Captive

by Donna K. Ford

  “Begin,” a tall, thin man yelled.

  Greyson took a step back as the other woman came toward her.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Greyson said, dodging a punch aimed at her face. “Please stop. We have to stop this.”

  The woman lunged at Greyson like a hyena bringing down a rabbit.

  Greyson was fast, but this woman was faster, and she caught Greyson around the middle, slamming her against the wall. She drove her forearm under Greyson’s chin, pinning her.

  “You must fight,” the woman growled at Greyson. “They will only make things worse for you if you don’t.” She drove her fist into Greyson’s side.

  Greyson gasped as her breath exploded from her lungs. Pain seared through her side as if she had been branded.

  The woman released her, and Greyson fell to the floor clutching her side.

  “Get up,” the men shouted at her. “Get up.”

  Greyson stumbled to her feet. She would have to be much faster if she was going to make it through this. She managed to stay on her feet, but there was no escaping the lightning-fast blows that came with brutal force. What her opponent lacked in size she made up for in speed and precision.

  Greyson’s eye was swollen, blood oozed from her nose, and her ribs hurt. She was tired and it was getting harder to resist the relentless assault. There was only one way to end this.

  Greyson didn’t move as the next blow came. The woman’s fist crashed against Greyson’s chin, spinning her on her feet. Her vision blurred. She staggered. The next blow was like a hammer crashing against her skull, and the lights went out.

  Chapter Seven

  Greyson woke to gentle hands pressing a cold cloth to her cheek. She groaned as the pressure intensified the pain throbbing behind her eye. She tried to pull away from the offending touch.

  “Ouch.”

  “Oh, now you want to fight,” a woman chided. The accent was foreign, India maybe.

  Greyson opened her eyes. The woman she had faced in the pit sat next to her holding a bloodstained rag.

  “What are you doing?” Greyson asked, pulling away.

  “I am trying to help you. The swelling will be worse if you don’t ice.”

  Greyson flinched as the woman pressed the compress against her cheek again.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Amala.”

  Greyson squinted up at her. “Why are you doing this?”

  Amala stared down at Greyson as if she wasn’t sure how to answer. Her expression hardened. “There are many things you do not understand. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I had no choice. The people here will make things very bad for us if we don’t fight.”

  “How many women are there?”

  Amala shook her head. “I don’t know for sure.” She looked around. “They move some of us around sometimes. Some of the women never come back once they leave. Sometimes women are brought in from other places when a fight is scheduled and the men can bet and buy the girls.”

  Greyson reached for the compress and tried to sit up. She was shocked by what she had heard. How could anyone buy other people? “That’s barbaric.”

  Amala nodded. “Yes, it is.”

  Greyson looked around the room. It was large enough to have several beds scattered around. There were a sink and a toilet at the back, and a shower nozzle protruded from the wall. “What is this place?”

  “We call it the infirmary. They put us here after fights to let us help each other heal.”

  “This is insane. I don’t belong here.”

  Amala’s shoulders stiffened, and a muscle jumped at the side of her jaw. “No one belongs here. You were taken just like we were all taken. No one chooses to be here. We fight for our families, our children, those we love.”

  Greyson shifted her feet to the floor. “What do you mean you were taken? Where are your families?”

  Amala sighed. “My husband was a doctor working in Colombia when he was killed by drug smugglers. My mother and daughters and I had nowhere to go. We were trying to get back to India, but the smugglers were everywhere. We paid a guide to bring us to America, but when we crossed the border into the desert, men were waiting for us. They took us. They told me I must do this or my mother would be killed and my daughters would be sold to the drug dealers as sex slaves. They cannot go back there. There is nothing for them there but death. They told me if I worked for them, my family will be safe. So, I agreed to go with the men. I have no choice. I fight for my family.”

  Greyson’s heart went out to Amala. “How long have you been here?”

  Amala shrugged. “Two years, maybe longer. I don’t know for sure.”

