Theirs To Take(3)

“Sir,” it sounded like Jamison, his voice hushed. “Moving the timeline up?”

“Just make sure there’s only twelve left on that truck at the drop off point. You know what you have to do. No fuck ups, nothing linking back to me. Otherwise, make it look good. And alert me as soon as the others have been dropped.”

“Yes, sir,” came Jamison’s voice as arms hauled me upward, lifting me off the ground only to drop me onto a hard, cold surface, an awful stench all around me. I tried to speak, but nothing came, it was as though I was unable to make my mouth move. I tried to touch the throbbing spot on my head, but couldn’t lift my arm. Couldn’t make my limbs move. I felt myself slipping in and out of consciousness, hearing men talking around me. A gloved hand took hold of mine and a heavy chain was wrapped around my wrist.

“It fucking stinks in there,” someone said. He must have jumped off the truck because I heard the sound of boots crunching gravel followed by a grunt.

He was right — it did stink. It stank of a barn.

A loud bang signaled the closing of a door, the grate of metal on metal as the lock slid into place. Then the engine roared to life, the smell of exhaust filling my lungs. The tires of the truck rumbled beneath me, my body bouncing with each bump in the road.

All I wanted to do was sleep. My head hurt, my mind was foggy, and I felt like I was moving through mud as I tried to bring my arm to my face. I gave myself over to it, not having the strength to fight. Someone lifted my head and laid it on something soft and warm, and finally, I slept.




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The angry blare of a car horn woke me and I could hear the sound of quiet weeping. I wasn’t alone. The soft pillow beneath me shifted and I realized my head was cradled on someone’s lap. I tried to open my eyes but something covered them. The smell was awful, and I remembered I’d been loaded onto a truck. I reached to my face and pushed the blindfold off my eyes, blinking several times to clear my vision. It was nighttime, the passing glow of streetlights illuminating the gloomy interior of the truck’s enclosure.

The dim light confirmed the source of the stench — we were on a livestock truck. We were being transported like cattle.

Blinking through the pain of a throbbing headache, I hauled myself upright and scanned the row of occupants in the truck. A bump in the road had us all bouncing and several of the women screamed. I looked at them, at the dozen or so women in the truck with me. We were all chained together in pairs, some sleeping while others peered around with wide, frightened eyes.

The woman I was bound to pulled her arm up to scratch her face, tugging at the chain that linked us. “You okay?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

She was the one who had laid my head on her lap.

I sat upright and leaned against the wall of the truck to look at her. She seemed to be around my age, in her early twenties — all of the women did — and they were all attractive, all in various states of dress.

My memory was foggy. I looked down at myself. I still wore the dress I’d had on for the fundraiser, but it was torn in several places and filthy. A chill made me shiver and I hugged my knees up against my chest, trying to remember, trying to figure out what had happened. The last thing I remembered was Arthur wanting to have one more drink when we’d gotten back to the hotel from the fundraiser. He had looked anxious, and Jamison, his personal bodyguard, had been nearby. Arthur had wanted to get rid of me, I remembered that much. He had told me to go to bed. That he’d come up soon.

But I hadn’t gone to bed. I’d followed him somewhere. But where?

I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to take a long, deep breath in, exhale, and repeat, before turning to the girl next to me. Her brown eyes were wide, frightened. “What’s happening? Where are we?”

“I don’t know. I was at a nightclub and this guy bought me a drink. We were talking for a while, then I felt strange and… that’s all I remember.”

“Me too,” another girl said from the other side of the truck.

The girl next to me began to cry quietly and I took her hand, holding it tightly. I looked at my companions, their frightened eyes reflecting the glow of passing streetlights. Streetlights that seemed to be less and less frequent. I lifted my bound arm to see if I could loosen the chain, but it was thick and heavy. Impossible. And even if I could remove it, there was no way off of the moving truck.

Was Arthur back at the hotel now? Would he know I was missing?

The throbbing of my head put an end to that thought and I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.