Trapping Sophia: Disciples 6

by Sweet, Izzy

  And just like that, Amanda is gone.

  Gone.

  And I did nothing to stop it.

  I don’t know where they’re taking her, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.

  I didn’t even say goodbye…

  I should have at least said goodbye.

  The two men that took Amanda to the door suddenly appear in front of me out of nowhere, their bulky, black-clad bodies filling the whole of my vision.

  Distraught over Amanda, I didn’t even notice the man with the rifle taking a step to the side.

  “What?” I gasp as I’m roughly grabbed and yanked forward.

  My arms are pulled painfully behind my back and a strip of fabric is shoved into my mouth before I can do anything to stop it.

  Caught by surprise, I struggle against the man restraining me without thinking while the other works to tie the fabric behind my head.

  Struggling proves to be futile though. No matter how hard I fight, I’m not as strong as the man holding me.

  The cloth between my teeth is tightened, tied, and then I’m shoved forward a second before a hood is dropped over my head.

  Everything goes black.

  I’m not even given a chance to get my bearings before I’m yanked by my arms and forced to stumble and trip across the floor.

  My toes stubbing painfully against the concrete.

  I watched exactly what happened to Amanda, but now that I’m unable to see, everything happening feels fast and chaotic.

  One of the men bangs on the door and shouts, “Number six is ready to roll!”

  The air in front of me moves in what must be the door opening, and then another man, most likely the man in the suit says, “Very good.”

  The hands on my arms drop away and then I’m shoved forward.

  I’m free for a split second.

  Free to teeter precariously on my heels before I’m grabbed and yanked forward again.

  The bruising grips on my arms haul me up a flight of stairs and then I’m dragged around in seemingly random directions for a few minutes before I’m brought to a sudden halt.

  Disoriented, I try to figure out what the hell is going on.

  Why did they grab me?

  Where did they drag me to?

  What are they going to do to me?

  My head still spinning, my tongue presses against the cloth in my mouth, trying to push it out, while my eyes strain to see through the black fabric covering my head.

  The men flanking me huff and puff in air, but otherwise it’s eerily quiet.

  Seconds tick by, seconds of my heart pounding a beat in my ears while all my worst nightmares play out in my head.

  Are they going to kill me now?

  Rape me?

  Torture me?

  Experiment on me?

  Or all of the above?

  Dread starts to pump through my veins, so thick and toxic my very soul feels poisoned by it.

  Deep down, I know that any minute now, the point of all of this… the point of this waking nightmare is about to come to fruition.

  And there’s nothing I can do to escape it.

  With this hood over my head, I won’t even see it coming.

  As if the universe is reading my mind, the sound of two sets of approaching footsteps puncture the silence.

  In my current state, each tap is so loud and ominous, they might as well be nails pounding in my coffin.

  “Is this my order?” a new voice asks. His voice is smoother, more refined than the others, with an accent I can’t place.

  “Yes, sir,” another man answers, his accent easily recognizable as Russian.

  “Very good,” the refined voice says, and I sense someone moving closer.

  The hands holding me in place drop away and the space around me becomes cold.

  Free from restraint, I almost immediately reach up and pull the hood up.

  Almost.

  But the fear of what they might do to me if I do holds me back.

  I’ve made it this far… I can’t give up now.

  No matter what happens now, comply and survive.

  Isn’t that what I promised Beth?

  Regardless of what they do to us, we have to live.

  With nothing else to do with them, my arms hang awkwardly in the air before I drop them to my sides.

  Someone chuckles.

  “Ah, she’s already obedient. The prince will be very pleased,” the refined voice says, sounding even closer.

  Then it’s right in front of me.

  “Stay still.”

  Someone begins to walk around me, and though I can’t see them, I can feel a pair of eyes crawling all over my body.

  The temptation to move, to cover myself for the sake of not being obedient is so strong it nearly overcomes my determination to survive past this moment.

  “Does the merchandise meet your expectations?” the Russian asks, a hint of unease in his voice.

  Whoever is walking around me makes a thoughtful humming sound in the back of their throat and then I sense them stopping in front of me again.

  “It’s not the best you’ve had to offer…” the refined voice drawls out.

  For the briefest of seconds I fear what will happen if I’m found lacking.

  What will they do to me?

  Feed me to the pigs?

  Then out of nowhere a cold hand touches my stomach.

  I’m so shocked, my body locks up, leaving me frozen in place.

  I’ve been kept in a concrete cell and forced to relieve myself in a bucket. I’ve been stripped of my pride and clothing. I’ve even been grabbed, dragged around, and bullied into compliance.

  But this is the first time anyone has dared to touch me like this.

  The hand begins to drift down. Slowly.

  So slowly.

  Leaving no doubt of its destination.

  Another test.

  But even knowing it’s a test, my mind revolts against submission.

  Fingers brush against the top of my mons, taunting me, and my very soul aches to slap the touch away.

  To show I’m not okay with this.

  The fingers wiggle and push lower.

  Oh god, I’m not okay with this.

