I try to tell him to put me down—the sensation of his arm pressing against the backs of my thighs makes me want to vomit, but he grunts at me to be quiet and strides through a set of thick, wooden double doors.
Too caught up in my memories and fears to notice the exterior of the building, I’m almost shocked when bright, electric lights illuminate a lavish foyer. The scent of spices perfumes the air, and what little I can see of the floor speaks of wealth. Smooth, polished red tiles, and a thick area rug under Zaman’s feet pass by.
Terrified I’m about to find out why this Amir Faruk wants me, I shake in Zaman’s grip, fighting not to cry. I miss Ivy and Mia. Even though we weren’t close, they were so innocent, so…happy. They have their whole lives ahead of them. Or did…I don’t even know if they’re still alive.
Me…if my kidnappers kill me, maybe…it’ll be easier. Easier than having another violent man lock me up, use me for his pleasure, or torture me.
Zaman sets me down, and I stumble backwards, crashing into a massive wall of muscle. By the curse, it’s Full-Beard. He doesn’t help me right myself, and I almost land on my ass, but manage to find my balance at the last minute.
A deep voice, heavily accented but in perfect English, snaps, “This is the doctor?”
The boshiya is ripped off my head, and I blink in the suddenly bright lights. My blond hair is a mess, matted and dirty, and as rough hands untie the gag, a few strands are torn from my scalp.
My eyes adjust, and then I can’t tear my gaze away from the man in front of me. He’s tall—maybe six-foot-two—thin, with a perfectly trimmed beard and pale gray eyes. His loose blue pants and tunic look expensive and pressed, despite the late hour.
“Dr. Josephine Taylor. My name is Amir Abdul Faruk. You will address me as Amir Faruk or Sir.”
Sir? Who the hell does this guy think he is?
The second that thought crosses my mind, I lower my eyes. If he sees the hatred and fear written across my face, I don’t know what he’ll do. Not that I think my little act of submission is going to save me.
“Did you hear me, spei?” Faruk says sharply. “I will not be disrespected in my home by a woman.”
He slaps me across the face, and I crash to my knees, my bound hands hitting the floor so hard, I feel the impact all the way up my arms. “Yes, Amir Faruk,” I whisper as I struggle to my feet.
“That is better.” His voice softens, and I risk a quick peek up at him. “I do not wish to harm you.”
His lies grate, and my anger boils over, tamping down my fear and loosening my tongue. “You just hit me, you bastard. You kidnapped us, killed the rest of our group, and took my friends away! No one will tell me where they are or what happened to them—” This time when his hand flies, I manage to stay on my feet, but I taste blood. “Whatever you’re going to do to me…just get it over with. Sir.”
Faruk chuckles as he circles me. “You are a brave woman, Josephine. Perhaps not as smart as I expected. But no matter.” When he’s standing in front of me again, he calls, “Isaad!”
I try not to flinch at his shout, and a moment later, a tall, pale man hurries in. His shoulders slump, and if I had to bet, I’d say he’s not from Afghanistan. His blue eyes are rounder, and his entire demeanor says he’s uncomfortable in his own skin.
“Yes, sir?” Isaad says quietly. His accent is hard to identify, but it’s definitely not the same as Faruk’s or Zaman’s. Conflict churns in his gaze as he looks from Faruk to me and back again.
“Erase all evidence of Dr. Josephine Taylor from public records in America. She does not exist anymore.” Faruk passes Isaad my passport, and I lunge for it, so desperate, I don’t think about the consequences.
Pain explodes down my legs and across my scalp as Zaman grabs my hair and kicks me in the back of the knees to send me to the floor. “Please,” I beg, holding up my bound hands. “You can’t just make me disappear!”
“I can. Very easily,” Faruk says with a smile that makes my skin crawl. “Your friends will be sold in two days. They are being prepared for auction as we speak. You, however, are too valuable to let go.“
Sold. Trafficked. Used. I want to throw up. Isaad stares at me, pain welling in the depths of his eyes, then lowers his gaze to the floor, turns, and rushes from the room.
I suck in a breath through my teeth, trying to chase the dizziness away. My stomach flips and twists as I wobble to my feet. “Wh-why…? They were helping save lives. They’re good kids. But they’re just…kids. Twenty-three and twenty-four. Please, don’t—”
“Lisette!” Faruk calls, all patience now gone from his tone. “Bring my son.”
A woman—beautiful, but with fear in her dark green eyes—hurries into the room with a child trailing behind her. He looks to be around six or seven, and his skin is pale—almost yellow—his wispy hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and his free arm wrapped around his stomach.
“This is my son. Mateen has what is known as Alpha Thalassemia. You will attend to him. He needs regular blood transfusions, among other treatments, until you are able to cure him.”
Shock slackens my jaw. He kidnapped me to help a child? “H-he needs to be in a hospital.”
Faruk spits at my feet. “No. You will care for him. Here. He is my only son and the doctors in Kandahar do not specialize in this disease. You do.”
“Clearly—sir—you’ve done your research on Alpha Thalassemia. So you know how serious it can be.” I focus on Mateen. He moans quietly, his face pressed to his mother’s arm, but his bloodshot and red-rimmed eyes peeking up at me. Alpha Thalassemia can be fatal, and by the looks of the boy, he hasn’t been receiving proper treatment. I straighten my spine and force strength into my voice. “Blood transfusions will only keep the disease from getting worse. He needs a bone marrow transplant.”
Snapping his fingers at Zaman, Faruk says something I don’t understand. After he digs in his satchel for a moment, Zaman passes me a thin sheaf of papers.
