“You like this, don’t you?” It’s the first thing I’ve said to him and I think he’s taken a little off guard.
“Like what?”
“This.” I jut my chin. “Dressing me.”
He walks calmly and stands right in front of me. Placing one hand on each of the arms of the chair, he bends down and gets close to my face. “I do.” He lifts his eyebrows. “I guess you could say I’m a little of both.” He stands and moves the other side of the room.
My eyebrows furrow. “What does that mean?”
Peter turns around and places his hand on his hip. “I play for both sides, gorgeous.”
I’m testing the waters, but I can’t help but ask. “How does Davis feel about that?” I’m not one to delve into the mind of some crazy, psycho killer-slash-whatever Davis is, but I’d think he’d want a certain type of douchebag working for him.
When Peter hit me, I felt like it was more that he needed to show his brute. Almost like he had to prove himself. I’m not accepting it, and I’m still pissed as hell, but it does make me wonder if he’s really just as scared as I am.
“He doesn’t know. And you won’t tell him. I can play the tough guy pretty well, yeah?” He winks at me and I my nose flares. That tough guy split my lip. He’s an asshole.
“Now, back to your shoes.” He holds up two pairs. “Black or red? It is almost Christmas, you know?”
I shrug. I couldn’t care less what I wear. I’m more concerned with how I’m going to get the hell out of here.
When I originally escaped, I hit a dead end and they caught me. I have to make sure to go the correct way this time.
Peter sets the black pumps on the floor next to the dress and gives me a stern look. “You better keep your hands to yourself, you hear me? I can’t hit you again, but that doesn’t mean I won’t tie you back to this chair.”
That’s a bonus. “I won’t be tied down again?”
“No,” Peter says. “The group of buyers should be here in about an hour. We can’t have you wrinkling the dress or scuffing your shoes. If you can keep still, you can go freely around the room.”
“Are there guards outside?” I ask.
He levels his eyes. “Yes. Now quit asking questions.”
He pulls a pocketknife out of the back of his jeans and snaps it open with the flick of his finger. Slowly, the fibers of the rope around my hands break apart and once it’s completely severed, he unwraps it from the middle of my body.
I wiggle my shoulders and rub my wrists.
After he unties the rope around my feet, I gulp. “Can I please pee?”
If he doesn’t want to clean up a puddle on the ground, he better let me go.
Peter rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed that I asked such a heinous thing. I have to pee, god forbid. “Fine.” He sighs, walking to the small room on the left. He opens the door and waits for me. “Be quick.”
I narrow my eyes, shuffling my numb feet and legs. I walk just past him and stop, looking over my shoulder. “You’re probably lucky I didn’t pee on your foot.”
Peter narrows his eyes but closes the door behind me.
Frantic, I take quick inventory of the room, but there’s nothing but a toilet and a sink. Not even a mirror. So much for finding a weapon.
After I’m done with my business, I wash my hands and splash my face with water. It doesn’t do anything to improve the circles under my eyes or the splotchiness of my skin. “You’re a hot mess, Rowan,” I say to myself. “How in the hell did this happen to you?”
Peter bangs on the door, startling me. “Come on. Bathroom break’s over. You need to get dressed.”
I roll my eyes and swallow the rising bile in my throat. I don’t know how I’m going to do this. How am I going to fight him off and win? He might have let his guard down and told me something personal earlier, but I have an odd feeling he does that to get under people’s skin. It’s a way of messing with a victim. A sort of sick and vicious way of making them feel a little better just to pull the rug out from underneath them.
And Christ, if I don’t get free, am I willing to pay the ramifications? They say they have to keep me pretty for the buyers but will that stop them from really, truly hurting me?
I don’t know if I have the nerve to dwell on that too much.
I open the door aggressively and rush past Peter. He’s still standing next to the door and probably heard me talking to myself but I don’t care enough to feel embarrassed about it. “I’ll dress myself,” I say, grabbing the silky dress of the hanger.
