In the morning we were all bleary eyed, splashing water on our faces and taking turns peeing in the one toilet we hadn’t cannibalized for parts. Catcalls came in with breakfast, and we descended on the trays of food like a pack of piranhas, ignoring the fact that he was eyeing us, stroking the broomstick as if it were his dick. At one point he made a move to grab Mess’s butt, and I pushed myself between them, staring the man down.

“You offering something, Red?” he sneered. “Didn’t get enough last night? I gotta warn you, I hit harder than the other guys. Might not want to offer yourself up so readily.”

“I hit back,” I told him. “Ask that demon woman how hard I hit. And don’t forget what happened to the last guy who raped me.”

He laughed. “You were tied to the bed, screaming your head off. Don’t go acting like you had anything to do with that. He probably ate some bad shellfish or something.”

Yeah, because shellfish often result in blood bursting from your pores and your eyes burning out of their sockets. But I couldn’t counter his other statement. I was tied to the bed. And I had been screaming my head off, completely freaked out by Onions’s death right on top of my naked body. I might not be able to scare this guy, but I could try to distract him from the other girls. I got the feeling that Catcalls was all about making a girl pay for what she’d done. The more a woman pissed him off, the more he wanted to take it out of her hide. I’d just have to make sure I was top of his list, because tonight was his night to pick one of us. If we couldn’t manage to get ourselves out of here, I wanted to make sure it was me he was beating on and not someone else.

I could take it. I’d survive. If he hurt me, I’d heal. And if I were really lucky, maybe he’d wind up dead as well.

After a few more lewd comments, Catcalls left, and we sat on our cots, trying to smear cream cheese on bagels with our fingers, and sipping from little containers of yogurt drink. “Think you can run for it later today?” I asked Tasha. After what happened to me last night, I was more determined than ever to get us out of here. We only had two more days until the sale. Better to go now than wait for a better opportunity that might never come.

Tasha touched her breasts gingerly and nodded. “Yes. They are not so bad today.”

Pistol turned and said something to Baa, waiting for the girl’s reply. “I think we can do it. I was worried about Baa since she’s the one who got her butt lifted and enhanced, but she says she’s ready whenever we are.”

I looked over at the Guatemalan girl, who was most definitely still moving gingerly. She set her mouth in a grim line and gave me a thumbs-up sign. I hadn’t paid much attention to the two women who didn’t speak English, but now I did. Baa looked determined, ready to take on anything. Lacy’s eyes darted to each of us, her body tense and aware. I felt the most sorry for her. The other at least had Pillow to translate. How horribly alone and afraid Lacy must feel, not knowing a word of what we were saying, worried that if we made a move she’d be unprepared, or even left behind. I walked over to her and made a circular motion with my finger. Then I pointed to the door, and pantomimed a fight, then jogged in pace.

She nodded. The girl might not know the details of what we were about to do, but she was watching carefully, and I knew she’d take her cues from us when the time came. One thing was very clear from her anxious, alert gaze—Lacy did not want to risk being left behind.

The door opened again and Catcalls entered. They’d initially always come in pairs, one with a gun at the ready, but with Onions dead, Catcalls would probably come alone from now on. I got the feeling it was beneath Pockmarks to be delivering us food. It would work to our advantage. Disable whoever brought us lunch, and we’d only have the other to deal with if we got caught sneaking out.

Unless it was the demon woman who caught us trying to escape. I remembered her words from last night. Although she seemed to have some general sympathy for our plight, it was clear that she’d look out for her own interests first—and those interests included bringing us to auction. She wouldn’t help us escape. And if she caught us trying, she’d bring us back in. We couldn’t rely on her. As much as I wanted to think of her as a sympathetic character, she was just as much our enemy as these two men.

Although Catcalls didn’t appear all that menacing right now. Instead of the usual broom handle, this time he carried a plastic shopping bag.

“Here.” Catcalls pulled a box out of the bag and tossed it to me. Hair dye. With everything that happened last night, I’d forgotten about my red hair. This dye was a dark brown which I was pretty sure would look hideous with my complexion. I secretly hoped I had the same results with this one as the one before.

