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Eighteen days. It hadbeen eighteen long, terrifying days since Olivia had witnessed the vicious slaughtering of her colleagues, and she’d been brought here—whereverherewas.
She was finally able to think about all that had happened without completely breaking down or getting physically ill. Olivia now drew strength from her fear and anger, and used the horrific memories of those first days of capture as a driving force to survive.
Since her abduction, they—whoever the helltheywere—had kept her here, in this tent.It was small, about eight by eight. There was no light other than what snuck through the long slit at the tent’s opening, and the floor was nothing but dirt.
Once a day, someone would come to give her a little water or some type of rock-hard bread. At the beginning and end of each day, her guard would escort her to the trees so she could empty her own waste from the bucket they’d been so kind to provide as a toilet. Disgusting, but necessary.
Twice now they’d brought her a second bucket filled with semi-clean water and a used bar of soap. Olivia had taken full advantage, even going so far as to use the soap and a piece of material she’d ripped from her own shirt to clean her teeth.
It helped some, but she would give every penny she’d ever earned for an hour in a scorching, hot bubble bath. With candles, and wine, and...Jake.
Knock that shit off. Jake’s not coming. No one was coming...an acknowledgement that still tore at her soul.
Olivia had spent hours those first few days praying Jake would show. With nothing to do but sit on the filthy cot she used as a bed, she often found herself daydreaming about her rescue.
Her favorite dream was the one where Jake would swoop in, take out the bad guys, then kiss her like crazy before carrying her off into the sunset. Olivia’s own twisted version of a fairytale.
Of course, she understood now that fairytales were the stuff of fiction, and happily-ever-after’s didn’t really exist. At least not for her.
Ironically, while she’d been in the midst of one of her Jake-Saves-the Day fantasies, Shorty—what she mentally called one of the men because of his short and pudgy stature—paid her a visit. He had scraggly, unkempt hair and squinty little eyes. Evil eyes. Though Olivia refused to show it, he scared the crap out of her.
One day last week, he’d brought her a copy of an American newspaper. He taunted her with it, laughing as she’d read the printed words. At first she’d been confused, but it didn't take long before she understood exactly what the asshole found so amusing.
Plastered on the paper’s front page were pictures of everyone in her volunteer group, hers included. The article described a memorial service that had been held in their honor. It went on to remind readers how she and the others had all been murdered, their bodies burned and then left behind.
Shorty had mocked her when she’d started to cry. The bastard laughed even louder when she’d fallen to her knees and vomited her stomach’s meager contents onto the dirt floor.
Olivia felt sick to her soul then. Not only from what these monsters had done to her friends’ bodies, but also because the article had confirmed her worst fears.
There’d be no big, romantic rescue. No sunset kiss. Olivia could no longer pretend, because in that moment, she knew. Like the rest of the world, Jake undoubtedly thought she was dead.
Her hopes of being rescued byanyonedied that day as surely as the world thought she had. It was the same day she stopped wasting time on useless dreams and fantasies, and had begun to plan.
Thankfully, she hadn’t been sexually assaulted—a miracle in the midst of hell. She was pretty sure Shorty would’ve tried, if not for the guard stationed outside her tent.
She’d overheard the two men arguing one day. Olivia knew enough Spanish to understand the gist of the conversation. For some reason, their boss had ordered the men at the camp not to touch her.
At first, the words brought instant relief. Then, she heard the guard tell Shorty that she wouldn’t bring as much money at thesubasta—auction—if she were presented to the buyers in “used” condition. The guard went on to remind Shorty, in horrific detail, what had happened to the last man who’d defied their boss.
Olivia hadn’t needed to hear the gruesome reminder. She’d seen it happen through the opening between her tent’s flaps, and could still hear the snap of the whip, along with the convicted man’s cries for mercy.
Apparently, her guard made his point clear because Shorty walked away after that and hadn’t been back since. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gone far.
Each time she’d go outside with her bucket, the creep always seemed to be there. Staring at her with way too much interest.
Olivia’s daily routine consisted of spending twenty-three hours and fifty minutes in this God-forsaken tent. During that time, she waited. Planned. Prepared for the right time to escape.
That time had finally come.
This morning, she’d been escorted to a small building at the edge of the camp, where she was ordered to take a shower. When she got out, she realized they’d taken her clothes, leaving a long, white dress in their place.
While walking back to her tent with her guard, another man had approached them. He told her guard they were planning to transport her to the auction’s location sometime after dark. Tonight.
Like hell.
It didn’t take a genius to guess what the buyers wanted from her. Olivia would rather die than step one foot in front of a group of vile men who’d use unwilling women for their own sick pleasures.
