A satisfying growl resonated from Patrick’s throat as his simmering gaze brought heat to my skin. The way he was staring was as if the dress had disappeared. With a sigh, Patrick pulled his phone from his pocket and after swiping the screen, he said, “You’re now live.”
My gaze fell to the necklace upon my breastbone as it rose with my deep breath. I suddenly wondered if it could detect my heart rate. If the answer was yes, I suspected that someone somewhere would see how fast my heart was beating.
“Find out what Elliott says about Ruby and come back to me,” Patrick instructed, lifting my chin. “Know that Ivanov and Hillman are there on the ranch. If they leave, we’ll monitor them.”
“Can you tell me?”
“Not without raising suspicion.”
Patrick’s phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen. “I should answer this.”
I stepped back, wrapping my arms around my midsection and preparing myself for whatever was at hand. I’d walked into more dangerous situations than Marion Elliott’s ranch and lived to tell about it.
Patrick’s voice stayed steady. “Hello. Yes, I can tell her. Has Garrett gotten her car ready? Okay.” When he disconnected, he looked my way with a grin. “Apparently, an advantage of being overheard is being corrected.”
“What do you mean?”
“An email address, unknown to Ivanov, has been added to your phone. We will only use it in emergencies, but we can contact you via that email. Your password is birthstone.”
My cheeks rose as a grin came to my lips. A ruby is the gemstone for the month of July—Ruby’s birthstone and name. “That’s good. I can remember that. Please keep an eye on the island resort. Just because Andros is in Dallas doesn’t mean he won’t move her or have her moved. I need to know where she is, even if I can’t see or talk to her.”
Patrick planted a kiss to my forehead. “Let me walk you down to the car.”
Maddie
Seventeen years ago
I couldn’t comprehend the amount of time that had passed. It could have been days or maybe weeks. The room where we were kept was below ground with no windows and one door. A single low-watt light bulb hung from the ceiling, enough to illuminate the shadows, similar to a nightlight that never turned off. Every few hours warm air blew from a vent in the ceiling. It didn’t last long. With the cold concrete walls and floor, we should appreciate the warmth; however, its presence did less to heat and more to elevate the putrid odor of human waste.
One large bucket in the corner was our only toilet.
Running water wasn’t present nor were beds.
Our clothes were our only blanket and the dress Kristine had bought however long ago was in shreds.
The first time I entered—what I’d overheard as holding—there were seven other girls. I could say women, but that would be a stretch considering at eighteen I was one of the oldest inhabitants. Wearing what was left of the white dress, now stained with an assortment of bodily fluids, I walked barefoot into what could best be described as a cell.
The number of inhabitants varied over time. Today there were nine of us.
While new ones came, others disappeared. Only a few of us had been here since I arrived.
Thinking beyond the moment was impossible. Common concerns no longer existed.
Shower.
Brushing teeth.
Sleep.
The latter came in waves of exhaustion, times when maintaining wakefulness was beyond my ability. One need that didn’t wane was hunger. Food was a reward if we behaved, if we performed to the customer’s satisfaction.
With my back against the cold concrete and my knees drawn up to my chest, my wandering thoughts went back to the hours and days after Kristine left me.
Dr. Miller was the first to interview me.
I had no way of knowing that an interview meant rape.
Before I met Patrick, I kept my hair short and wore baggy clothes. I knew what could happen to girls on the street, and I did my best to stay invisible. And then one afternoon, the change began. It wasn’t instantaneous but gradual. Patrick would run his fingers through my hair, innocently saying he liked it long. Over time, he’d hold me against him as his hands skirted my body, finding curves that I could no longer hide. His approval and appreciation gave me strength to embrace my femininity—not flaunt but accept. His presence allowed me the bubble of safety to become a woman.
When any thoughts of Patrick came to mind, my eyes filled with tears until they rolled down my filthy cheeks, creating a pathway through the dirt and grime. I sometimes wondered how I had any tears left.
Dr. Miller was the first to interview me the day Kristine left. Not the last.
After he was done, Wendy escorted me to the bathroom, and then to another room furnished with a similar cheap bed. I begged and pleaded. I told her I had family who would miss me. My initial pleas were met with reprimands and threats. Threats became action and my begging ceased.
By the time I closed my eyes that night, there had been four different men.
Thinking about them brought bile from the depths of my stomach. They were men I wouldn’t approach on the street. Not because they appeared scary, but because they appeared old and normal. They were the men who came and went from high-rise offices, ritzy restaurants, and theaters with elegantly dressed wives on their arms. They wore expensive suits and held an air of superiority. I would have avoided their condescending expressions.
As they entered the rooms, their expressions held the same sense of supremacy.
Now they had purpose. Each one knew the outcome and what he would do. Each one instructed, dominated, and demeaned me. In a matter of hours, my illusions of family men were shattered.
Before the terrible awakening, I’d imagined these men as fathers or grandfathers presiding over a long table filled with children and grandchildren and smiling at their wives. How could I have imagined a world where they dispassionately did what they had done to me, each leaving me with bruises along with their semen? From the first interview, I realized the cold reality that simple gratification wasn’t their goal. These men found immense satisfaction in not only vaginal but also oral and anal.
Dr. Miller had been the first to take me there. No amount of time or distance could make me forget the pain and burn as he forced himself into that virgin area. It was as if my cries fueled his speed and determination. It wasn’t enough for them to come inside me, but also on me. Throughout that night, my face, skin, and even hair was doused.
When he left the room, I vomited. It was a combination of the pain, odors, and pregnancy.
Instead of helping me, Wendy made me wash the floor. After that, I was told to change the sheets for the next interview.
It wasn’t until the third or fourth man was about to enter...it was difficult to recall...that I heard the conversation.
“How much did she cost?” the man asked before entering the room.
“Three hundred for her. Five for the baby.”
“Five? What if it doesn’t survive?”
“She’s beyond the first trimester. I’m certain, sir, that not only will she bring you a profit, but a healthy baby will bring you twenty times what was paid.”
The man scoffed. “I heard she’s a fighter.”
Wendy laughed. “They all start out that way. That’s why I called you. I know how much you enjoy breaking them in.”