And then I’m flying, my head hitting the van, sending me crumpling to the ground. Get up, Joey. Get up, now.
When the dark haze clears from my vision, the two of them stand over me. “Wrong place, wrong time, honey.” The flash of a needle paralyzes me for a second too long, and by the time I lurch to my feet, they’re ready for me.
Broken nose guy grabs my wrist and twists my arm behind my back as he slams me face-first into the side of the van. The prick in my arm barely stings, and I scream for help again, but it’s fainter than I intend.
Oh God.
My limbs start to feel heavy, and the men’s hands rove over my body. Slaps to my ass. Rough fingers on my inner thighs. And I can’t fight. My eyelids weigh ten pounds each, and I fight to keep them open.
But it’s no use. The van door makes an odd metallic screech, and then I land on something soft and lumpy. With a moan, I let my eyes close as I realize what I’m lying on.
Another unconscious woman.
Panic seizes my heart in a vise, and I struggle to breathe as the drugs pull me under. I can’t move, can’t scream, and as the van door slams shut and I drift off, I think of Ford, and how I might never see him again.
The sound of whimpering rouses me enough to force my eyes open—and then wish I hadn’t.
A harsh light illuminates expanses of skin—white, brown, golden… There have to be at least ten girls in here with me, all dressed in short skirts, strappy tanks, or nothing but bras and panties.
Oh God.
Three of them huddle in a corner, holding on to one another. The rest sit alone, some crying, others looking shell-shocked. I push up on an elbow, and then the stench hits me. It smells like the worst public bathroom on the planet in here. Hot, muggy, and still, the air chokes me, and I retch, the space spinning around me until my head hits the floor.
Trembling fingers touch my arm, and I jerk away.
“Shhh. I won’t hurt you. I’m Emmie. You’ll be dizzy for a little while,” she whispers. “But try not to throw up. The only place for it is the bucket over there, and they only come to empty it once a day.”
“Once…a…day?” I don’t understand. Anything. “Where are we? What’s going on?” Each word sends pain pulsing through my skull, and I dig my knuckles into my temples to try to stop the pounding.
Blinking away the tears gathering in my eyes, I try to focus on Emmie. Greasy brown hair hangs from a haggard face. Dark circles brace her eyes, and her lower lip is swollen and red, like she’s been chewing on it nonstop.
“They are going to sell us.”
“No. They can’t…we’re…Americans—”
Another voice, this one harsh, echoes on the metal walls, “You think that makes a damn bit of difference?”
“Quiet, Hannah! Or they’ll come,” Emmie hisses at the second girl.
“Fuck ‘em,” Hannah spits back.
A loud metal sound shakes the walls, and all of the girls tense, shrinking away as doors open wide at the end of the long, narrow room. More light spills in, and I think I can make out the vaguely corrugated walls of a railcar. Three men fill the opening, one holding a baseball bat, the other with what looks like a gun, but thicker.
Emmie drags me back against the wall with her. I can’t look away from the center man’s face. His brown eyes hold no warmth, and a long scar bisects his cheek. “New girls, stand up.” Pulling driver’s licenses from his pocket, he says, “Rachel Mendoza and Josephine Taylor.”
“You have to,” Emmie whispers in my ear. “Or they’ll hurt all of us.”
I don’t know if my legs will hold me, but I try, crash to my knees, and then finally wobble to standing. Across the railcar, another woman—a girl, really—jerks up with a curse. “You won’t fucking get away with this,” she says in a heavily accented voice.
The man stalks over to her and backhands her hard enough to send her careening into the wall with a yelp. “You will address me as Jefe. Until you reach the auction, I own you.”
I’m too terrified to speak, and when he approaches me, I press my back into the wall, staring down at the shiny alligator pattern and metal tips on his shoes. “Pretty little thing. Older, I think. How old are you, chica? Twenty?”
“Twenty-two,” I whisper.
He grabs my chin, turning my head this way and that. “Open your mouth.”
The demand shocks me, and I don’t think before saying, “What?”