  Muscles locked up, I start to tremble in place as the fingers near a place where no man has ever touched me before.

  And I wish more than anything I had let one of the stupid boys in my life be the first to do this.

  Anyone, even Tommy Baron, would have been better than this faceless person.

  Suddenly, the fingers stop and the man in front of me chuckles. “But she will do.”

  The hand leaves me, but the coldness of the touch remains.

  Marking me.

  Tainting me.

  Someone further away snaps their fingers and says, “Prepare her for transport.”

  My arms are promptly grabbed again, but it’s completely unnecessary because I’m still frozen in place.

  My brain coming face to face with the true stark reality of my predicament.

  I’ve tried to ignore it. I’ve done my best to keep it tucked back in the dark corners of my head.

  But since the beginning, I’ve always known where this will all end.

  When you’re grabbed out of a parking lot in the middle of the night and shoved into the back of a van by a group of masked men, there’s only one way this can end.

  * * *

  Awareness begins to creep in as I’m jostled. Awareness of the hood over my head and the stifling warmth of my own breath. Awareness of the damp fabric still clenched between my teeth, biting into my lips.

  Awareness of men talking about… something. Something that’s probably important.

  I try to focus on what the men are saying, but it’s hard to follow along as my brain plays catch-up, slowly putting together all the pieces.

  The warehouse. The armed man.

  Amanda.

  The pinch before everything went black.

  Without w
arning, the hood is ripped off my head and light blooms out of the darkness, burning into the back my eyelids.

  “A blonde?” a deep voice grumbles near my ear.

  Someone chuckles and all the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  That chuckle…

  Driven by the need to see the face belonging to that chuckle, I crack my eyes open.

  At first, I can’t make sense of what’s in front of me. It’s black and made of some kind of leather.

  Then it clicks.

  Car seats.

  Shit.

  “Yes,” the smooth, refined voice I recognize from earlier says. “I know he wants them to look like her, but alas, this was the only suitable one available. We’ll fix her hair during transport.”

  I follow the sound of the voice, my eyes drifting up and locking on the back of the head of the man driving.

  Before I can glimpse his face though, my chin is grabbed and my head is twisted to the side.

  A low moan slips past the gag in my mouth as I take in the unfamiliar face of a new man sitting beside me.

  “Yeah, yeah, he wants them to look like the bitch,” the man says dismissively as he leers down at me. “I’m fucking sick of brunettes, though.”

  He tugs hard on my hair. “A blonde is a nice change.”

  There’s a moment of quiet as we stare at each other. My eyes no doubt wide and full of fear.

  His full of violent promises.

  Then the smooth voice of the driver breaks the silence, sounding much colder. “Yes… Well, it’s not about what you want, is it?”

  A range of emotions flash across the face of the man gripping my chin. Anger, annoyance, then finally a look of resignation. He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, something that sounds like Arabic, before saying, “We’d all be better off if he’d just fucking take what he wanted.”

  The driver sighs. “Agreed, but until then we must fulfill our duty…”

  “Yeah,” the man in front of me agrees sarcastically. “Our duty to supply him with boring American virgins.”

  “A rare and precious commodity these days,” the driver quips.

  Both men chuckle.

  Then the fingers around my chin tighten.

  “She’s awake,” my captor remarks as he pulls my face closer.

  “So soon? Impressive.”

  “How long until we reach the airport?”

  “Fifteen minutes, give or take,” the driver answers flatly.

  Teeth flashing in the dim light, the man staring at me says, “Plenty of time to check the goods.”

  My chin is released, but before I can shrink back, he pounces on me. Grabbing me roughly around the waist, he tries to drag me onto his lap.

  And I don’t know if it’s because I was drugged or if I’ve simply been through too much, but the thought of complying doesn’t even cross my mind.

  My first and strongest instinct is to fight back.

  “I’ve been assured she’s a virgin,” the driver says casually, like he’s discussing a piece of furniture he’s considering buying, as I twist, scream, and struggle against the other man.

  “It’s always good to be sure,” the man grabbing my hips grunts as he ignores my slaps and pulls me closer.

  Giving up on trying to slap him off me, I resort to extending my arms, locking them, and pushing against his chest.

  But with nowhere to go and very little strength left, it feels like only seconds pass before the tug of war ends.

  My arms give out on me, and with another grunt, my attacker drags me onto his lap.

  With a touch of concern, the driver warns, “Do be gentle…”

  “I’m always gentle,” the man fighting me laughs as I try once again to twist and squirm my way out of his grip.

  Somehow, I manage to turn myself sideways, only to have him wrap a meaty arm around me and use it to crush my back against his chest.

  I huff against the gag as his arm presses across my breasts like an iron bar.

  “Now,” he pants. “Let’s see if those Russians were being honest…”

  His nails scratch my thighs as he shoves his hand between them.

  Screaming, I throw my weight forward, trying to break his hold, but he only budges a little before tightening up again.

  Arms trapped at my sides, I try to press my knees together, but with his hand already between my legs, it’s pointless.

  I can’t stop him.

  I can’t stop his fingers from jabbing at my skin.

