Haley

I stayed awake for hours after Carmen cried herself to sleep, keeping a vigilant watch on the door as I racked my brain for ideas. Plagued by her distress, as well as the sobs emanating from the other side of the wall, where some of the other women were being held, it was no wonder I struggled to sleep. I must have dozed off at some point, because I woke with a crick in my neck and the distinct feeling of being watched.

Rubbing my eyes, I looked around the wretched room. The camera blinked from its perch in the corner, an ever-present reminder that we were being monitored. The overhead light was still on, but that didn't mean anything since it remained lit twenty-four seven.

I glanced down at my watch, not surprised to discover it was a little after six. On a normal day, I'd be climbing out of bed, or one of the guys would be tugging me back under the covers. Knox and I would go for a run, we'd eat breakfast with Chase and Theo, and then I'd get ready. It was all so easy, so . . . nice.

Thinking about the guys had me swallowing past the lump in my throat. By now, they had to realize I was missing, and I hated that our most recent interactions had been fraught with tension. All those doubts and fears seemed insignificant in comparison to my current predicament.

I thought back to the day when Theo showed up at Percolate, shocking me with a scorching kiss and persuading me to come home. This time, I hadn't left by choice, and I wished on all the stars I couldn't see that they would know.

Carmen rolled on her side to face me, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Buenos días.”

“Good morning.” I stood from the bed, stretching my achy limbs. Pain shot down my hip, and I sucked in a deep breath. Reminded of my confrontation with the guard last night, I wondered if they would punish me.

“You okay?” Carmen shifted to a seated position, her voice tinged with concern.

I nodded. Whining about my persistent headache, the giant bruise probably forming on my hip, and the lack of an escape plan wouldn't accomplish anything. I needed to stay focused. It was up to me to get us, and the other women, out of here safely.

From what she had told me, there were four other women, bringing the group to six total. Apart from occasionally passing one of them on the way to the bathroom, Carmen hadn’t seen them since arriving here.

The sound of the metal lock sliding through the chamber put me on alert, and I smothered the urge to scramble to my feet as the door opened. Despite my relaxed pose, I could still spring to action if needed. For now, it was best to keep my head down and at least appear to cooperate.

My heart pounded as a guard slid our breakfast across the floor, gun secure in his holster. I studied him from beneath my lowered gaze, trying to memorize as much as I could. His skin was dark, as was his hair, which was cropped short. A large scar marred the side of his face. He wasn't tall, but he was stocky, and tension coiled in his body like a predator ready to pounce.

I was escorted to the bathroom, a gun at my back, and the guard uttered a few crude comments beneath his breath. I shuddered, almost eager to be secured in the room once more.

When I returned, Carmen had already scarfed down her breakfast, and I found a cup of instant oatmeal waiting for me. The guard signaled to Carmen that it was her turn and left me alone with my food. Despite my initial lack of enthusiasm, the meal wasn’t half-bad, maybe because I was starving.

Carmen was gone longer than I expected, and I made my bed in her absence. There wasn't much to it—a fitted sheet, lumpy pillow, and thin blanket—but I took my time with the task, exploring the edges of the mattress for potential weapons. Even a pen would do. I tried not to get too discouraged when I came up empty-handed.

The door opened and Carmen returned with a blank expression, her posture rigid. I could tell something was wrong, but neither of us spoke until the guard shut and bolted the door once more.

She sank onto her mattress, her shoulders hunched, and muttered something I had trouble making out.

“What about the girl in the other room?”

“She . . . she, come se dice,” she said to herself as she considered the correct word before deciding on, “taken.”

“Taken where?”

She held up her hands, her eyes wide. “I don't know.”

“Has this happened before?” When she didn’t immediately respond, I switched to Spanish. I was impatient for answers, and I knew it would be easier to communicate.

Carmen told me that on the way to the restroom, she passed one of the other prisoners. Before the guards separated them, the woman whispered that her roommate had been taken. She was dragged from the room in the middle of the night and hadn’t been seen since.

We both fell silent, neither of us wishing to discuss the woman’s fate. From my Zenith training, I knew that human trafficking victims were often placed in domestic service, agriculture, or factory positions. And that’s if they were lucky; others would be forced into prostitution.

Reading about the plight of the victims was one thing. Experiencing it firsthand was another. Nothing could have prepared me for the reality I was now faced with, and despite all of my current uncertainty, I felt fortunate in comparison to the others. At least I had somewhere safe to return to. More than anything, I had people waiting for me. Not just people, a family.