“Not gonna to happen.” He shakes his head. “I have to be here.”
I narrow my eyes once again. “I’m not dressing in front of you, pervert.” I almost flinch at my name-calling, it’s probably not a smart thing to taunt a man in a human trafficking group, but when I’m scared I tend to act irrational. “If you want me to look at all presentable, you’ll at least have to turn around.” Damn, I’m pushing his limits, but the more time I spend here, the wilder I feel. I’m a caged animal. I can’t seem to make myself care. Maybe I’m just pushing down the inevitable. Almost like, if I don’t act like my normal self, I can somehow get through this.
Peter folds his arms and protrudes his foot to the side. “Fine. If you have to. You’re lucky you didn’t get another guy in here. I’m the nicest one.”
I shoot him a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about look. The nicest one? The man sucker punched me hours ago. The nicest one, my ass.
I give him side-eyes and he laughs. “I’m serious, gorgeous. Trip would have left you bloody. I was nice. Hell, they wanted me to drug you, and I didn’t. I just have to keep up appearances.” He winks.
They wanted Peter to drug me? “Why?” I ask, scared.
He picks at his fingernails. “Defiant girls don’t sell well. These people want submissive, dull women. They’d rather have you drugged and compliant rather than aggressive and belligerent.”
God, I hadn’t thought about it like that. I need to get out of here. I can’t be sold. I can’t live that life. I can’t be forced to give up everything. I have Lark, my family, Zander, my career. I have no idea what’s going to happen and there’s a good chance I won’t make this out alive.
My body begins to shake.
“So, when Davis comes in, you need to appear dazed. Don’t do anything too quickly. It’ll give me away.”
I try to gain control of my body, squinting my eyes. “Do you always do this?” I ask, shivering, feeling cold. “Do you treat all of the girls this way?”
“No,” is all he says. I can tell by his demeanor that he’s done with talking.
So I was right. Maybe he doesn’t like being here. He has to force himself to look tough?
I wave at him, telling him to turn around and he does. When his back is to me, I unbutton my shirt. My mind reels, wondering if he’s truly wanting to help me. Maybe if I can get him to open up more to me, he’ll help. I clear my throat, trying to find courage. “Do you like doing this?” Whatever this is, I think to myself
His feet shuffle against the floor. “Doing what?”
I set my shirt down on the chair and pull the dress over my head, the smooth fabric feeling way too cold against my already chilly skin. Goose bumps rise and I shiver, wishing I had a jacket to put over myself. “Being a bad guy,” I clarify. He doesn’t necessarily seem like the type—when he lets his guard down.
He scoffs. “I can be a bad guy.”
I point to my lip, though he can’t see me. “No shit.” Lifting the dress, I take off my boots, pants and socks and place them in the chair next to my shirt. Bending down, I slide into the shoes Peter had selected for me.
Peter finally sighs. “I don’t like being here,” he admits, sounding outright defeated. “How could I? But, it’s the family business and all that ridiculous bullshit. You do what you have to for the love of your family. Sometimes it’s beautiful. Or sometimes, it’s messy. I happen to be on the latter end of the spectrum. I was told from a young age I ne
eded to be this hardass, ruthless motherfucker who took no prisoners.” I look to him, his head shaking back and forth. “How can anyone, with even a little moral standing, be okay with that?”
Therein lies the answer to most of the questions I have.
I don’t know why I’m choosing to engage with this man. I don’t know why I oddly feel connected to him. But I do. He’s stuck. We have a lot more in common than I originally thought.
“Why not leave?” I ask, clasping the pearl necklace around my neck.
He sputters a humorless laugh. “And do what? I’m twenty-four with no experience in anything. Not to mention, my family would kill me. Davis is my cousin. This life, Rowan, if you think it’s scary from where you’re standing, try being on the other side.” He shakes his head, turning to look at me. “You look stunning by the way.”
