Page 37 of Doxed

Moving down the line, workers empty each of the cages, and then they take the girls somewhere.

The girls return showered, in lingerie, with their hair and makeup done.

I guess we’re having visitors, because I can't think of another reason they would deprive us of showers and toilets and then put all this effort into our looks. They’re going cage by cage, and ours is in the middle of the long line.

“Don’t fight them,” one woman in the cage ahead of ours whispers to a terrified newcomer. “They’ll put you to sleep and then buyers get to sample you if you’re unconscious.”

I guess this isn't her first time here. God, how horrible for her.

Buyers. The woman said buyers. I don't know if being sold to someone will be better or worse than here, probably worse, huh? Maybe there will be a chance to escape, though.

The cell in front of us comes and goes, and then it’s our turn.

Megan, Sarah, and I huddle together as guards come to our door and open it slowly.

Calling them guards feels like more than they deserve, but I don't know how else to refer to them other than utter wastes of space. They’re horrible humans and I hope they pay for this.

“Let’s go,” they order.

Holding hands, we stand together and go to the door, but we have to separate once there. One man grabs me roughly around my upper arm, so hard that I think I'm going to have bruises on top of the ones they left when they took me to shower and take pictures of me.

We’re taken to the same plain white room where they took me last time. We’re shoved in open shower stalls with a bar of soap and nothing else while the men watch us shower, their eyes running over our bodies and making me sick to my stomach. Sarah cries and I don't blame her, I want to cry too.

After we wash our hair and bodies, they yank us out, grabbing handfuls of tits and ass as they do, and shove a towel and lingerie at us.

It’s the same as before. They watch us as we get dressed and then they drag us into another room with three chairs set up and makeup and hair tools set out on a long, plastic folding table.

My heart jumps to my throat when I see three women waiting there.

For a second I think that they’ll help us, but then I remember that they’ve already done hair and makeup for at least eight other cages of girls.

The women don’t look anyone in the eye, always keeping their focus on the floor and they don’t say a single word.

A man shoves me into my plastic chair and wretches my arms backward, and I outwardly wince.

He secures my arms and ankles to the chair and I'm stuck.

I have no choice but to stare at the blank, white wall in front of me while the woman does my makeup and brushes and curls my hair.

It takes forever to get the knots out, and it feels good to have a shower again, but I'd take being filthy again over being here right now.

I just want to cry. My life is gone, and I never even got to do anything with it. I was so focused on making money that I never stopped to truly enjoy it or to just live my life. I never fell in love, I never had kids, I never made friends.

I came close, though. I could have loved Miles. If he had opened up a little more and been nicer, I could have been putty in his hands.

And that makes me want to cry more, because the only person who I ever came close to loving betrayed me so horribly. It's not even like he lied to me or cheated on me. I mean, he did lie, but more importantly, he fucking trafficked me. What the fuck?

Unfortunately, they finish my hair and makeup way too quickly, and it's time for Megan, Sarah, and I to return to our cage. I'm afraid of what’s next.

The workers take Sarah, Megan, and me back to our cage to wait while the last two cages are taken back for hair and makeup.

Several men enter the room, more than I've ever seen here before, and they break up into groups and approach each pen.

Our door opens and I almost trip over my platform heels as I back up against the wall.

Cold concrete scraps against my bare shoulder blades, but I barely feel it as I watch the men stalk into our cage.

I glance to the side and see Megan and Sarah huddled together against the wall.

And a part of me wants to throttle them. What about me?

“Turn around!” Strong hands grip my shoulders and yank me around before I can comply, shoving me into the wall face first. I turn my head in time and the concrete scratches my cheek.

Screams erupt from multiple places, and I can't be sure that I’m not one of them.

A metal collar clicks around my neck and I’m yanked backwards by it.

I reach up to feel the cylinder tube around my neck and I look over at the girls. They’re also collared and the men have a thin pole attached to the back of it and are steering them away from the wall with it.

“This is a shock collar, so behave, bitch,” the man leading me warns, and I lick my lips to keep them from trembling.

We’re all led out of the concrete room like cattle and up a flight of stairs. We walk down a long hallway, passing a few people going the opposite direction. None of them give the line of collared girls in lingerie a second glance, and that’s when I realize no one is going to save me. This is it.

Another tall man passes the row of girls, but stops when he meets me, grabbing my forearm. “Boss wants to see this one before auction,” he grumbles. This stops the succession and I look up at the man holding onto me. Auction? We’re going to be auctioned off like livestock or totaled out vehicles!?

“Why?” the man leading me snaps.