  I can’t stop his hand from reaching my sex.

  Once again, I’m completely, utterly, pathetically, powerless.

  As his fingers cup around me, I scream again.

  His hot breath hits my ear, his pants quickening while his fingers probe at me, seeking entrance.

  Completely mindless in my desperation to be free, I arch my head away before I slam it into his.

  “Fuck!” he roars as our skulls crack together.

  “What’s wrong?” the driver shouts, alarmed.

  Not satisfied with the first hit, I arch my neck and crack my head against his again.

  “You fucking bitch!” he bellows then shoves me away. “You’re going to fucking pay for that!”

  Ears ringing, head throbbing, I hit the back of the seat in front of me then half-slide, half-tumble to the floor.

  “What is going on?!” the driver demands.

  “The fucking—"

  Suddenly the car swerves sharply to the right and the driver shouts, “Shit!”

  Stuck on my side, I try to get my hands beneath me as the motion of the swerve pushes my feet into the door.

  “What the fuck?!” the man I headbutted yells.

  There’s a string of loud pops and I’m rocked to my stomach as the back of the car drops.

  “We’re under attack!” the driver answers and the car screeches to a sudden stop.

  Sounding more insulted than afraid, the man in the back with me roars, “By who?!”

  Voice frantic, the driver cries, “I don’t—”

  Glass shatters and something warm and wet rains down on me, splattering against my legs.

  The man above me curses and fumbles around before he shouts, “Fuck you!”

  More glass shatters, falling down on me.

  Then it’s quiet.

  Too quiet.

  Heart hammering against my ribs, I peek up to see the man that was molesting me mere seconds ago slumped to the side with blood pouring from what’s left of his head.

  Dead.

  Before I can fully process what the hell just happened, I hear footsteps crunching against glass then the unmistakable sound of someone trying to open the door.

  “The two targets are down,” a man mutters. “Searching for the girl.”

  Terror unlike any other terror I’ve felt so far floods through me.

  Am I next?

  The footsteps fade away and I force myself to get moving. Digging my fingers into the carpet, I crawl my way up to the other door.

  Afraid to make a sound, I hold my breath and pray as I reach for the handle.

  Please open. Please open.

  The interior light flashes on and all the doors click, unlocking, just as my fingers wrap around the handle.

  Biting back a sob, I yank on the handle and crawl forward to push the door open.

  At first the door opens slowly, then it reaches a point where it swings away from me.

  Losing my balance, my palms hit grass, and before I have a chance to stop myself, the rest of my body follows.

  A little dazed, it takes me a few seconds to get my bearings and scramble to my feet.

  “Hey!” someone calls out.

  Instinctually I glance back.

  Over the top of the car, I see the head of a man wearing a backwards black baseball cap.

  The man who killed the other men.

  The man who might kill me.

  Without thinking twice about it, I take off, running like my
life depends on it.

  Because, fuck, at this point it does.

  “Wait!” the man shouts behind me. “You’re going the wrong way!”

  Ignoring him, I push my aching, abused body across the grass. Huffing through my gag as the flimsy hospital gown I’ve been dressed in flaps against my ass.

  “Hey!” the man shouts again. “Stop! Goddammit! I’m here to help!”

  Above me a bright moon shines down, providing some light so I don’t trip and break my neck. I have no clue where I am, but given all the grass and bushes, I can only assume it’s a park.

  Voice strained with exertion, I hear the man tell someone, “My package is fleeing. I’m in pursuit.”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see him running after me and quickly gaining on me.

  So close now I can make out his clothes.

  He’s dressed just like the guys back in the warehouse. Black vest, dark shirt, and dark pants.

  Crying out in despair, I will my tiring legs to hold on for a little longer. Pushing my body as hard as it will go.

  I make it a few more feet before I sense him at my back.

  “Hey! Sophia! Stop! Stop!”

  I can’t stop. I won’t stop. No matter how hopeless it all seems.

  I’m done complying and playing along.

  If I’m going to die, I’m going to die trying my best to survive, dammit.

  The man’s hands touch my back and a second later his body crashes into mine, taking me down.

  I land on my knees then his weight flattens me to the ground.

  Still determined to get away, I ignore the pain vibrating through my legs and claw at the grass.

  “Dammit, woman! I don’t want to hurt you!” he yells as I try to work my way out of his hold.

  Shaking my head, I use my arms to pull the rest of my body forward while screaming a muffled, “Fuck you!”

  Grabbing one of my arms, he yanks it out from under me and pushes me onto my back.

  Immediately, I start thrashing. Kicking and punching at him in a desperate attempt to force him off.

  He continues to say, “Stop, goddammit. Stop,” as he struggles to grab my free hand while avoiding my kicks.

  All I hear in my head though is my brain urging me to fight.

  Fight for my life or die right here.

  I get in one good punch, his head whipping back when my knuckles connect with his chin.

  Then, with a look of pure fury, he grabs that hand, pins it down, and roars in my face. “I’m not going to fucking hurt you! I’m here to fucking rescue you!”