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Chapter 4

Smile pretty for your new owner.

These fucking assholes.

I’d earned a backhand to the face for my double middle finger stunt when they were done filming me, and my cheek still stung. But hell. I’d never been more pissed off in my life. Or afraid.

I never knew this about myself before, but apparently fear made me stupid.

When I woke up after being taken in Cancún, I was in some kind of warehouse, fairly certain I was still near the Gulf of Mexico, if the warmth and the smell of salty air was any indication. Felipe and flabby guy, who I learned was named Ethan, had been joined by five other men with big guns who strolled around inside the warehouse. Despite their well-armed status, I had tried to run as soon as my legs were able to work again, and after that, they’d taped my wrists together and put handcuffs around my ankles.

There were four other women being held here, and the one beside me didn’t seem to be handling the chloroform—or whatever drug they’d used to take us—well. She’d thrown up twice already.

When they started filming us one by one, I thought it was for some ransom thing they were pulling—trying to get money from our families—but when Felipe had instructed me to smile for my new owner , that’s when realization set in like a ton of bricks. This was no kidnapping for ransom; I was being trafficked.

After the filming, we were allowed to sit on the floor, and they passed out lukewarm bottles of water and granola bars. I ate and drank ravenously, knowing I would need my strength if I was to escape.

“Okay, beautiful ladies,” Ethan crooned, “it’s time to move to the next location.”

They’re moving us? Maybe this would be a good time to try and get away again.

The only problem with that ill-advised plan? Having your ankles cuffed together is not conducive to running, and I only ended up with scraped knees and hands for my efforts when I fell on the concrete outside.

One of the guards pulled me up by my hair and roughly led me to a large cargo truck in the parking lot, my feet shuffling to try and keep up. When I inched my way up the ramp and into the back, my scraped knees almost gave way as Felipe pushed aside a panel on the inside of the truck, revealing a dauntingly narrow hidden compartment.

My heart slammed against my ribs, and I fought back tears. I hadn’t cried in front of these assholes yet, and I wasn’t going to start now. But I wanted to because it was obvious they were going to put us in that tiny space. It was at least a hundred and ten degrees in the back of this truck and closing us up in that narrow area would only make it worse.

I noticed five sets of chains bolted into the wall, and that’s when I knew with certainty…

Even if I managed to survive this journey, I was never going to see my family again.