Cold. Why am I always so cold? Zoya Morozova could almost see her babushka, her beloved grandmother, smiling as she teased her granddaughter that her very name assured her that she’d go through life wishing for a warmer climate. After all, the literal translation of Moroz was “frost.”

Zoya denied the tears that wanted to fall at the thought of her grandmother. It didn’t do any good. In fact, it could cause great harm. Clutching one corner of the blanket, Zoya curled into an even tighter ball, bringing her fist to her mouth to press against lips that wanted to open to beg for her freedom. Like the threadbare blanket which pretended to offer warmth but failed miserably, she’d quickly learned that begging was just as useless. Wrapped in her flimsy cocoon, Zoya was fighting yet again to remain calm, to not allow herself to panic, to not call undue attention to herself.

Attention was what had caused her to be noticed.

Attention was what had shattered her world.

Attention was what had brought her to this place.

Attention was what she was going to be receiving this very night.

The question was, what exactly would happen after the spotlight dimmed, and instead of capturing the attention of a ring of men who trafficked in human beings, she stood before the one person who would pay a great deal of money to make damn sure he bought her attention?

Just as she couldn’t stop the first teardrop from slipping down her cheek, she couldn’t stop her mind from returning to that night just a few days earlier—the last night of life as she’d known it for twenty-two years. The last night she’d been one nameless face amongst the millions of her countrymen. That night when she was just a young woman, hips swaying, arms undulating as she let the beat of the music blaring through the club transport her to a place that required nothing from her as she danced, her long blonde hair swirling as she twirled, giggling a bit as the skirt of her new dress swished around her thighs, her cheeks rosy from the vodka she’d consumed. That night when she learned that her mama and papa weren’t so ignorant after all. They’d warned her about the dangers of the big city. They’d warned her that it would be hard to adjust from the life of a farmer’s daughter to that of an office worker. What they hadn’t warned her of, what they’d no doubt never once even considered, was that the very act of dancing with abandon in a popular club would be the one choice that would turn their daughter from a young woman with dreams of a better future into a prisoner.

Zoya had been in Moscow for less than ten minutes before she met Katarina. As Zoya had stood on the platform, clutching her suitcase as she looked at a map displayed on the wall, she’d heard a laugh. Turning, she’d seen a gorgeous woman standing a few feet away. Her stylish haircut framed an oval face in which her stunning blue eyes sparkled with a light that Zoya had been unable to resist.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman had said. “I just realized that I must have looked exactly like you when I first arrived in the city.”

Zoya couldn’t imagine this woman ever looking anything like she did. Where Zoya was wearing a simple blouse and skirt over thick stockings and a pair of comfortable, aka ugly, shoes, this stranger was wearing a sleek dress that showed off her luscious curves and a pair of heels that would have her breaking an ankle if worn on the farm. Instead of a cloth coat that had seen better days, she had a luxurious looking fur draped over her shoulders. Realizing that the woman’s head was tilted to one side, a smile playing on her lips, Zoya couldn’t help but return the smile.

“That obvious, huh?”

The laugh did its magic, easing any hesitancy Zoya had to speak with the stranger.

“Not at all. If I hadn’t been here myself, I wouldn’t have even given it a second thought. Oh, where are my manners?” Extending her hand, nails perfectly manicured and polished, she continued, “I’m Katarina Petrova.”

Taking her hand, hoping the callouses on her palm would go unnoticed, Zoya introduced herself. When Katarina suggested they get a cup of tea at an out of the way café right around the corner, Zoya had instantly begun to shake her head.

“I couldn’t.” Seeing the woman’s smile slip, she realized how rude she’d sounded. “I mean, I don’t…” Pausing, Zoya could feel her face heat. Had she actually been about to say her parents had warned her not to talk to strangers? Talk about the country bumpkin! Instead, she gave Katarina a different reason for her upcoming refusal. “I don’t want to put you out. I’m sure you have better things to do than to have tea with a total stranger.” She cringed a bit realizing that despite her evasion, she’d still uttered the word “stranger.”

“Of course. Forgive me,” Katarina had said. “I’m sure your parents warned you about talking to strangers. I’d still like to welcome you to Moscow, Zoya.”

Feeling horrible for causing the woman’s smile to disappear, Zoya had shaken her head. “No, forgive me. You’ve been so kind.”

The smile returned. “No forgiveness needed. I just know that I felt quite alone when I stepped off that train years ago. I’m sure whoever is meeting you will be here soon. Perhaps we will meet again and we can have that tea.”

As Katarina began to turn away, Zoya suddenly did feel very alone. “Wait. I’d love to have some tea.”

“Really? That’s wonderful. Shall we wait for your—”

“No,” Zoya said. “I’m on my own.”

“No one should arrive in a new city without a new friend as well. Here, let me take that.” Before Zoya could object, the suitcase was taken from her, Katarina’s heels clicking on the tile flooring as she walked towards the exit, leaving Zoya no choice but to follow.

