By the time my escort and I’d arrived at another room, the effects of the stun gun had all but worn off and I was ready for another fight. After dumping me on the cold concrete, he very wisely stepped out of my immediate reach and pointed his godforsaken Taser gun at me in warning. Fuck, I hate those things.

He spat something at me in his harsh language, and I stared at him blankly, still none the wiser on what he was trying to tell me. Not that I really gave a crap; it wasn’t like I was sticking around to chat. The second I saw an opportunity, I was getting the hell out of here.

He repeated himself in a louder voice, jerking his Taser toward the pile of fabric on the ground near where I had landed.

“Look, buddy,” I tried to reason with him, “I have no idea what you're saying, and repeating it louder won't change that.” Unless I suddenly developed a skill for picking up languages… That would be cool.

“He say, ‘Get dressed, whore, or I shoot you again,’” a small voice said in broken English from behind me, and I jumped in fright. Glancing around the room, I noticed for the first time that I wasn't alone with Captain Stun Gun.

The girl who had spoken couldn't have been more than fifteen, and she was dressed like a, well, like a whore. A painted-on, red minidress just barely covered her torso, while a lacy garter belt held up the quintessential thigh-high stockings. Topped off with six-inch, platform stripper heels, the overall effect looked like a little girl on her way to a “Pimps 'n' Hoes” dress-up party. No prizes for guessing what she'd be dressed as. I looked around at the other occupants in the room and found them all dressed to attend the same party. I had a sneaking suspicion I would end up in a similar outfit before I found my escape opportunity.

“What do you mean, ‘get dressed’?” I demanded, “I'm already wearing clothes.” I indicated the filthy v-neck and jeans that I was still wearing from when I had been abducted. I briefly wondered what had happened to my jumpsuit. Had it been left behind? Maybe the guys had found it and realized I’d been taken? I could only hope so.

“No. You must change.” She shook her head and pointed to the clothing with a shaking finger, her face pale. She had yet to make eye contact with me at all, her gaze steadfastly glued to the floor, but the tension in her frail shoulders spoke volumes about what might happen.

I glanced over at the man in charge and found him watching us intently, and when he caught my eye, he buzzed a few jolts of electricity from his Taser, a sick grin on his ugly face. Behind him in the corridor, I could see the shadows of several more men. I looked around the room once more. Not a single person would make eye contact with me, and I swallowed back the nervousness rising in my throat.

“Please,” the young girl implored, “please, just do it.” The terrified crackle in her voice made me think she had seen what happened when someone refused to cooperate. I took another look at the guard with the Taser, and at his backup in the corridor, and made the decision to bide my time. For now.

I gingerly lifted the garments from the floor and wrinkled my nose in disgust at the pleather micro-miniskirt and halterneck bustier. Under the burning gaze of the man holding the Taser, I changed into the offensive outfit as quickly as possible. The young girl who had spoken helped me adjust the cleverly placed Velcro tabs in order to make the tiny garments fit. As she leaned in close to help me do up the joke of an outfit, I eagerly seized the opportunity to try and get some answers.

“Where are we?” I whispered, barely moving my lips. “Do you know what they're going to do with us?”

The girl glared at me in warning, flicking her eyes to the hard man standing near the door, watching us like a hawk. She gave me a tiny headshake, right as the man barked something at us again, and she visibly flinched.

“What did he say?” I hissed at her, growing frustrated at the foreign language.

“Shoes,” she whispered back to me, then tugged me over to a beaten up chest, which she opened to reveal a huge pile of hooker heels. “What size you are?” Her broken English made her seem even younger, and I felt a twist of fear for what the future might hold for this timid girl.

I reached over her shoulder, grabbed the first pair I saw in my size, tried to ignore the white pair splattered in dried blood. I definitely didn't want to know how all these shoes had ended up in this chest. Or the clothes for that matter. I stifled a shudder of revulsion.

“Seriously,” I tried again, my face turned away from the man in charge. “Where are we? Tell me something, anything. What country are we even in?”

She just shrugged weakly and shook her head at me again. “I do not know, sorry.” My shoulders sagged in disappointment until she spoke again. “I know why we here, if it helps?” Her voice was so soft I could barely make it out as she helped me into the sky-high stilettos.

“Yes, God yes! Tell me what you know!” I had to dip my head and obscure my face with hair to avoid the guard's sharp gaze, but I was desperate for any information that might help me plan my escape.

She looked me straight in the eye, and I gasped when I saw how cold and lifeless her face was. “We are to be sold.”

“Shlyukha!” The man with the Taser barked out, and the girl flinched hard. “Idi syuda.”

I gave her a questioning look, but she dropped her gaze away from mine, visibly shrinking into herself as she timidly turned and approached the man in response to his command. He held out his closed fist to her, jerking his chin toward me, and dropped something into her waiting palm. He growled something to her with a threatening tone, then left the room.

