“Looks like three men.”
It’s not uncommon to have men sex trafficked, thoughonly a few ever come in these containers. Most won’t go to me for the porn business, however. They’re usually too hard to control unless they’re younger. They’ll go to Andre and be sold to die for the purpose of some rich man’s, or woman’s, darkest desires.
He hums confirmation as I get a look at their condition. They’re covered in feces and mystery stains, all wearing the clothes they were taken in. Their bodies look unharmed though, with no bruises or cuts, which is unusual. When a large shipment like this comes in, they can sometimes brawl with each other because of the adrenaline and fear of it all. The men, mostly.
Finished with my inspection, knowing I won’t get a say on who I get, I hand the flashlight back to Andre. He takes it and whirls the light around with a grin.
There are many languages I understand, so when he speaks in Russian, I pick it up immediately.
“It’s your lucky day, everyone,” he says to them. “Some of you will live and only wish for death, and others will die and wish to live.” In English, he speaks to his men. “Pick the one you guys want. Only one. You heathens can share.”
They turn grins to another, and one of the burly men steps forward to do just that. He unzips his pants to take whoever he chooses to rape, and they’ll do it right here in the port.
Gritting my teeth, I put a hand on his chest and push my weight into a shove to get him to stop.
“Put your fucking dick away.”
“What are you doing?” he demands with a snarl.
I look at Andre and paste a glare back on my face. “This isn’t your merchandise. It’s the boss’s. Don’t make me defend what’s his.”
Andre scoffs but waves on for his man to step back inline. He grumbles a little, zips up his pants, and does as he’s told.
My heart sinks a little as Andre shuts the door and the sobs grow louder, but I shove it down deep because there’s no room for it. Not anymore. The man who opened it latches the container, and then Andre turns to me. “It’ll be a pleasure doing business with you again, Nix.”
I bottle up my creeping emotions tight, and I spin to walk away. “Don’t act like you have no choice.”
As I stride between shipping containers, I hear Andre mutter, “Nowyou can take one, but make it quick and quiet before that asshole comes back. Knock her out if you have to.”
And I keep on walking, even though I want nothing more than to pull out the Glock from the back of my jeans and make good on the threat I implied.
No emotions, I tell myself. There’s no place for them here. It’d only be the death of my peace of mind.
Chapter Two
Charlotte Mitchell
‘Nathan’. That’s what’s scribbled on the side of the cardboard box squatting on my tiled, dark green kitchen counter. I wrote that; it’s in my handwriting, and even though I wrote it yesterday, it feels like a lifetime ago. Another hand that wrote that. A lifetime ago, another me, who was still living in the apartment we had once shared.
And now he’s gone.
Dead,I mouth because Miles says I need to keep reminding myself of that.
Before I walked out of Nathan and my apartment and to the moving truck, I stuffed what remained of his things in there without a thought. I sold or threw the rest with a numb brain, a shocked system. There’s something to be said when a spouse dies, but for the life of me, I can’t recall it. Nathan’s aunt even told it to me at his celebration oflife. She shed no tears, and neither did I if I’m being honest. There were no tears to shed, no body to cry over.
Dead.
When there is no body to bury, it’s hard to come to grips with the reality that they’re actually gone. Eight days since that fateful day isn’t many days for reality to take hold either.
I force my gaze away from the box and look at the inside of the apartment I’m in the process of moving my things into. It’s a far cry from the one I shared with Nathan in downtown Manhattan. Here, in East Harlem, you’re either rich with a richie-rich home, or you’re like me and barely have two pennies to rub together. Nathan left me with nothing but my own salary, having drained our accounts to go on his big boat trip in the Caribbean because he thought he could sail the waves alone. Without any training. Without any wisdom.
He took it all. It’s gone – he’s gone, and here I am – surrounded by floorboards that creak and smoke-stained, yellow walls with holes in them. They don’t really stand out from my second-hand furniture, a couch, and a chair I bought after I bargained away our expensive pieces for the down payment on this piece of shit, one-bedroom hellhole.
My eyes catch the cracked mirror the previous tenant left behind. It’s directly across from me, and I get a full view of myself. Long brown hair with golden tones that Nathan paid a fortune for. Clean, olive skin that used to receive a facial once a month. That definitely won’t be happening anymore. I wonder if the ladies will remember me if I stop showing up to my regular appointments. Will they miss me? Will they talk about me?
I meet my own gaze, my baby blue eyes. Everyone says they’re like the clearest ocean, but today . . . today they look hollow. With as little sleep as I’ve been getting, Iexpect to see dark circles above my high cheekbones, but they’re still normal. For now.
My gaze wanders lower to my figure. I have a thick hourglass figure. It’s hidden by baggy clothes that I normally sleep in, but instead of being skinny, I have quite a bit of weight in my breasts, hips, and thighs. My arms could be a little thinner too. It’s in my genes to be thicker. My father was, and he passed that on to me. I’ve tried to lose it, especially in the police academy, but my fat was stubborn and refused to move off my bones. I should consider myself blessed that my captain doesn’t care about my weight. As long as I can chase someone down – and trust me, I can – he doesn’t mind.