“Fuck if I know,” the other one shrugs, and I look into his eyes, recognizing something. A black ski mask covers his face, but that’s not unusual, some of the cowards prefer to hide their faces.

“Okay, she hasn’t been a fighter, so you should be good.” He hands off my pole to the other man and, as the masked man pulls me from the group—by my arm, not my neck—my heart squeezes at the familiar scent of Miles’ cologne. It can’t be.

We walk down the hall in silence, my thoughts running a million miles a minute. There’s no way this is Miles. Why would he come rescue me from the very fucked up place he put me? To fuck with me some more?

The masked man interrupts my thoughts by opening a door and shoving me in roughly.

“My girls not a fighter? That can’t be right.

” Miles says, loud and clear this time. And my heart fucking breaks.

Tears spring to my eyes and I fall to my knees in the dark, cramped closet that he’s hidden us in.

He catches me under my arms and lifts me up.

“Shhh,” he hushes me as I start to hyperventilate.

“I know, I know. But let’s get out of here and then you can yell at me. ”

Yanking myself away, I swipe at my cheeks. “I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re the reason I'm here to begin with!” I whisper yell at him.

I can barely see him in the pitch black, but we’re standing so close that I can feel his body heat wafting off of him.

“I fucked up, Briar,” his voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “Just let me get you out of here and we can talk.”

“What about the other girls?” I ask, crossing my arms over myself. It feels too raw to be half naked in front of Miles.

“There’s thirty other girls, Briar. What do you expect me to do? I can’t help them. Sorry,” he snaps, but it lacks all the venom he used to have.

Footsteps echo through the door as they walk down the hallway and I huddle into Miles’ chest without thinking, and for a second, it feels nice when his arms wrap around me protectively.

But then the steps fade and so does my idiocy.

I pull away from him, but his hands slide down my arms and hold on to my wrists.

“We just leave them? I can’t leave them.

” I shake my head, tears filling my eyes.

How can I escape and leave them to be sold to monsters?

“I’m sorry, Briar. I’m sorry I ever sent you here. I'm sorry for so many things that I’ll apologize for later, but right now we need to go. Just us. I’m sorry, we can’t save them.” His green eyes are gentle for the first time ever, and I nod my head, relenting.

What are my other options? For sure getting sold or leaving this closet and maybe surviving. I'll take my chances with the unknown. There’s something in Miles’ eyes that makes me trust him. There’s actual emotion in them now.

Miles opens the door and peeks side to side before quickly pulling me out behind him. “Keep your head down and keep up.” Miles whispers, his hold on my hand like a vise.

With my free hand, I grip the fabric of Miles’ gray shirt and hurry along behind him.

He listens for footsteps and we stop at every turn or doorway before continuing on.

We’re in a house, a large, dated house. With wood-paneled walls and wallpaper, ornate carpet, and dim lighting from thick, glass wall sconces.

He leads me into a small kitchen and over to a window. He opens it and somehow bends his long body through it. “Come on,” he whisper shouts to me. Looking around, I make sure no one is coming before placing my hands on the wooden sill and climbing out of the window.

Miles’ hands grab me as I clamber out of the window and guide me to the soft grass outside, and once my feet touch the ground, we’re running together. Well, he’s running, I'm fumbling along behind him in my platform heels.

Once we make it to the distant tree line, I fall to the ground. Touching it, reminding myself that it’s real and not the concrete floor of the cage.

“We have to go!” Miles panics, grabbing my hand.

“Wait.” I yank it away and shakily unbuckle my heels and pull them off. The last thing we need is me twisting an ankle because I tripped over a branch. My hands fly to my neck, feeling the collar around it. “It’s a shock collar, he said. Do you think it’ll go off after a certain distance?”

Miles curses under his breath before falling to his knees next to me and leaning in close to examine the thick band around my neck. He sighs, “He’s a fucking liar. It’s not a shock collar. Here, hold your hair. There’s a screw in the back that I can take out and get this off of you.”

Miles’ knife glints in the moonlight, and I remember that night in my closet when he killed that man. He tugs on the collar lightly and after a few seconds; it comes loose. Miles throws it as far into the trees as he can with a glare on his face before pocketing his knife and standing.

I offer my hand and off we go again. I don't know how long we run for or how Miles knows where to go, but by the time we reach a small dirt trail and slow down, my lungs are burning. The tail lights flash as Miles unlocks the doors to a car I’ve never seen and I release a small breath of relief.

But I'm not safe yet. Now I have to see what Miles has in store for me next, or if he is genuinely sorry.