The heavy thud of a bolt shooting home on the other side of the door seemed to echo around the silent room.

“What did he say?” I asked again, growing increasingly exasperated with the lack of answers. “What language is that, anyway?”

I looked around the room at the assortment of attractive people but was met with identical drugged out faces and vacant eyes.

“Russian,” the girl responded, ignoring my first question but dropping her terrified act the second the man left the room. Her shoulders lost their curled over frailty, and she met my gaze confidently.

“Russian? Surely we’re not in Russia?” I exclaimed, grasping at the thread of information. How the fuck would they have transported me to Russia without being caught, anyway?

She shrugged like she genuinely didn’t give a damn where we were. “No. Probably not.” She held her open palm toward me, a small, white pill sitting in the center. “Take this.”

“What is it? I don't understand. If he is speaking Russian, then how do you know we aren't in Russia?” I frowned hard at her cavalier attitude. How could someone be so totally unaffected at the idea that we were going to be sold like cattle?

She sighed heavily, looking up at the ceiling as if praying for patience. “They are Russian Mafia; we could be anywhere.” She waved her hand at me again. “Please. Take this.”

“No fucking way am I taking a random pill from some creeper planning on selling me!” I scowled at her, folding my arms across my absurdly pushed up chest. Was she insane? “How do you know so much about this anyway?” My eyes narrowed in suspicion. It seemed awfully coincidental that she was the only one in this room that had any semblance of consciousness and spoke both English and Russian.

“This the third time, for me, that I have been sold,” she stated without any emotion. “Now please, take this.”

“No! What is it, anyway?” I resisted the urge to slap the mystery pill out of her hand, as it didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that nothing good would come from taking it.

“It is to make you”—she screwed up her nose, looking for the right word—“not… fight. Like them.” She jerked her head at the spaced out zombies dotted around the room, some with dazed grins on their faces, most just staring blankly into space.

“Absolutely not!” I panicked. “There's no way I would willingly make myself docile.”

The girl shook her head at me again, her limp, greasy hair barely moving. “You don't understand. You must take it. If you don't…” Her eyes rounded with fear, so far the only emotion I had seen from her. “I seen what happen if you refuse. Last auction, a boy, he say no. Threw it back. They, ah, you know.” She made the buzzing noise of the Taser, and I nodded impatiently to show I understood her meaning. “Then when he was down, they force three pills down his throat. When he was all sleepy and weak, they used him, then start hitting, kicking him. They broke his leg, then say he no longer valuable and…” She made a finger gun and pointed to her head, indicating that they had executed the boy who had refused their drugs. “So, just…” She grabbed my hand and deposited the pill into it.

I looked down at it, horrified at what she was describing. These people clearly weren’t fucking around. If this was, as she’d said, the Russian Mafia, then I was in way over my head on this one.

What are the options that don’t wind up getting me shot? The idea of willingly making myself drugged and docile made me want to scream and hit something, but on the other hand, I stood no chance against the guards armed with Tasers. As had just been proven, the electrical jolt would still knock me down just as easily as anyone else.

“It's not so bad,” the girl encouraged me, not giving up. “It just feels… empty?”

“How come you're not like them?” I challenged her again. Every other person in the room seemed like they were totally unaware of their own names, let alone capable of holding a conversation.

“My last owner use this drug a lot. I am, you know.” She waved her hand at her head, and I figured she meant she had built a tolerance for it. Shit, that poor girl. I could hardly imagine the horrors she had already been through.

“I get you want to fight, to get free. Trust me; you stand a better chance waiting until you are sold. Here… too many eyes, too many weapons. You would not last five minutes. Take the pill; wait for a better time.” Her advice was surprisingly well considered, and I wondered why she hadn't attempted it herself.

She was probably right, and given that I hadn’t thought of a better plan, hers was looking like the smartest course of action. I looked down at the offensive little pill in my hand and sighed. My best bet was to just pretend to swallow, then ditch it when this chick wasn’t looking. Surely it wouldn’t be so hard faking that dopey, vacant look they all had?

Placing the pill carefully and deliberately on my tongue, I then closed my mouth and tucked it into my cheek before doing an exaggerated fake swallow.

Luckily for me, this girl was either drugged enough or simply didn’t care enough to double check that it was gone. Feeling rather pleased with myself, I looked around the room at the doped-out slaves about to be sold for who knew what. Sex, most likely.

Shaking some of the lingering stiffness from my muscles, I moved to pace the room a little, but my stupid goddamn stiletto heel caught in a drain grate and sent me crashing to my knees. Embarrassing, yes. But worse than that, I’d swallowed the fucking pill.