He nodded as if he understood and pulled another U-turn. Bounced into the portico and slowed down. Too slow. If Brett was standing there he’d be... my app refreshed, Brett’s dot on the screen moving, and I saw him ahead, on the curb, speaking with a group of men.

Thank God. His clients. I let my head fall back against the seat. I was crazy, he was innocent. I opened my purse, ready to pull out some cash and let the cabbie go when one of the men turned my way and I saw his face. Shit. I ducked in the car. “Pull out,” I said urgently. “Anywhere. Just move.”

I had seen the man before. In Brett’s house in Fort Lauderdale, huddled, like they are now, around Brett. Four men, the same four men. Brett’s ‘friends.’

I told the cabbie to pull over and park. I spun in the seat, watched Brett’s foursome, and waited. It didn’t take long. A line of three black SUVs pulled up tight to the curb, the men all piling into the first one. Then, the convoy moved, a pack of shiny black, pulling off the curb and onto the street. “There.” I pointed when they passed us. “Follow them.”

I shouldn’t have followed them. I should have paid the cabbie, gotten out, and walked back into the lobby. Taken the elevator up to my room and waited for Brett. You see, here is where my story ends.

My new cell was a motel room, one on the end, with windows that didn’t open and a rotten smell that wouldn’t stop. I felt dawn when we arrived, saw bits of light along the edge of my blindfold. He dragged me backwards by my cuffs into the ground floor room, my blind feet tripping over the curb, my entrance inside made in a clumsy heap of restrained limbs.

He lifted me onto a bed and I slept for some time, the mattress so soft compared to the trunk, compared to my cell’s mattress. I woke when he ripped the tape off. The handcuffs were removed next, and I rolled my ankles and wrists for a while before walking to the bathroom.

It had been so long since I’d looked in a mirror that I’d forgotten what I looked like. I leaned forward and gingerly touched my cheeks. Saw the stranger before me do the same. The stranger with the faded black eye. The stranger who looked stronger than I ever did. Who stood straight and glared into the mirror and dared me to criticize her scars. I stepped back. Used the restroom, washed my hands with the bar soap, then glanced at him. Got permission and opened the makeup bag that sat on the counter with trembling fingers.

I pulled out the contents and lined them up, in a neat row on the counter.

Revlon Photoready 3D Volume Mascara: Black

Maybelline Instant Age Rewind Eraser Concealer: Light

Revlon ColorStay Pressed Powder: Light/Medium

Revlon Super Lustrous Lipstick: #680 Temptress

The wrong colors for me, but I didn’t care. They were used cosmetics, which bothered me more. Who had they belonged to? Where had they come from?

“It would be in your best interest to look nice.” He spoke from the doorway, a few steps away, and watched me. I wished for a door between us, some privacy in this moment. I reached for the concealer, applied it generously, painting the bruises white, the black eye pale. I used every trick my mother had ever taught me. Took my time with my brows, applied mascara with a shaky hand and lined my lips carefully before applying the color. Finger-combed through my hair and wished for a curler, something to tame the wild mess it had become.

Then, I laughed. I couldn’t help myself, the sound bubbled out of me, as foreign in my throat as his cock. What was I doing? Why was I trying? I wanted a curler? There I was, hours from being sold, and I was worried about my looks. About making a good impression. I stared at my reflection and had the sudden desire to slam my head forward, into the glass. Had a mild moment of pleasure at the idea of him trying to sell me then, a bloody-faced girl with glass in her hair.

Instead I turned, like a good little slave, and faced him.

“What am I going to wear?”

“There’s a dress hanging in the closet.” He touched the edge of my elbow as I passed, my entire body jerking to a stop at the contact. “You look very nice,” he said quietly.

“Thank you, sir.” I intoned, my head down.

The dress was plain, a short black number, Ross tags still attached. I slid it on and stepped in front of the mirror.

“Perfect,” he murmured from behind me, his eyes critiquing every inch of the look, his hand tucking in the tags, smoothing out the fabric.

I kept my eyes down and forced a smile.

***

I don’t think that there has ever been a moment in my life where I knew, with absolute certainty, that my entire life was about to change. I didn’t realize it the night I was abducted. Didn’t realize it, as a baby, the night of my birth. But this night, I knew it. I knew that every action I took would have some form of consequences for the rest of my life. One wrong glance, one misstep... and it could end in death, or worse - a lifetime of torture.

I broke every rule I’d ever made for myself and cooperated. Let him cuff my hands. Stepped from the room and through the parking lot and didn’t scream. Saw my first sky in unknown years and stared. Took a seat in the front seat of a car I had never seen next to a man that I wanted dead. Quietly sat while he drove me through a city whose name I didn’t know. The car stopped, started, accelerated, slowed. Turned twenty-odd times before pulling down a street and stopping.

I’d been down streets like this before. Cobblestoned paths that led between buildings centuries old. I walked down a street like this with Brett before. He bought a flower from a street kid and tucked it in my hair. Pulled me into an alley and kissed my mouth, put his hand up my dress and caressed my thigh.