Thick fingers wrap around my throat, cutting off my air, and his dead eyes bore into me. “You get one warning, bitch. Do as you are told, never speak without addressing me properly, and you will not be punished. Otherwise…” He lets the threat hang between us until the edges of my vision darken, and then releases me.
As I suck in lungfuls of the disgusting, thick air, he repeats his order. “Open your mouth.”
This time, I obey, and he pulls my jaw down as far as it will go. “Good teeth.” I don’t have time to process why he cares about my teeth before he yanks up my tank and palms one of my breasts, pinching the nipple hard enough to make me cry out. “Perky tits. Small.”
“Get your hands off me, you bastard!”
“Estupida, pequeña perra. I was being nice,” he snarls. Wrapping his hand in my long, blond hair, he yanks me forward and drags me to the very center of the railcar. With a kick to the back of my legs, he sends me to my hands and knees. “Do not move.”
Oh, hell no.
I’m almost to my feet when he slugs me across the cheek. The impact sends me whirling to my left, and unable to keep my feet under me, I fall to the ground, my head slamming into metal. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth, and I spit and whimper as his hand tightens on the back of my neck.
“I would have made your first time private,” he says as he kneels next to me. “But you have earned your first punishment.”
When he reaches under my skirt and rips off my panties, I scream.
Five days. I’ve been trapped here for five days. I think. Time stretches out in endless minutes, all blending together. The stench. The sobs of the girls around me. The indignity of having to pee—and poop—in a bucket in front of everyone.
We sleep curled on the floor as far away from that corner as we can. Two more girls have joined us, and every so often, Jefe or his goons come in with candy bars and bottled water. If we want to eat and drink…we have to let them…do what they want with us.
I’ve lost count of how many times and ways I’ve been violated. Emmie doesn’t talk anymore. Hannah lost all her fight the third time one of the bigger guys forced her to suck him off.
Huddled in the corner as far from the door as I can, I cradle my left hand. Jefe ripped my engagement ring off as soon as he was done raping me for the first time, and broke my finger in the process. I set it and had Emmie tear strips from my tank and break the heel off my shoe to use as a splint.
We don’t have names here. Not to Jefe. Numbers only. He only calls me Twelve. Before Emmie—Seven to Jefe—stopped responding to me, I asked her if she worried we’d eventually forget who we used to be. But she didn’t answer me.
I don’t want to forget. “I’m Joey Taylor,” I whisper. “I’m going to be a doctor. I’m going to help people.”
A sob catches in my throat as I realize I’m probably lying to myself. Jefe burned our driver’s licenses in front of us. The other girls…half of them lived on the streets before they were taken. No one will miss them.
Eventually, someone will look for me. But how long will it take? Ford’s in Iraq. Probably doesn’t even know I’m gone. I told Uma I had clinicals this week. She won’t expect to hear much from me. Belle was headed off for a vacation with her folks right after the party. But Pilar’s wedding is in a week. When I don’t show up for that…
I start to cry. Odd. I didn’t think I had any tears left in me.
A loud crash followed by gunfire makes us all scream and scramble together in the corner. Footsteps pound, we hear shouts, and then Jefe bursts through the doors, heads right for us, and grabs me by the hair. He hauls me against him, a gun pressed to my temple.
“Put the weapon down and let the girl go,” a man wearing an FBI vest says from the door.
“No fucking chance,” Jefe growls. “You let me walk out of here, alive, or I’ll put a bullet through her brain.”
Do it.
I don’t know where that thought comes from. I want to live. Except…everything hurts. And…after what they’ve done to me…
Two more officers flank the first, and Jefe slams the barrel into my cheek. “I mean it! I’ll do it!”
One of the FBI agents…he almost looks a little like Ford. Sandy hair. Kind eyes. I don’t want it to end like this. With me broken, bruised, and well on my way to losing myself completely.
I make a fist, squeeze my eyes shut, and then slam my fist into Jefe’s balls. As soon as his hold on my neck loosens, I drop down onto the floor.
Five shots. And then Jefe falls on top of me, his blood soaking into my dirty tank, dripping onto my matted hair, my eyes, even filling my ears. I can’t breathe, and when the heavy weight of his body is suddenly lifted off of me and those kind eyes meet mine, I start to scream.
Ford
As our transport rolls up to the base, I shove the creased note back into a plastic bag and tuck it in my front pocket. I don’t know how many times I’ve read it. A hundred? More?
We’ll never survive if you can’t let me share your pain.
