“We’ll bathe Rosa and Susie first,” Nina told 12-year-old Kim. Though two years younger than Nina, the Mexican girl was very mature for her age. Kids didn’t remain kids long in this kind of life.

Rosa was six and of Mexican/Indian heritage. She had big dark eyes, very pretty, which should be radiating childlike joy for life. Instead, Nina rarely saw anything but fear in those lovely eyes. Rosa was a beautiful little girl and who had been mistaken for Kim’s little sister by appearance alone. Like Nina and Kim, the child’s beauty—even in her malnourished state—was a curse in the world they lived in. Men liked pretty little girls…whether 6-years-old…twelve or fourteen. Preferences varied among the individual buyers.

Nina helped Rosa undress while Kim tended to Susie. 9-year-old Terri, a lovely young Asian girl, stood beside Jenny, holding the silent girl’s hand. Although Jenny never spoke, she always stayed close to Terri and, at times, initiated holding hands. Terri was very sweet and soft-spoken and often held Jenny, telling her stories about faraway places—some real, some fantasy. Sometimes, Nina wondered if Jenny hadn’t gone away to one of those places and stayed. She had gone somewhere, and Nina didn’t know if she would ever come back.

Her throat constricting, Nina peeled away the filthy dress from Rosa’s small body. Tears filled her eyes at the sight of the little girl’s bruised flesh; the evidence of her rough handling by lustful men. Soon after entering this nightmare world, Nina had begun hating men. To her, Jacob and the other boys weren’t “men”…they were victims like her and the rest of the girls. It was the grown men that she hated. She hadn’t thought she could ever feel anything but hate for grown men. Until today. Until they were rescued by grown men who had yet to touch them or threaten them. But it wasn’t in her to trust them. Not yet.

Rosa and Susie were lifted into the tub. Susie’s little body remained perfect and untouched; no bruises, no violations. She and Samson hadn’t been with them long enough to undergo the true horrors of their new world. Nina experienced so few, if any, blessings or miracles and she clung to this one…for it was truly a miracle that these two babies had been dipped into a cesspool of horror and emerged again before being consumed by the nightmare.

And you can thank these “men” for that miracle.

Tentative smiles touched the faces of the two little girls as they gathered armloads of thick bubbles and drew the mountain of suds to them. They hunkered lower in the warm water until only their heads were out.

“It’s so warm,” Susie said quietly, and tears glossed her eyes. “Momma and daddy gave us baths every night before we went to bed.” A tear rolled down her cheek as she looked at Nina, her little chin quivering. “Can me and Sam go home? Momma and daddy are worried about us, I know they are.”

Nina glanced at a teary-eyed Kim and wiped her eyes. “I…I don’t know, sweetheart. I hope so.”

Rosa stared at them but remained silent. She didn’t ask to go home. She didn’t have a home to go back to. Most of them didn’t. She thought David might have a father, but he’d stopped talking about him a long time ago.

Someone knocked softly on the bathroom door. Nina instinctively went rigid with tension, half-expecting one or more of the men to barge into the bathroom and…

She chased the thought away when no one entered. Nina went to the door and opened it a couple inches, blocking view of the little girls in the bathtub.

The doctor stood in the adjoining bedroom. He smiled warmly. “I brought some extra towels and clean clothes. They’re right over there.” He motioned to the bed where the items lay folded.

Nina nodded. “Thank you.”

“Feel free to take your time with the baths,” he said gently. “If the little ones want to play a little bit in the tub, it’s all right.” He laughed softly. “My 4-year-old nephew would spend hours in the tub if I’d let him.”

Nina stared at him. “You…you have a little nephew?”

“Yes. He lives here with me. He’s visiting some friends today, so he isn’t here right now.”

Nina lowered her eyes as tears seeped into her long, dark lashes. “Are you and the others…for real?” she whispered. “Or are you just tricking us?” She looked up, her vision swimming. “Because that would be more cruel than just having your way with us.” Her chin trembled. “Please don’t make these kids feel safe…then take it away.”

 

•♦•

 

“Babe?” Angelo went to Adrian when he returned to the small lounge. Tears dampened the younger man’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Adrian wrapped his arms around Angelo’s neck and hugged him tightly.

The other men exchanged uncertain looks.

“Nina,” Adrian said thickly when he drew back. “The oldest girl…she asked me if we were tricking them.” His throat worked, and anger strained his face as he looked at Clint, Cochise, and Cruz. “Tell me those motherfuckers suffered before you took them out.”

Clint nodded. “Yes.”

Adrian cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. “Those poor kids. I think they’re just waiting for us to turn on them, prove that we’re no different than…” A sick look crossed his face. “I wish they knew they were safe.”

“They will,” Angelo murmured and kissed him softly on the mouth. “We’ll just keep proving it to them until they understand that we mean them no harm.”

Clint’s cell hummed, and he dug it from his pocket. “It’s Cory,” he said and answered the call. He gave a few short, clipped replies then stuffed the phone away. “Cory’s here with our guest.”

“Guest?” Anthony frowned. “I didn’t know he was bringing someone in. I thought he was out at your place.”

His brow pinching, Clint asked, “He didn’t call you and tell you what happened?”

“No,” Anthony murmured slowly, glancing at Angelo and Adrian. “What happened?”

Clint explained about the scout, the pictures they found, and the attempted abduction of Jules, Reuben, and the twins.

