Under that glare, my body grows still. I dig deep, tunneling into the darkness, only this time, my tricks don’t work. The rank stench of blood, sweat, and fear fills my nostrils, irritating the sensitive passages.
I gag. I cough. I announce to the whole damn world that I am, indeed, awake.
The first man rises. As he does, a loud fart rips and noxious gas tumbles through the room. The foul taint rolls toward me, but not before reaching his friend first.
“Holy shit, Shelly, what the fuck did you eat?”
“Don’t call me Shelly.”
“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want.” The second man, the one I identify as the leader, waves his hand in front of his nose. “That’s the last fucking time you get to pick dinner.”
“You like Joe’s burritos.” Shelly defends himself.
“Yeah, I love Joe’s burritos, but not your goddamn farts. Take that shit outside.”
“Whatever.” The weight of Shelly’s gaze settles on me. “What are we going to do about her?” He comes over and toes my hip with the steel tip of his boot. “Have they called yet?”
“No.”
“What about…”
“I’ll deal with that.”
Two options present themselves. I can play dead and pretend I’m not, in fact, awake. I might convince them to leave me alone.
No, you can’t.
That’s right. Already announced I was awake and ready to party.
More likely, Shelly will kick harder until pulling a groan from me. I can go with a different option.
Option number two is much more distasteful, but I’m a fucking survivor.
I curl into myself, protecting my vulnerable midsection and hack as if I’m going to vomit. Men aren’t too keen on shoving their dicks in a woman spewing her guts.
I cup my head and mumble like I don’t know what’s going on.
I do.
I remember every goddamn thing until I blacked out. From the abduction on the beach to getting dragged into the back of the van. I remember fighting. That foolish belief the Facility actually taught me how to survive gave me courage I couldn’t afford.
I fought, and I lost.
That decision resulted in a blow to the head and no memory of what happened next. Not that it matters. I know exactly what’s happening now.
If these men sense weakness, they’ll take what isn’t freely offered. If I do that, my chances of survival drop to zero. But here’s the thing. I’m not an idiot. I know how these things work.
These are not the men I need to fight. Fighting will come later.
Survival is now. I did this when I was twelve, again at sixteen, and I’ll do it at twenty-two.
As for the fight to come?
I’m not looking forward to it.
“Please don’t hurt me.” I cower like a weakling. My hands move from the caked blood on my scalp to my stomach, and I play up the retching noises.
Shelly presses the toe of his boot to my head. It’s meant as a show of strength, demonstrating what he could do, if he so chose.
I almost wish he’d cave in my skull and end this suffering. But he doesn’t.
This is what I need to know. How much leeway do these men have? Can they do what they want to me? Or is there another person pulling their strings? Either option terrifies me, but I hope for the latter. Not because it saves me anything, but because it buys me time.
I allow myself to cry, to whimper, and to curl into a tighter ball. They expect it, and I deliver like a Hollywood movie star. My knees draw up and I rock on the hard, concrete floor.
“Please don’t hurt me…” I mumble those words over and over again.
The men laugh at my desperation. Shelly kicks me in the back with that steel-tipped boot of his.
I’ll kill him first.
But right now, I need to know what’s going on.
Who controls these men?
How valuable am I to them?
Before I do anything, I desperately need to know my worth. Find that out, and I gain power.
It won’t be much, but I’m a goddamn survivor. I didn’t get that way by being weak.
Or stupid.
Or hasty.
Back when I was eleven, I believed I’d be saved from my foster father, but when I told his wife, she blamed me and kicked me out the front door. Twelve is too young to be on the streets, and I quickly discovered there is no humanity. My pleas for food, shelter, and safety fell on deaf ears.
But I watched the older girls, and thanks to my foster father, I understood what they did with those