One corner of my mouth lifts but it’s not worth much. Telling me I look stunning as I’m about to be sold to the highest bidder isn’t exactly a high praise. I’m getting ready to be sold to a person who wants to buy me for sex. Looking stunning is about the opposite of what I want to be right now. “Thanks,” I say despite myself.
“Makeup,” he says, offering me a small black bag. I walk into the bathroom, but quickly remember there’s no mirror.
I grumble and take it from his hands. Opening it, I drop the contents in the sink. “How did you guys know what shade of foundation I wear?” I ask, pulling out the glass bottle.
“You probably don’t want to know the answer to that.”
I gulp. “You’re right.” I sigh. I can only imagine how many women they bring out here throughout the year. They’re probably stocked up on crap like this.
Taking a deep breath, I grab a sponge and dispense the light foundation and cover my face. It’s no easy feat without a mirror. But, the concealer covers my shame. My scars. My worry. I apply a dusting of powder next and I’m thankful for the tiny mirror inside and then apply mascara. They provided a deep red lipstick and I grind my teeth when I see it’s the same one I use on stage every night. It’s pretty damn disgusting to think they somehow knew that. I brush on a bit of blush and then some dark shadow and figure I’m as good as I can possibly be in this situation.
“Can I ask a question?” I look at Peter who’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching me.
“Shoot.”
“How many women are brought here? Are there other places that you take them or did I just get lucky?” Being caught in the same woods as Lark’s family cabin can’t just be a coincidence.
Peter stands up straight. “You probably don’t want to know that, either.”
I fill the bag with the used make up, frustrated and lean against the sink. “I think I do.” It’ll give me a boost of confidence to know if I can actually escape, it’ll be to help the girls who might be brought here in the future. If I can be brave enough to save just one life, my fight and hurt will be worth it. I’m not just fighting for me. I’m fighting for them.
He exhales. “We only work during certain times of the year. Where we are standing right now?” He gestures at the room. “It’s usually filled with water. We work during the summer until the first snow begins to melt. And as for you getting lucky, it really was pure coincidence that we found you. This is the only place we work from. We built it from the ground up. So when Davis found out you and that FBI agent were out here, he knew it was ‘God’s will’ for you to be with us.” He actually used quotations when speaking about God’s will.
“Davis thinks he’s doing the work of God?” I scoff, shaking my head. How can someone like him really think he’s doing right by God?
“No.” Peter laughs. “Davis knows he’s going to hell, he just uses God as an excuse to make the awful decisions he does. We had no idea you were so close until we saw one of the guys from the group that was supposed to be watching over you.”
“Where?”
“One of our guys, Trip, recognized him from New York. They followed him to their base and we figured it out from there. Honestly, it wasn’t too hard.”
“God.” I gulp. “You guys were really watching me in New York?”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” And when he says it, I actually want to believe him.
“Why was I singled out?” I ask. I know they don’t like that I’ve always been the voice against them, but I didn’t think this would be the outcome.
Peter swallows hard. “Other than the obvious. You were the ultimate game to Davis. He wanted to be the one to take you out and sell you. He thought it was poetic.”
My insides shiver as I pass by him and walk into the room. “Why did you tell me all of this?” I ask. “Aren’t you betraying your family?” I turn and sit back down.
He pulls a chair in front of me and sits down. “I don’t know.”
I tilt my head.
“It’s just…maybe I want you to get out.”
My eyes go wide and I don’t say anything.
“I’m tired of this life,” he continues. “Living in this hell is the worst scenario I could have asked for. And maybe I feel bad.” He moves to touch my lip with his thumb and I retreat, still scared that he might hit me.
I lick the inside where the lip is angrily split open and nod. He looks wounded but how else am I supposed to react? Sure he just gave me a lot of information, but that doesn’t make us best friends.
“Peter,” I say, “How am I supposed to get out?”
He looks to the door and places his elbows on the arms of the chair, clasping his hands together. “It’s not a good plan, Rowan and if we do this, I want out, too.”
I breathe in through my nose. If I’m going to take him up on his offer, there is one important question I have to know the answer to. “Okay, but there’s something I need to know.”
