Ashes (Web of Desire #3) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,13

up at the screen. “I know the program Elliott’s running. I know how to beat it without him knowing we did. Sparrow called in a favor. We’ve got access to a back entrance. Reid’s watching past videos for a semblance of a schedule on Elliott’s part. Man,” Mason said, “we’ve got a war that needs all of us. It won’t have that until you have Madeline here. Even Sparrow knows that.”

The steel door again moved and Sparrow entered. “Get your asses in gear. The plane is ready and we have men waiting.” He looked to Reid. “Two and a half hours each way?”

“Yes.”

“Tell Stephanie,” Sparrow said, looking at his watch, “I’ll be at the office by 3:15.”

My watch read a little after nine. “Cutting it close.”

Sparrow shrugged. “We’ve got the best men on this. I expect nothing less than perfection.”

“All right, let’s go.”

“And,” Sparrow said as we all headed toward the elevator. “Once we’re on the plane, I’ll fill you in on the manufacturing plant in McKinley Park.”

My gaze narrowed as I tried to recollect. “The one Elliott Inc. built as payback to McFadden?”

“That’s the one.”

Madeline

More than sixteen years ago

The senator’s house was ghostly silent as Andros led me through the hallways. While I’d been blindfolded and couldn’t be sure, I didn’t believe this was the way I’d entered. There were no sounds or scents of a kitchen. The floor beneath my bare feet was made of slate, tiles in differing colors and sizes and the surface didn’t vary. Each room we passed was empty and dim. Only the hallway was filled with light.

I wanted to tell Mr. Ivanov that I needed to use the bathroom. It seemed that would be obvious after as long as I’d been standing, yet I was afraid to speak.

With his hand in the small of my back, over the cape, I silently followed where he led.

Was I a sheep to slaughter?

Or was this man my savior and that of my child’s?

A woman met us near grand lead-glass double doors that I believed led to the outside. Bright lights filtered through the glass, creating a prism that cast colors upon the floor and walls.

“Sir, I can show the girl to the bathroom before your trip.”

Girl.

As soon as she spoke, I recognized her voice. She was the woman who had met the car, tipped the driver, given me a drink of water, and led me to the room. There was no reason to believe this woman was doing anything other than her job. Then again, who willingly participated in the display and sale of human beings?

“Is my car waiting?” Mr. Ivanov asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Look at me, Madeline,” he commanded.

Timidly, I did.

“Do you need what she offers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take her,” he said to the woman. “I’ll wait.”

As if I were again without sight, the woman reached for my elbow and led me away. Though the aroma wasn’t as strong as it had been, I knew we were approaching the kitchen. As we crossed the threshold, the sight of partially eaten platters of various foods came into view. My empty stomach grumbled, yet I didn’t speak.

Another example of the inequality of lives.

These people’s rubbish would be a feast for the girls in the cell. I stilled, seeing the plates and trays stacked upon one another as workers scraped the contents into large trash bins. Other workers carried the cleared platters toward a sink and what appeared to be an industrial-sized dishwasher.

Large and silver with a big tray along a track, it was similar to one we had at the mission.

“This way, girl,” the woman said, reminding me to keep moving.

Her voice garnered the other workers’ attention.

It was only a moment, yet they all looked my direction and then away, telling me without a word that I was nothing unusual to this household, a young woman who had been displayed and sold.

I recalled the man at Dr. Miller’s office, the one I now knew was Senator McFadden. I recalled Wendy telling him about an impending shipment. He’d commented that he might throw a party.

Had those girls been brought here first?

Had they avoided the likes of the cell where I’d been and instead been sold upon their arrival?

My empty stomach twisted as the concoction created by the scents and thoughts bubbled within.

“In here,” the woman said, opening a door to a small bathroom. “Be quick.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, stepping inside and turning toward her.

Despite this woman’s use of girl in place of my name or even a pronoun, what she did next