I spent the rest of the morning pondering my fate and that of the other women. What would happen to them, to me, if I didn't get us out of here? How many other women had passed through before us? And if I didn't find a way to stop whoever was behind this, how many would be subjected to the same treatment after us?

Until I identified a means of escape, I intended to gather as much information as I could. One way or another, these monsters had to be stopped. And keeping busy was preferable to freaking out, as tempting as the idea was.

After lunch, I was permitted a trip to the bathroom. The guard with the scar had been replaced by yet another, conforming to Carmen’s recollection of three guards. There was Scarface, my favorite guard (the one I’d grappled with and had called me “bitch”), and now, this guy. He was younger than the others, eager, and maybe even a tad inexperienced, if the way he fumbled with the gun was any indication. Finally, a weak link I could potentially exploit.

When I stepped out of the bedroom, my attention was immediately drawn to a man wearing black dress pants and a fitted button-down shirt. His face was familiar, but I was certain I’d never seen him before. He stood at the end of the hall, speaking to my favorite guard in hushed Spanish but paused to appraise me. From his slicked-back hair to his expensive leather shoes, he seemed out of place, and I wondered what his role was.

Considering the posturing of the young guard, who took the opportunity to puff out his chest and lead me to the bathroom with undue ceremony, I imagined he was someone of relative importance. With the door ajar, I strained to listen for any clues, but the conversation was too muffled. When I re-emerged from the bathroom, the man was gone, but a feeling of unease remained.

The young guard returned me to the room with less fanfare, shoving me inside and bolting the door. I sank onto the bed and leaned against the wall, silently willing my headache to go away. The dull throbbing was driving me mad, and with no external clues as to the time of day, I found myself glancing at my watch every few minutes.

Feeling restless, I asked Carmen questions about her parents and her siblings, her life at home in Mexico, her favorite foods. Anything to pass the time.

When she asked about my own family, I hesitated. Should I tell her about my mother's murder? My childhood with a father who loved me but kept me hidden? Or should I tell her about the five men who adored me and would do anything to protect me? I smiled at the thought of Knox, Theo, Jackson, Chase, and Liam.

“Tienes un novio. ¿Sí?”

“Yes.” Five boyfriends to be precise, but I wasn't going to mention that.

“¿Cómo es él?”

What is he like? I had to laugh at her question. How could I possibly describe my five boyfriends as one man?

“He's . . . indescribable.”

“¿Increíble?”

I nodded, allowing her to believe that I'd said he, they, were incredible instead.

She folded her feet beneath her and leaned forward, reminding me of Jess anytime we had a sleepover. “Tell me,” she said with a hesitant smile, the first I'd seen from her since I'd arrived.

When she smiled, she was stunning. And, despite the squalid conditions, the less than ideal circumstances for our introduction, I could see us being friends. I only hoped she would have the opportunity to return to her former life, or perhaps a better one.

Too exhausted to explain my relationship with the guys, I launched into a description of Knox. I told her of our first date, the sweet things he did for me, our first kiss. Even so, it was difficult not to mention the others. Jackson, Liam, Theo, and Chase were just as important to me.

By the time the door slid open for dinner, I'd lost track of time and was surprised to discover it was almost seven. The realization hit me hard—I'd been here over twenty-four hours.

By now, the guys had to have found the Jeep, maybe even talked to Kenneth. Oh, god, my assignment. Not that it mattered at this point, but I'd completely flunked the course. And what about Kara? What did she think when I’d failed to call or show up for dinner?

I forced down my meal, not stopping to dwell on the burnt taste of the cheese, the dried-out noodles. Who burns frozen lasagna?

“Haley?”

I choked down another bite, chasing it with water. “Yeah?”

“Knox, he come for you?”

“Yes,” I answered with certainty. With every fiber of my being, I knew Knox would always come for me. All of the guys would. My biggest concern was whether they would find me before I was transferred to another location or separated from Carmen.

“Carmen,” I said, quickly switching to Spanish. This was important, and I needed to be certain she understood. I recited Knox's phone number, grateful he’d practically ordered me to memorize it long ago. Once she successfully repeated it several times, I asked if she would be able to remember it.

“Sí.” Her dark brown eyes met mine, filled with determination and hope.

Carmen believed in me. She was relying on me, as were the other women, even if they didn’t know it yet. It strengthened my resolve to find a way out of here. I was capable, I was intelligent, and I was well-trained. My dad had prepared me for something like this my entire life, and my Zenith training had taken it to the next level. I could do this. I had to.