  “Jesus.” Greyson tried to wrap her mind around what Amala had told her. How was she going to get out of this? She swallowed the lump growing in her throat. “What do you have to do to get out?”

  Amala pinned her with her midnight eyes. “You die,” she said, her words flat but definitive.

  Greyson clenched her jaw. “I don’t accept that. I can’t. We have to find a way.”

  Amala shook her head. “No, my friend. We cannot do anything. The women here are all the same. The Recruiter will hurt our families. We must do as he says. We must fight or he will harm them.”

  Greyson leaned closer. “Maybe it’s time for a different fight.”

  Amala looked at her with understanding, but slowly shook her head again. “I wish that was possible, but I am afraid for you. If you keep up this thinking, you will only bring bad things to us all.”

  “I have to find a way. Your Recruiter has nothing on me. There has to be something I can do to stop this. I won’t fight for him.”

  Amala sighed. “I have seen this before. Those women who refused to work for him all died, or were sold for sex. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather fight than have any of those pigs touch me.”

  Greyson was sick. It was as if she was in the middle of the twilight zone. She squinted, trying to see through the pain in her head and the pressure in her eye. “Are we the only ones staying in this room?”

  Amala looked around. “For now, there are four of us including you. But others will come and go depending on the fights.”

  “Where are the others?” Greyson asked, not certain she wanted to know the answer.

  Amala shrugged. “Some have duties assigned by the Recruiter. Some are training. The cells are separated by floors and sometimes we don’t see each other for days or weeks.”

  Greyson cringed. “Are you telling me the women here are slaves?”

  “Ah, yes. That is what we are. To the world, we do not exist. No one knows where we are, and our families are too afraid to go to the authorities. There is no one looking for us. We can do nothing. Our lives have been sold for the freedom of our children.”

  “I don’t accept that. I’m no one’s slave.”

  Amala smiled sadly. “You will learn.”

  * * *

  On schedule, Olivia heard the key turn to unlock her door. She had been awake for hours waiting. Liz stepped into the room, handing her a bundle of clothes and a pair of thin-soled shoes like her grandmother used to buy from the local Dollar Store.

  “Put these on. You have a work assignment today.”

  “What kind of assignment?” Olivia asked, even though she was afraid of what the answer might be.

  Liz shrugged. “They just told me to get you ready and take you to the kitchen.”

  Olivia was relieved. Maybe she could get some kind of weapon there. She would at least be around other people. The silence of her room was beginning to close in on her, and Liz wasn’t exactly company. Maybe some of the other girls could help.

  Olivia dressed quickly, eager to be doing something.

  There were already three other girls in the kitchen when Olivia arrived. She noticed their stares as she followed Liz around the room, each girl stopping what she was doing, as if caught in a trance. Olivia glanced from one girl to the next, their eyes telegraphing their pity and knowing.
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  Liz stopped in front of the women. “This is our new girl, Olivia. Olivia, this is Mary,” Liz said gesturing to a woman who looked to be around thirty, her hair cut shorter than Olivia’s with a hint of red peeking through.

  “This is Sherry.” Olivia nodded to a woman slightly shorter than her with a round face. Olivia guessed her to be in her early twenties. She had a bruise on her right cheek that looked very much like the one on her own face, where the Recruiter had struck her that first day.

  “And this is Dana.” Liz smiled primly as if she had just introduced her best friends in middle school.

  Dana looked at Olivia, her jaw set, and her gaze hard. “Welcome to hell.”

  “Dana,” Liz scolded. “That’s no way to welcome our new sister.”

  “Whatever, superfreak. You may think that bastard is a prince, but the rest of us know he’s just a monster.”

  Liz glared at Dana, her face turning red with anger. “You can be in charge of showing Olivia what to do today,” Liz said through gritted teeth. “I have better things to do than waste my time with you.”

  “Fine with me,” Dana replied dryly.

