CHAPTER SIX
THE BASEMENT DOOR creaked open. I was lying on a cot, curled up in a little ball with my back to the stairs. I didn’t bother to turn when I heard the footsteps. It had been the same thing for the last several days. Sometime in the late afternoon, Jackson brought me food and two water bottles. He would set it on the table in the center of the room, stand by the base of the stairs for a few awkward seconds looking at me, as if he was waiting for me to speak, and then turn and slowly walk back upstairs.
And then I’d be alone.
I wondered where Rochelle and Lily had gone, and I spent a lot of time thinking about the dark haired girl from the alley. Sometimes I felt sorry for her. Other times I was mad at her. If she had crossed the street a few seconds earlier, maybe I wouldn’t have seen her. Maybe I never would have seen her and tried to help. Anger at her built up in me, and I wanted to know what she did to make Zane mad. I wanted to yell at her and tell her that if she hadn’t pissed him off, I wouldn’t be here.
But then I’d remind myself that she was just as innocent as I was. Or at least I believed she was. The possibility that I had put myself in danger to help someone undeserving wasn’t a thought I could handle.
“Adeline?” Jackson said softly. His voice was deep and soothing. I hated it. “Adeline?” he repeated when I didn’t so much as flinch. “Are you awake?”
“Technically,” I mumbled. “But I feel like I’m in a nightmare.”
He shuffled his feet and said something under his breath that I couldn’t quite hear. I thought he might have agreed with me, but I wasn’t sure and I didn’t care enough to ask.
“I brought you a plate with hot food. You might want to eat it now. I don’t think barbecue chicken or mashed potatoes would be good cold.” He didn’t move. Was he waiting for me to thank him? The last thing I planned on doing was showing him gratitude. Though, I preferred him to Zane. While Jackson’s creeper staring was unnerving, he never so much as laid a finger on me.
I pushed myself up and looked behind me. Jackson was still standing near the table. He tipped his head down when my eyes met his face, his dark hair falling over his brown eyes in an attempt to hide the bruise on his cheek.
“What happened?” I asked. Would whoever hit Jackson come for me next? I took my eyes off him, moving them to the plate. My mouth watered at the smell of the chicken. After several days of nothing but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, apples, and cereal bars, the plate full of chicken and potatoes looked divine. The metal springs creaked when I moved off the bed. My dirty hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and I was still wearing the same clothes that I was when I was taken.
“Nothing,” he blurted. Red tinged his cheeks.
“Right,” I retorted. “I hate when nothing gives me black eyes.”
My heart skipped a beat in fear when he sharply turned his head to me. I grabbed the plate and moved to the other end of the table, putting the cheap metal and plastic between us. He didn’t completely terrify me, but I didn’t feel comfortable enough to sit when he was standing in the same room.
“I got hit,” he explained.
“No shit,” I said back and shoved a spoonful of mashed potatoes into my mouth. They were homemade, and were just as delicious as they smelled.
His lips pulled down in a frown and he inspected the ground. He looked so dejected it caused guilt to flicker through me. I mentally shook my head and ate another heaping spoonful of potatoes, not caring that it burned my tongue. Jackson didn’t deserve my pity.
He took a step back and looked at me, his dark eyes empty. He just shook his head and went back upstairs. I refused to let myself read into it while I quickly finished the rest of the potatoes. I devoured the chicken just as quickly. I set the peanut butter sandwich and apple aside, saving them for later, and drank half of a water bottle.
I went to the bathroom and used the shower to wash my hands and face, since I was too scared to strip down and actually shower, and lay back in the bed. After a few minutes of feeling like I was going to waste away, I got up and began pacing. My body was still sore from the trunk ride, and the bruises on my face were taking their time to fade.
I carefully stretched out my arms and then bent over. My stiff muscles ached as I reached for the ground. I stood back up and reached above me. The pull on my back felt wonderful and painful at the same time. I had never been into yoga; it seemed boring and lame. I did my stretches before and after I ran but left it at that.
I went back to the cot closest to the stairs. I had claimed it as my own, though I had the feeling many girls had laid down to rest on that miserable cot. I pulled the screw out from my back pocket and rolled it back and forth between my fingers.
The sound of the deadbolt shooting back startled me. I hurried to stash the screw and laid back down, not caring to look at Jackson when he came down to get my dishes. But the chitchat of female voices caused me to sit straight up. My fingers pressed into the mattress, and my eyes stayed glued to the base of the stairs.
Heels clomped on each wooden plank. I wasn’t familiar enough to recall their voices, but I was sure the Brooklyn accent belonged to Rochelle. She stopped mid-sentence when she saw me, her foot hovering above the last stair. The dark-haired girl from the alley bumped into her, causing Rochelle to stumble. Her foot planted on the ground with a click, and she wobbled before the five-inch, black patent leather stiletto tipped to the side. I watched her ankle twist as she fell. On instinct, I rose, wanting to help her. The dark haired girl got there first and extended a hand.
Rochelle leaned forward, her fingers wrapping around her ankle. “Ah!” she cried and pulled off her shoe. “Fucking hell!”
“Are you all right?” I meekly asked, standing so close to the cot it brushed against the back of my legs.
Rochelle looked at me and scowled, as if it was my fault she fell. She removed her shoes and allowed the dark-haired girl to pull her to her feet.
“I’ll be fine,” she grumbled and took a step, immediately crying out in pain. She hobbled to the cot next to me and flopped down.
“You should elevate it,” I whispered. “And ice would be ideal.”
