of Ville’s from work will be here. He wants to impress them.” Her words sank into my heart like a rusty blade. Traffickers were coming here. “I'm taking Nessie on a trip into town. I've been a little distant this week.”
“Can't I come? I don't think Nessie would mind.” Dry words scraped as they climbed my throat.
"No, I don't think so. She wouldn’t mind, but we are going to have a Momma and daughter day. Family time.” Her words hurt more than I knew words could—more than the last ones she’d spoken.Family time, that I wasn't included in, because she didn't see me as part of her family.
“Of course.” I nodded, trying hard to hide my sadness and the disdain of men like Ville coming into proximity of me.
“Will I be safe here?” I stepped closer, my voice a whisper from my dry throat.
“Why wouldn’t you be?” she questioned, as if she was daring me to tell her exactly why I wouldn’t be. “Besides, I need someone to take care of my kitchen, or God only knows what kind of mess I’ll return to tonight.” She laughed, cold and false and overbearing.
Woodrow seeped into the room. I only knew because his voice was close enough for me to hear the disgust when he told Ville, “Cover up.”
“Okay,” I said to Wynter, faking a smile that matched hers. “I'll make something nice.”
Wynter didn’t gift any gratitude; her attention, given only to the tweezer in her hand as she leaned into the mirror above a makeup filled basin, plucking her sparse brows, that she would later fill in with the blackest pencil.
“Do you needanything else?”
“No. Dinner is to be ready for five.”
I nodded, though I was sure she didn’t notice.
I turned to leave, seeing Ville’s eyes still on me, and seeing his tongue smear across his dry and crispy pout over thoughts of me, allowed my legs to move quicker to get me out of the room, ushered by the son neither of them acknowledged.
I pulled the door closed, and waited for the moans of disagreement over it as I lingered in the hallway.
I breathed a heavy breath, slouching down against the wall.
“Are you okay?” Woodrow’s strong accent lifted me up.
“Have you ever met them?”
“His work friends? A few of them, once or twice. My momma doesn't like them, that's why she goes out. I usually stay up here.”
My eyes sprung to his, wide with fear.
“I won’t leave you. I promise. I’ll help you cook. I’ll be right there with you.”
He stepped forward as I pushed myself higher to reach my full height, nowhere near close to his. I always thought five-seven to be tall, for a girl, but he towered above.
He closed in on me, his skinny body pressing against mine, his eyes smiling down. “You'll be okay. I won’t leave your side after they arrive. Dinner, then we're out.”
I nodded, not able to instantly talk. “Human traffickers. . . they’ll be here, in this house.”