By the time the sun had begun to set, Zoya had enjoyed several cups of tea as well as freshly baked bread, delicious cheeses, small sausages and a variety of cookies. Her new friend—call me Kat—had also found her a room in a nice building at a very good rate.

Katarina leaned forward as if to convey some secret. “Mrs. Fedorova tends to be a trifle nosey, but it’s only because she wants to keep her girls safe. A pretty girl like you can never be too careful,” Kat had said, adding a spoon of sugar to Zoya’s tea cup, stirring a few times as she apologized for the rather bitter brew. “I knew we should have stayed with my regular choice of leaves.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I like to try new things,” Zoya had assured her, lifting her cup to take a sip and fighting to keep her distaste from showing, forcing herself to drain the cup.

Kat’s laughter rang out again as she shook her head. “You are just the most adorable little thing… a liar, but definitely adorable.”

After introducing her to her new landlady, Kat had attempted to give Zoya her phone number, causing Zoya to confess she didn’t own a cell phone.

“Don’t you fret, Mrs. Fedorova has my number if you need to call me.” She gave Zoya a kiss on the cheek, and said her goodbyes. “Since you don’t report to work until next week, you’ll have plenty of time to learn your way around… at least enough not to feel lost. I’ll come by tomorrow, and we’ll start the process of turning you into a big city girl.”

Zoya had nodded, finding it easier each time to accept what Katarina suggested. It wasn’t until she closed and locked her door that she realized how exhausted she was. Anticipation about her new adventure, coupled with tension and worrying if she were being a fool by leaving what was familiar, was taking its toll. With her tummy full and her eyes feeling as if they weighed a ton, she’d only taken the time to remove her shoes before crawling beneath the sheets. She was asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

True to her word, Kat had appeared bright and early the next morning. “I really appreciate all you’ve done for me, but I don’t want to keep you from your own job,” Zoya said.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest? Don’t you worry about a thing. I’m lucky enough to make my own hours.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a facilitator. You know, make sure everything is in place and things run smoothly,” Kat said.

“I’m not sure I understand. Do you work nearby?”

“I work all over,” Kat said with a wave. “And since I’ve decided that today I’d facilitate my new friend’s introduction to this great city, I say we start.”

Unable to think of a reason why she would say no, Zoya had simply allowed this vivacious, confident woman to take over. They’d walked up and down streets, her guide pointing out the places a new arrival would need: the perfect shop to buy necessities; another café where she could sit and enjoy a cup of tea while reading a book; the subway entrances; and the bus stop. After having lunch, they’d begun to walk back, the wind whistling, its strength causing Zoya to have to bend forward to keep from being blown over and to wrap her arms around herself to keep what little warmth her coat provided inside.

“Is that the only coat you have?” Kat asked, concern clear on her face.

Zoya actually looked down as if to ascertain what coat she was wearing, which was idiotic since she only owned one… obviously one inadequate to shield her from the piercing winds.

“Yes.”

“It won’t do,” Kat said with a frown. “The cold here is different as it whips around buildings like a train races through a tunnel. Tomorrow, I’ll take you shopping.”

“That’s not necessary,” Zoya said, feeling her face heat.

“Why not? Don’t you like shopping?”

Thankful for the “out,” Zoya shook her head. “Not really. All those clerks and having to try on clothes in some tiny room—”

“Then we shall do our shopping elsewhere,” Kat said, cutting her off and obviously not taking “no” for an answer. “I promise, it will be fun!”

Knowing that her meager savings would not come close to covering the price of even a scarf from any shop this glamorous woman would enter, Zoya came clean. “Kat, I really don’t need anything new.” Seeing the woman’s cheerful expression dim, she felt horrid. “I mean, at least not for a while. Once I get settled and have my first paycheck, I promise, we can go shopping anywhere you want. All right?”

Kat had taken a moment and then as if it had never dimmed, her smile lit up her face. “Leave it to me.”

Zoya had no idea what that meant until the next afternoon when the car pulled up in front of a very nice building. “Is this where you work?”

“Work, play, live,” Kat answered. “Come, I’ll show you.”

Kat climbed from the car, and Zoya slid across the seat to follow. With one foot on the pavement, she paused, looking over the seat at the back of the driver’s head and then over to where Kat was standing several feet away. “Um, excuse me, what do I owe you?” Zoya asked quietly, praying she’d brought enough to cover the fare.

Without turning his head, but meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror, the man said, “No fare.”

Wanting to ask if he was sure and yet grateful she’d not have to part with any rubles, Zoya simply said, “Thank you. Have a lovely day.”

“You too, miss.”

Zoya soon learned that the reason there was no fare was that he was Kat’s driver. She also learned the woman lived in an apartment that was unlike any living space Zoya had ever seen before. The house where she’d been raised could have fit in but a few rooms of Kat’s apartment. It was furnished with what Zoya was sure was the very best and yet felt a bit cold and stark with all the white and chrome everywhere. However, the moment Kat threw open a set of double doors, Zoya forgot all about the similarities between the apartment’s chilly appearance and the cold that had always plagued her as dozens and dozens of dresses in every color imaginable filled her vision. Racks of shoes of every style just waited to be chosen.