Peter nods vigorously, willing to gain my trust. “Anything.” He must really want out of here.
I take my time, contemplating if I should sugar coat what I’m about to say. But in the end, I just come out with it. “Have you killed anyone?” It comes out as a whisper. I had intended to sound strong and like I wasn’t scared of the answer, but apparently I didn’t take into consideration how I would feel saying it out loud. I’m terrified to know his truth.
He looks away, down at his lap and his nose twitches. “No.” His voice is barely audible and I deflate a little bit. “Got pretty close, though.”
“Do you have guilt?”
He sniffles, keeping his eyes trained on his legs. “Every damn day.”
I gulp, still unsure of how I feel about him, but figure he’s the best shot I have at escaping. “So what do we have to do?”
There’s a loud bang on the door and Peter stands in a flash and kicks the chair away. It clangs against the wall and I flinch. He rushes to the door and opens it, letting one giant man inside.
He comes straight at me. His right leg must be giving him trouble, because he limps slightly. A sly sneer tugs at his lips when he stops in front of me. He looks so much taller than he did before.
I do as Peter said and stand up, looking at my feet.
“You’re already doing well, my pet,” he coos. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He touches his hot fingers to my chin and lifts my face to look at him.
With mud colored eyes and a baldhead, he doesn’t look as scary as I originally thought. His tattoos give him a tougher vibe, but for the most part, if I saw him in a crowded street, I wouldn’t look twice. He doesn’t look just-broken-out-of-prison scary, he just looks like a normal guy who likes tattoos.
“Nice…” I say in a slow tone. “Nice to meet you.”
Act timid. Lethargic. Make them believe you’re thankful they only drugged you, Peter had warned me. They’ll think you’re just another helpless girl.
“Some nice men are coming to see you.” Davis says. But he sounds like he’s talking to a three-year old. Sugar coated. It’s gross. “They are all very wealthy and want to pay top dollar for you. Be a good girl and yo
u won’t get hurt.”
No matter what he says, they won’t do anything to truly harm you. They can’t sell damaged goods.
I nod slowly. “Yes,…sir.”
“And speaking in proper term as well.” He beams and claps his hands. It’s almost as if he’s a proud dad, sending his daughter off to school—only creepier. Much, much creepier. He’s the Stepford wife of human trafficking.
Robotic.
Mechanical.
I do my best to keep my cool. I will my body to stop trembling and move my eyes back to the floor.
“Trip and Lance will help you escort Ms. Townsend to the viewing room,” he says to Peter who nods. “They will be here in a few minutes.”
“Got it,” Peter says.
Davis caresses my hair, his fingers playing with the loose tendrils. “I’ll see you soon, my pet. Make sure and be a good girl.” His tone is sickly sweet.
When he finally leaves, Peter rushes to me. “You did fantastic.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank God that’s over. Peter warned me Davis would give me the heebie-jeebies, but I wouldn’t have guessed it would be that bad. Good lord, the man makes my skin crawl.
“They’re going to be here soon, let’s go over the plan one more time.”
I place my feet firmly on the ground and count with my fingers. “First, we’ll walk with them. Everyone will be in the viewing room. You’ll take out Trip, hopefully knocking him out.” Peter levels his eyes and I correct myself. “Certainly knocking him out. And while Lance is distracted, I run.”
“Good,” Peter praises. “They won’t expect you to be able to walk, let alone run, it’ll take them by surprise. Now, what do you do if Lance grabs you?”
I rub my hands together, getting anxious for what I might have to attempt. It could get me killed, but I’d be an idiot not to try. If there’s even a sliver of hope that I’ll survive, I have to take that chance. “I shove the palm of my hand so far up his nose, it reaches his skull.”
Peter smiles, proudly. “Exactly.”
Knock, knock, knock.
Oh, Christ, here we go.
Peter grabs me roughly by the arm and leads me to two men. His eyes apologizing as he opens the door.
The Truth of a Liar Page 22