“What?” Angelo exclaimed, instant fury burning through him. “Those fuckers came after our kids?” He flexed his hands, agitated. “And he’s the one Cory brought in? The motherfucker who was out hunting them?”

“Yes,” Clint said.

Angelo whipped around and stormed out the door with long, forceful strides.

“If we want in on this,” Anthony said. “We better go now. Angelo will rip that fucker limb from limb.” He walked over to Adrian and kissed him. “You and Cal wait here. Take care of the kids, get them fed. We’ll be back up in a few.”

Adrian’s face twitched. “Give him something from me, too.”

Anthony nodded and kissed him again. “I planned to, baby.”

The men followed after Angelo. Adrian looked at Callum who was perched on a stool at the small bar. “Do you mind taking some towels and clothes to the boys?”

“Not at all.” Callum stood up and started for the door, then paused. “Adrian? Are you okay?”

Adrian stared at the floor, his pulse thundering in his temples. “What if that fucker had got them?” he mumbled sickly, his vision distorting with tears. “If I’d lost Jules…”

“He didn’t get them,” Callum murmured. “Jules is okay. You’re not going to lose him.”

“After all that shit with Tazz.” Adrian rubbed his eyes, recalling the paralyzing fear of losing Jules for just a short period of time. He looked up and saw the guilt and remorse on Callum’s face. “Don’t, Cal. I don’t blame you for that.” He reached out and squeezed the young man’s shoulder. “You’re a good man and we’re blessed to have you in our lives.”

Cal smiled small, grateful. “I like it here,” he said quietly. “It feels like home. A real home.”

“It is your home,” Adrian said. “For as long as you want it to be.”

His smile stretching, Cal mumbled, “I’ll get the clothes.”

 

•♦•

 

After washing them thoroughly and giving their hair two shampoo cycles, Jacob and Eric lifted the two youngest boys—Samson and Eli—from the tub and stood them on the thick, soft bathmat. There were a couple towels on the shelf and they wrapped them around the boys. The large towels engulfed the small children as they snuggled into the soft warmth.

Jacob kneeled on the floor and smiled at them. “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” 7-year-old Eli replied quietly. Eli was an African American boy who had been with them for a while. Too long. His young dark eyes reflected horrors that no child should ever know.

Jacob stroked his soft, round face. “I’m glad.” His eyes drifted down to the scarred tissue around the child’s neck. No one knew for sure what had caused it, but there had been a rumor that Eli’s mother—a white woman—had cheated on her racist husband with a black man, and when she gave birth to Eli, her husband had hated him. It was rumored that when Eli was one or two years old, the man tried to strangle him with a rope, exclaiming the only good “nigger” was a dead one. Jacob didn’t know if the rumor was true and, if so, who or what had stopped him from ending Eli’s life. Eli insisted he didn’t know how he got the scar, though the look in his eyes often made Jacob wonder if he was telling the truth.

Eric drained the tub and refilled it with clean water and more bubbles. “Your turn, Robby.”

Robby was twelve and rarely spoke. Every night for as long as Jacob had known him, the boy cried himself to sleep, then suffered severe nightmares. It was a rare night that he didn’t wake up screaming. David or Nina almost always slept next to him so he wouldn’t be alone when he woke up in a state of terror. Though the boy spoke and acknowledged his surroundings, Jacob thought he might be even more traumatized than Jenny.

“Climb on in,” Jacob said when Robby was undressed. “Let’s make you sparkle and shine.”

A hesitant smile slid across Robby’s lips but didn’t linger. As with all of them, smiles were few and far between. Robby’s shaggy brown hair was tangled and knotted, and Jacob had him dunk his head then he squeezed a glob of shampoo onto the boy’s mop.

“Work that in real good,” Jacob told him.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door, then a soft male voice spoke from the other room. “Hello? I brought some extra towels and clothes.”

He didn’t sound like the doctor; younger than Adrian. Jacob stood up. “Make sure he washes his hair at least twice,” he told Eric, then left the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

The young man standing in the bedroom was the same one who had been with men in the lounge. Jacob didn’t know his name; they hadn’t been introduced. Folded towels and a stack of clothes lay on the bed.

“Hey,” the guy smiled uncertainly as Jacob just stared at him. “I brought some clothes from Adrian’s nephew’s room. He’s four, so I thought maybe the littlest boy—Samson—could fit them.” He fidgeted and glanced at the bed. “And I brought some of my clothes, too. They’ll still be a little big, but…” he shrugged.

“Thank you,” Jacob whispered.

The young man relaxed a bit, his smile growing a little wider. “Yeah. No problem. Um…” he stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Callum. Cal.”

Jacob shook his hand. “I’m Jacob.”

Sympathy and compassion emanated from Cal’s eyes. “Uh, if you need anything else, just let us know.”

“Thanks.”

Cal nodded and seemed at a loss for words. “Well…I’ll go and let you guys finish up.” He started to back away when Jacob stopped him.

“Are we safe here?” Jacob’s voice shook a little, his eyes stinging.

Callum stared back at him. “Yes,” he murmured. “You’re safer here, with these men, than…than probably anywhere else in the whole world.”

Jacob didn’t speak as Cal left the room, the sincerity, and honesty in his voice, on his face, sparking a warm, comforting ember in the core of Jacob’s heart.

Safe. Jacob trembled, and a tear slid down his face. We’re really…safe.