My sobbing intensifies, although I know that’s not what he’d want for me. And I can’t be sure that he’s dead. Logan clearly knows what he’s doing if he’s been able to survive this long. He was a Navy SEAL, after all. He’s probably the hardest, most capable man I’ve ever met.
I can’t give up hope, but it’s hard to hold on. Everything I thought was torn away from me in seconds. I thought Logan was going to appear and things were going to be okay, but maybe that’s just not my fate. Maybe I’m just fated to be a slave for the rest of my life, to be kicked around and abused forever.
What else can there be for me?
I was born into abuse. My father was a piece of shit that controlled me for as long as I can remember. And now I’m a slave to these people, and they’re going to use me however they want to. The only person to ever seem to give a shit about me, to actually go out of his way to try and help me, is probably gone now.
This is it. This is all that I mean.
I suck in a sharp breath and raise my head up from my hands. I wipe the tears from my eyes and release a large breath.
This is what I am now, and so it’s time to survive. I have to get through this. I can’t rely on Logan. If he’s really gone, I have to keep going, at least for him. He wouldn’t want me to roll over and take it from these bastards.
But as soon as I build up the confidence to resist, I remember his warning. He wants me to do whatever they say. How long can I do that for, though? A few days maybe. If he’s still alive, a few days is enough for him to try and get back to me. Afterwards, I’ll fight them with every ounce of my energy.
And then I’ll probably die. They’ll kill me somehow. Dying won’t be easy, but it’s all I have left.
I’m nothing already. It can’t get worse than this. At least now I can resist them. If Logan is out there somewhere, he’ll come back to me. And if he’s not, I’ll fight until I’m dead.
I stand and walk over to my cot. I lie back down and stare up at the ceiling, wondering how I’ll fight and what comes next. But I’m down for maybe five minutes before I hear more steps and the door flies open again.
It’s the guard from earlier. He walks in and grabs my arm.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He grunts and yanks me from the cot. I go along with him as he shoves me into the hallway and slams the door behind him.
“Where—“
I don’t get the sentence out before he slaps me in the face.
“Move,” he says, and shoves me down the hall.
I obey silently, fuming and angry, but doing what I’m told. He hustles me down a series of halls until he opens a door and shoves me into a cell identical to the one I just left.
“You’re close to your new master now,” the guard says, leering at me, and then leaves.
I stand in the middle of the room before dropping down onto the unfamiliar bed.
New room, same situation. Logan can find me. He will if he’s around.
Otherwise, I’ll resist soon.
As I lie there on my bed, looking around my new room, I notice one big difference. It’s surprising, completely surprising, to see a mirror on the far wall.
I stand, curious, and walk over to it. I look at myself and frown, almost unable to recognize the girl staring back at me. She’s gaunt, tired, and dirty looking. My hair is a mess. I need a shower. I need to get rid of the bags under my eyes.
It’s me and it’s not me. Going so long without a mirror has been an interesting exercise. I don’t know how I feel about having one suddenly. I turn my back to it and walk away, trying not to think about the mirror.
I just need to focus on one thing at a time. Just one foot in front of the other, so to speak. I have to take it minute by minute until the end comes, otherwise I’m going to go inside.
I can’t think about Logan. I can’t let myself. He might be dead or maybe he’s not, I don’t know, I can’t know. I’m just a prisoner in my cage, praying that someone takes me away.
I’m in an impossible situation, but all things considered, I think I’ve done a great job so far. I’ve survived, despite everything going against me. I don’t even know what happened to my friend back at the club. Maybe she’s dead or maybe they have her. All I know is that I’m still alive.
I’ll keep on being alive until I know Logan is gone.
26
Logan
It is not the most comfortable car ride I’ve ever been on.
I could have used a little chatter. Maybe even some light banter, but that’s probably too much to expect. The two guys in the back are stone-silent, and probably don’t speak much English. Mikhail comments on the landscape around us and says one vaguely racist thing about Mexicans, but otherwise we drive on in silence.