How long have I been out?
Where am I?
Who’s driving?
The questions assault me as I wrap my arms around my knees. I try to piece together how long I’ve been gone, but it’s impossible with the darkness of the truck. I have no connection to the outside world. I have no connection to the guys…
Oh, god.
Have they even realized I’m missing?
If I’ve only been gone for a few minutes—hours—it’s possible they’re still oblivious.
What if they can’t find me?
I have no idea where I’m being taken, but as my dad’s words circle my psyche, horror grips me. I’m being sold, that much is obvious. I’ve heard the ghastly stories of women being trafficked and brought thousands of miles away from their homes. I’ve listened to haunting recounts of those who were rescued, but not before facing the harsh reality of it all.
Those stories rattled me to the bones, but I never thought it would happen to me…
The truck lurches to a stop, and I shoot up. If I’m going to make it out of this, I need to find an escape. I place my hands on the floor beneath me, pushing up onto my knees as I feel around for something. When I make it to the back of the truck, I bang my fist on the doors.
“Help me!” I shout, my voice croaking as I continue to beg and plead brokenly to anyone who may be near. The truck lurches again, and I’m sent face-first into the metal. My nose hits, and I hiss as I right myself and continue banging on the door.
I don’t stop.
Ican’tstop.
This is life or death, and long ago, I would have chosen death. I would have thought the fate forced upon me was the way of the sick world, but now? I need to get out. I need to make it back home. To the three men who have mended something that was long broken inside of me.
I have to be strong.
For them.
I pound until my hands are sore and aching. I scream until my throat scratches and pricks. Even with exhaustion and pain weighing me down, I don’t stop fighting.
When the truck comes to another stop, I pound harder on the door. Each sound echoes past my lips like a record stuck on repeat, but I need someone to hear me. Anyone.
There’s the sound of a lock sliding on the outside of the door, and I gasp before shoving back deeper into the cab. One of the doors swings open, bathing me in bright sunlight.
It’s the afternoon.
I’ve been gone for almost a full day.
Dad scowls at me through his lashes before hefting himself up into the back. My heart ricochets around my ribcage as I hold my hands up.
“Quit being so fucking loud!” He snaps as he shoves his unkept, sweat-soaked hair away from his eyes. He steps towards me, the sound of his boots bouncing around the truck. He squats down in front of me, the smell of sharp acidic perspiration and the unmistakable bite of alcohol nearly makes my stomach revolt. He snatches my hair harshly, angling my head as my lips pull over my teeth. “I’ll put you to sleep again if I have to, Rosalie. Don’t make me hand you off while you’re hanging onto the brink of death.”
There’s something I’ve always wanted to do to my father. Call it a little parting gift, if you will. I bring my saliva forward before spitting. It sprays across his eyes, and his face twists in disgust.
“Good to see you again, Dad.” I gloat viciously. I’m in no position to be acting like I have some upper ground, but he doesn’t scare me anymore. Not like he used to.
He nods his head as if he’s made up his mind before his elbow rears back and he delivers a slap so hard it causes my head to whip to my right, and my ears ring. Pain travels through my jaw as I work it until it fades. My eyes flicker to him. “Is that how you slapped her, too?”
Something passes behind his eyes. “Who?”
“My mother,” I whisper.
He wrenches me back as he tosses me onto the bed of the truck. He stands, towering over me as light bathes him from behind. “I should have done far worse to that bitch. I’ll give it to Joanna, though. She gave me one hell of a replacement.”