Another box flew through the air, and Tasha caught it just before it hit her in the face. She stared wide-eyed at the blonde model on the cover and looked up at the guard in confusion. “Me? I am to dye my hair?”

“That’s the plan.” He left and Tasha and I exchanged resigned glances.

Pockmarks had said he wanted four blondes, and since it was quite obvious that my hair wasn’t going to cooperate with that demand, Tasha was about to become blonde. She could always dye it back once we got out of here. If we got out of here.

No, once we got out of here. We were going to do it. I wasn’t going to give up until these girls were free. Maybe then I’d be able to forgive myself for whatever haunted me from my past. Maybe I’d die, but I’d die knowing I attempted to wash those sins away. But in the meantime, we had hair to color and an escape to plan.

“Come on.” I put an arm around Tasha’s shoulder and led her into the bathroom. We slathered the stuff on our hair, then sat and talked as Pillow, Pistol, and I had done yesterday. It gave me a weird feeling, a strange sense of camaraderie, like we were two sisters having a makeover party.

“We are not sure you were to come back last night,” Tasha confessed as we sat on the floor next to each other. “I know they sell us, and they want the money, but they said there was an extra? They had an extra, and were not so worried if one of us die.” She reached out to touch my shoulder. “I am worried you were the extra, the one who would not come back.”

I hadn’t really believed I was going to die in that room. It had been a horrible, degrading, and painful experience, but I hadn’t thought Onions would actually kill me. “I think they want the money more than they want to beat one of us to death,” I told her. “Rough sex. Bruises and minor cuts. That’s as far as I think they’ll go.”

She shivered. “I don’t know. The one who brings food, he likes to hurt women, I think. He looks at me and I think he would like to hit me with that pole. I think he would like to hit that demon woman with the pole also.”

“She said she’s forbidden from hurting them,” I told Tasha. “Otherwise I’m pretty sure all three of those guys would have been eviscerated before we even got off the truck. Catcalls might want to hit her with the pole, but he won’t. He’s scared of her. They both are scared of her. I think the only one who isn’t scared of her is this boss they talk about.”

Tasha laughed. “I am scared of her as well. She is beautiful and deadly like a snake. I think she could make slave of us all, wrap around and squeeze the breathing from us as we smile. She is a bad woman who takes and gives nothing. She will leave us empty.”

The demon woman scared me too. Or was it more respect than fear I felt toward her? I was well aware of her charm, of her powers to enchant others. And I had no doubt she could be absolutely deadly. But unlike Tasha, I saw the demon woman as a caged animal, pacing the bars, unable to reach her captors, or those who stood watching outside our cage.

What would happen if she were free? Pockmarks, Catcalls, and no doubt this boss would be dead—of that much I was sure. But what about us? Would a deadly serpent see us as prey? As lesser beings worthy of sympathy? Would she spare her hand and walk away, leaving us alive, or would the police arrive to find our bodies alongside those of the two men? I honestly wasn’t sure.

“Art history,” Tasha suddenly announced with a smile and a laugh.

“Art history?” Had I misheard her? Her English was pretty good, but with her thick accent, she might have actually said something else.

“Art history. That is what I like at home in school. I hope to get summer job at museum, but how can I say no for chance to work in America? I waitress. I spend my no-work time on beach or talk to cute American boys. My English gets better. My mother tells me I am only a young girl once, and to do it. So I do it. They kiss me goodbye at airport and wave, happy for my chance.”

And she ended up here. “What’s it like back home? Your family, I mean.”

“We are like others. My mother works in office. My father works in office. I have little brother and little sister.” Her eyes suddenly glistened with tears. “These things do not happen to people. You understand? We think we are safe because we have mother and father who work in office, and little brother and sister. We think we are safe because we all eat at table every night, and are warm, and have school, and summer trip to beach, and car. You understand?”

I did understand. Things like this happened to runaways, kids from the projects, addicts, and prostitutes. They didn’t happen to nice middle-class girls with a loving nuclear family. Tasha had thought she was coming over on a work-abroad visa, and like Pistol, she’d gotten snagged in this horrible net. Unlike Pistol, her parents were in another country, not likely to have the kind of clout to find her in time. And unlike Pistol, she was a foreigner in this country without any of her identification. I thought once more about Baa and Lacy and how lucky it was that Tasha at least spoke English well enough to ask for help if she got out of here.