The dark-haired girl eyed me curiously, guilt flashing across her face as she took a pillow from another cot and stuck it under Rochelle’s ankle. She whisked around the cot and flew up the stairs, returning a minute later with a bag filled with ice. Lily, the young redhead, was behind her. She slowly approached me.
“Hi,” she spoke. “I’m Lily.”
“Addie,” I said, struggling to find my voice.
“This is Rochelle and Phuong. We call her Phoebe. She doesn’t speak English very well.”
“Nice to meet you,” I blurted, the manners my mother instilled in me coming out on their own accord. “I don’t know why I’m here,” I told them.
Lily bit her lip and looked at Rochelle. A life of hard times and too much responsibility masked her young innocence. Her blue eyes were clouded with fear and shame, and the self-doubt was apparent in her sagging shoulders. She crossed boney arms and offered me a small smile.
“Phoebe told us that you tried to stop Zane from hurting her, and he brought you back.”
I nodded. “What’s going to happen to me?”
Lily’s brow pushed together. “The same thing that happens to us,” she spoke, her voice nothing but a hollow whisper.
I swallowed hard, pushing my pounding heart back into place. “And what is that?” The icy words spilled out of my mouth.
“Sit,” she said and motioned to the bed.
My legs bent, and I sank down onto the mattress.
“Nate finds us clients and we take care of them,” she said gently and put her hand on mine. Everything about this felt wrong, from the way someone younger than my sister was comforting me to the way she sugarcoated being a sex slave.
“And if we don’t?”
“You don’t, you die,” Phoebe said harshly in a heavily accented voice.
“Pheebs!” Rochelle scolded.
“No!” she retorted and rose from Rochelle’s cot. “She need to hear truth! They make us have sex, all kinds. I sorry you here,” she continued. “Here is hell.”
Her words hung in the air and nobody spoke. Lily picked at the frayed hem of the tribal-print skirt she was wearing, and Rochelle clenched her jaw and moved her eyes to the floor, looking almost as if Phoebe’s words were offensive.
"How did you get here?" I quietly asked.
Lily twisted her red hair between her fingers. "I started doing things for money. I was out on the street a few nights a week. I didn't charge much. Then I met Zane, and he said he could get me like twice what I was making if I worked with him." She yanked on her ponytail and shook her head. "And he did. But it didn't last long. He started taking it. Then I, like, got into some trouble with my stepdad and got kicked out. I didn't have anywhere to go, so I called Zane, and I've been here ever since."
“How old are you?”
“I just turned fourteen.”
"Aren't your parents looking for you?" I blurted.
Lily's innocent eyes flashed like blue glass. "We're not all lucky enough to have nice families like you," she spat.
"Sorry."
"Nah, it's not your fault," she recovered. "My mom has too many issues and my stepdad likes to drink. And cheat. And hit. I've, like, run away so many times they probably figured that's what happened."
"Do you want to go home?" I asked gently.
She shrugged. "What do I have to go home to?" Her eyes glossed over and she stood up, making a big deal of stacking the cards and pushing the chairs into the table.
"What about you?" I asked Phoebe.
"I want to come to United States," she stated. "Thought I got modeling job. Nate pay for everything, even got me visa." She shook her head. "I don't think visa real."
"It's not all bad like this," I felt compelled to tell her.
"I know. Bad parts and bad people where I'm from too." She gave me a small, pressed smile. "It's been six months. Lily here almost year. Rochelle even longer. Other girls come and go. We don't know why we stay."
"Rochelle says it's because the clients like us, like regulars. I've seen the same girls in the clubs. They just don't live in one of Nate's houses," Lily explained.
"Clubs?" I inquired.
Phoebe nodded. "Dance clubs, strip clubs, whatever they called. Less touching when work there. I like it better."
"Until they get you backstage," Lily added ruefully.
“Does it end?” I whispered, asking a question I already knew the answer to.
“Not well,” Phoebe answered just as quietly.
“There has to be a way,” I pressed.
Phoebe shook her head. “I try. Many times. And no.”
I ground my teeth and forced back tears, refusing to believe that I was never leaving this place. “People are looking for me,” I said suddenly, my voice too full of hope. “When they find me, you will be found too.”
“If they find you,” Lily corrected. She pressed her full lips together and shook her head, causing red ringlets to fall into her eyes. “Why would they even think to look here?”
“I don’t even know where we are,” I blurted.
“Somewhere near Des Moines,” Phoebe told me. “But out in country.”
“There is nothing around this house,” Lily went on. “For miles, literally. It’s like a century old farmhouse, restored, obviously. I think the land is, like, historical or something. Nobody does anything to it.” She shrugged and then yawned. “I’m so tired,” she mumbled and pushed herself off the bed. She kicked off her heels and stretched her feet before moving to another cot and pulling back the covers. “Addie,” she said softly. “I wish I had something to say to make this better, but I don’t.” She gave me a sympathetic smile and got into her bed.
“What’s going to happen to me?” I asked.
Lily looked at Rochelle, who shook her head. “I don’t know,” Rochelle spoke. “Girls like you haven’t been here before. Nobody looked for us.” Her brown eyes narrowed so slightly I almost didn’t see it. With a huff, she rolled over, wincing when she moved her foot. Phoebe got up and went to another cot as well. She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and leaned against the wall. Beneath the layers and layers of makeup that was applied to her face, I could see the dark circles that pulled down on her eyes. Just what had they been forced to do for the last three days?