  Olivia stared after Liz as she stomped out of the room like a little girl running off to tell Daddy someone had been mean to her.

  Olivia turned back to the women. “What’s with her?”

  Dana laughed. “She’s been here so long, she’s nuts. She’s convinced herself that the Recruiter actually cares about her.”

  Sherry moved a stack of bowls and shuffled a stack of plates onto a rack. “I think she’s been here so long, she doesn’t know any other way to live.”

  “Ha,” Mary scoffed. “None of us had it very good on the outside either. You don’t see any of us buying into that crap.”

  Olivia noticed raised scars running across Mary’s wrist, distorting the tattoo and disfiguring her arm. Mary caught her staring.

  “Yeah, I did that. I’d rather have bled to death than have that bastard’s mark on me.”

  Olivia absently rubbed her own arm, feeling scales of skin still flaking away as the tattoo healed.

  “Come on,” Dana said. “You might as well get started. If we want to eat, we better get this done.”

  As they worked, Olivia scoured the room for something she could use as a weapon, any weakness she could use to her advantage. She leaned close to Mary. “How did you do it? How did you cut yourself?”

  Mary shifted her gaze at Olivia, sizing her up. “Why? You planning to check out early?”

  Olivia shook her head. “Something sharp might be useful.”

  Mary grinned. “I managed to pick a piece of concrete loose from a crack in the wall in my cell. I used the shard to cut through my arm. They don’t allow us to take knives out of the kitchen. They’re counted every day and we’re searched before we leave.”

  “How many guards are there? If we worked together maybe—”

  “Maybe nothing,” Mary admonished. “This isn’t a day care, sweetheart. It’s a real prison. Even if you got by the guard, you’d never get past the bars or the rest of the men. We’re locked in here like pigs.”

  Disappointment soured in Olivia’s stomach. Today wasn’t turning out anything like she had hoped.

  The day seemed to go on for an eternity. Olivia flinched at every sound that might signal danger. She was actually relieved when Liz came to take her back to her room. She didn’t even notice how quiet Liz was on their walk. It wasn’t until they were back at her cell that she noticed something was different.

  A small table had been placed in the center of the room, draped with a white tablecloth. Two place settings had been set, and a small serving cart had been pushed into the room. The aroma of food filled the small space. The Recruiter sat at the table waiting for her, his hands folded in his lap, a faint smile on his lips. He had sandy blond hair and brown eyes, and dressed as if he’d just come home from the office. He wore dark slacks and a white button-down shirt. His shoes were polished and clean. To the average person he would look like any other guy. There were no obvious signs of the monster he really was.

  Dread flooded Olivia like boiling water being pushed through her veins. She hesitated and was nudged inside by the guard at her back.

  “Come in, Ms. Danner. I’ve prepared something special for us. I had a very successful outing and I feel like celebrating.” He gestured to the empty chair. “Please, sit.”

  Olivia sat. She stared at him as if he were a snake. She never took her eyes off him in case he might strike. She loathed him.

  “I hope you enjoyed your day,” he said as if she had spent the day out shopping. “Liz tells me you’ve been getting along very well.” He smiled. “I’m glad.”

  Olivia swallowed, holding back her anger. What was this guy up to? He acted like they were friends or on a date or something.

  He reached across the table, lifting the plate cover. “I hope you like Italian. It seems so festive, so I thought it would be perfect for tonight.”

  Olivia frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” He pressed his finger to her lips. “I see you’re still angry. Haven’t I provided everything you need? Food, water, clothing, shelter? In return, all I’ve asked for is your company.”

  “You’re keeping me here against my will. I don’t want to be here.”

  He poured a glass of wine and sat back in his chair, his glass held aloft. He looked at her knowingly. “This takes time. I have such high hopes for us. I know you’ll like it here if you’ll just give it a chance. I’ll take care of you forever.”