“You’ll see them again,” I promised—a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep. “You’ll see them again, study art history, eat dinner with your family. We’re going to get out of here.”

The girl’s smile held an ocean of doubt. “Yes. We will get out of here,” she agreed, both of us committing to the lie, as if somehow voicing it, giving it substance, would make it true.

Tasha’s hair turned out more of a light golden brown than blonde, but it would have to do. I wiped a strand of mine off and grimaced to see the bright red under the dye. I’d probably end up bald, but I was going to leave it on another twenty minutes or so, just to try to make this color stick. The alternative was a whole lot of pain at the demon woman’s hands, and after seeing what the others had gone through, I really didn’t want to face that.

Tasha headed out with the others while I sat inside the bathroom by myself, savoring some time alone. Then I counted, rinsing my hair when I figured I’d reached another twenty minutes. It was still red, absolutely unchanged from before.

The bathroom door swung open. Mess peeked in. “It’s almost lunch time by my reckoning. Are we good to go?”

“Yeah. Here.” I handed her the lid to one of the toilet tanks. The thing felt like it weighed thirty pounds. Not easy to swing, but definitely a decent weapon. Mess’s muscles in her arms stood out as she took it and I realized the woman was stronger than I’d thought. She hefted it, testing its weight, then looked up at me, caught sight of my hair, and laughed.

“Did you even try to dye it, or are you just flushing that stuff down the toilet?”

I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Make sure you’re off to the side with the lid so the guard doesn’t see you. I’ll be out in a minute.”

That was our plan. Whack Catcalls in the head with the toilet lid, then make a run for it and hope we could get out of the warehouse before Pockmarks or the demon woman caught us. We were armed with broken plastic cups, screws, a few sharpened wires, and a thin chain from the toilet tank that might serve as a garrote. Other than that, we were weaponless. Our biggest problem was going to be reach. If we had a confrontation with Pockmarks, he’d be able to hit us with his broom pole before we could get close enough to do anything with our makeshift weapons. And we’d be totally screwed against the demon, of that I was sure.

Escape. Run for it. And each of us had instructions not to wait for any of the others. If a chance presented itself, get the heck out, get to safety, and send help back for the rest of us. If just one of us could get out, today would be a success.

“Got it. Pray for us, Red. We’ll need that guardian angel of yours.” Mess was just turning to leave when we both heard voices. This wasn’t the normal, quiet conversation of the other women, one was clearly a man’s voice. Were they bringing lunch in early? Mess could hardly walk out of the bathroom and across the space between this door and the guard carrying a toilet tank lid and hope to go undetected. She looked over at me, and I could see she’d come to the same conclusion. With a quick motion she propped the toilet lid against the wall and cracked the door open to listen.

One guard and the soft clear voice of the demon woman. I hesitated, not liking my options one bit. My best case scenario had been us sneaking out of here without ever encountering the demon woman. I hadn’t wanted to think about fighting her, about her fighting us. But here she was, throwing a big wrench in the middle of our escape plans.

It didn’t matter how I felt. What mattered was that eight women relied on me to do what I needed to do to get out of here. The demon woman had picked her side.

Strange, elusive memories hung just out of reach. Choosing between those I loved. I just need time to convince them they’re wrong, I had argued. It’s too late for that, he’d replied. They’ve made their choice, and now you must make yours.

I’d made the wrong one, because I’d thought there was all the time in the world to change someone’s mind. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“He’s leaving,” Mess said softly. “She’s still here. What do we do? He’ll probably come back with the lunch, but what if she doesn’t leave?”

“You go out there,” I whispered. “If she doesn’t leave in a few minutes, then send her in here. Tell her she needs to check on my hair or something. When she comes in, I’ll take care of her, bring the toilet lid out to you, then come back in to make sure she doesn’t come around and screw everything up. Then when the guard delivers lunch, you can take him down.”

“Then we get out of here.” There was a hint of a question in Mess’s statement.

“Yeah,” I told her with far more confidence than I felt. “Then we get out of here.”