  Olivia felt sick, her revulsion rising like a volcano. She picked up the plate and threw it at him, lunging across the table, her fingers curled like talons poised to claw out his eyes.

  He grabbed her wrist and struck her across the face before throwing her to the ground. In an instant, he was on top of her, holding her down, his hand clasped around her throat at the base of her jaw. She gasped and struggled against him. He leaned down until his face was only inches from hers.

  “That wasn’t nice. Now look what you made me do,” he growled. He reached for the lasagna that had splattered onto the floor, scooping it into his fist. His fingers and thumb bored into her jaw, prying her mouth open. He shoved the food into her mouth, forcing her mouth shut.

  She seethed and gagged but he wouldn’t let her spit it out. “Swallow it,” he yelled.

  After long minutes, she couldn’t help but swallow. Then he forced her mouth open and poured the wine down her throat. She gasped and sputtered as the acidic liquid spilled into her nose, burning its way through her sinuses. She fought and cried and begged him to stop.

  He sat back, the weight of him still holding her down. “Waste not, want not.”

  He stood, wiping his hands and shirt with a napkin as if he had only just spilled something.

  Olivia lay on the floor crying. She curled into herself still gagging and spitting from the assault.

  He sat back down at the table and poured himself another glass of wine. “I’ll have to see to it that you are punished. I can’t have you behaving like an animal in front of guests. Perhaps that should be your last meal for a while. We’ll see how you feel when you’ve been hungry for a few days.”

  Olivia looked up at him, new fear growing in her mind. What else would he do to her? She stayed on the floor crying, afraid to move, as he ate his dinner.

  * * *

  Greyson drifted in and out of sleep, only occasionally aware of gentle hands tending to her wounds. As night fell, cold seeped into her bones, making her shiver. She woke reaching for her sleeping bag, still caught in the memory of the life stolen from her. She looked around the dimly lit room trying to make out the number of occupied bunks.

  A faint whisper and the creek of a cot drew her attention to a row of bunks at her feet. She could barely make out the silhouette of two figures huddled together beneath the covers. She strained to hear their muffled conversation. Any information she could gain might h
elp her figure her way out of this hell.

  “We’ll be separated tomorrow. I can’t stand it when I can’t see you.”

  Greyson frowned. She didn’t recognize the speaker. The voice seemed small but pure and clear. It reminded Greyson of a wren.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be close, even when we can’t see each other. The others will watch out for you.”

  Greyson stilled her breath. This was a voice she recognized. It was Amala.

  “Nothing will happen to you. I promise,” Amala said firmly.

  Hmm. It seemed Amala might have more reason to fight the system than she let Greyson know. Greyson turned her head away as the sound of wet kisses and a faint moan drifted through the silence. Yep, she could use this. And if Amala had something to fight for, maybe the others did too.

  Greyson pulled the thick wool blanket up over her head and thought about how she could use this information to make a plan. The women here had all been taken against their will. The captors used blackmail to force the women into slavery and supplication, but there was more. Something else was going on here. The women had secrets, and perhaps they could help her find the weak link that would lead her to a way out.

  Greyson frowned. She was the new girl. These women wouldn’t trust her easily. She would have to work on changing that. She needed to show them she was not just one of them, but she would champion them. She needed to learn the system, fast. Greyson’s mind raced as she grasped for the thinnest thread of hope.

  The familiar sound of a metal cot being wheeled down the corridor drew Greyson’s attention. Several women got up and made their way to the door. Some limped, others held arms close to their sides to hold back their pain. She must have been asleep when the others were brought in.

  Amala patted her cot. “Come on, newbie, if you want to eat, you have to get up. No one gets a tray if they don’t get it themselves. They won’t let us get it for you.”

  Greyson leaned up on her arms as much as she could and slowly slid her legs off the bed. Her ribs screamed in protest. It wasn’t any better when her feet hit the floor and she pushed herself up. She lifted her shirt, wincing at the mottled bruises along her side.