“Welcome to my boutique,” Kat had said. “We shall do our shopping right here.”

“Shopping?”

“More like borrowing,” Kat corrected. “As you can see, I have far too many things and would love to pass some to you.”

“I… I can’t accept that,” Zoya said, her head shaking as her gaze roved over the clothing.

“You would be doing me a great favor,” Kat said, taking Zoya’s hand and drawing her into the huge walk-in closet that truly was the size of a boutique. “If you’ll take some of these old things off my hands, well, I’d have a great excuse to replace them with new ones, right?”

That logic wasn’t anything Zoya could really identify with, but she was a young woman who felt as if she’d stepped into a magical place. Zoya’s hesitancy in accepting had Kat assuring her that she had the perfect dress that she knew would make Zoya feel like a new woman. New was exactly what Zoya had come to Moscow for. What would it hurt to at least try on a few things? At Zoya’s nod, Kat clapped her hands.

“This is going to be so much fun. Let’s get started!”

Zoya had indeed felt new in her “borrowed” dress and high heels. She’d felt amazed with her make-up so skillfully applied as to appear she wore none. She’d felt desirable with her lotion soothed skin and the perfume that wafted to her nose with its delicate scent. They’d gone to a club to celebrate, and for the first time in her life, Zoya had felt that the butterfly was finally emerging from its cocoon.

She’d never gotten a chance to spread her wings to fly. Instead, she’d become a bit dizzy, her vision blurry, her stomach roiling, and she’d almost fallen when her knees buckled as she stumbled back towards the booth where Kat and she had been sitting. Except her friend wasn’t sitting. She was standing between a pair of men whose appearances caused Zoya’s heart to skip a beat. Not from any sort of attraction but from an almost primal desire of self-preservation. The drugs that had been slipped into her many drinks robbed her of any ability to escape the web that had begun to be woven about her from the moment she’d stepped off the train.

“Ona ideal’na,” one man said. Zoya’s confusion grew. Who was the man referring to? It most certainly couldn’t be her when he’d stated, “she’s perfect.”

“Kat?” she’d managed, only to have the woman who’d taken her under her wing give a shake of her head and a softly whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Before Zoya could begin to wonder what Kat meant, her attention was diverted as she was escorted from the club between the two men, their grip on her arms unyielding. It wasn’t until she was shoved into the back seat of a black sedan that it dawned on her that something wasn’t right… but, by then, it was far too late.

A sound pulled Zoya from the past. When she opened her eyes, it was to find another pair, also glimmering with unshed tears. “Are you scared?” The question was whispered, as all conversations tended to be in the room shared by Zoya and a dozen other women.

“Yes,” Zoya barely had time to reply before the sound of a loud click of the lock giving way and the squeak of the door opening had her making a final, silent plea. “Please, God, help us.”

“Up!”

The single word was snapped with authority and brooked no nonsense. Zoya rolled to a sitting position, hugging the blanket tightly around her as she slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She shivered when her bare feet hit the floor. The clanking of chains filled the room as the women remained seated, waiting for the chains that tethered the cuffs at their ankles and wrists to the bed to be unlocked.

“Lose the blanket,” the man snarled, giving it a yank, leaving Zoya as naked as the other women as they rose to their feet once they were unfettered. The sharp sound of flesh meeting flesh cracked across the room, followed by a cry signifying that one of the captives was too slow to take her place in the line that was forming before the door.

“We are not going to put up with any nonsense,” a woman barked. “Correction will be swift and severe. Is that understood?”

“Da, mem,” was chorused by the women.

With a nod, the man opened the door and the women filed out into the hall. Zoya had to fight against the despair that threatened to consume her. She’d never considered herself a weak person, and yet from the moment she and the others had been told that fighting would result not in their deaths… but in the annihilation of every member of their family, she’d capitulated.

Would she ever stop fighting the tears as they blurred her vision yet again? When it was her turn, she obediently took a step forward, her arms at her sides, her head up, staring straight ahead but unable to block out the sight of the man in front of her. The man stood in a room full of naked, beautiful women and yet, if his face showed any expression, it was of boredom.

She flinched slightly but managed not to actually move when his hand lifted. “Trim only. Curl,” he said, lifting a lock of her hair. His fingertip ran over the arch of her eyebrow. “Pluck and shape.” His eyes dropped and Zoya felt her face heat, not having to follow the man’s gaze to know exactly what part of her anatomy he was looking at, flinching again when her nipples were taken between the man’s thick fingers and squeezed.

“Pierce?” asked the woman who was standing to one side, a clipboard in hand, pen poised to take notes.

“Nyet, let her owner decide to decorate her tits and pay for it himself.”

Zoya wasn’t given much time to be relieved at his answer when she flinched yet again, this time unable to keep a sharp yip from being uttered as the man’s fingers moved from her nipple to tug on her pubic hair.

“Trim.” A firm slap on her thigh had Zoya opening her legs and closing her eyes as fingers slid through her sex. “Virgin?”

“The doctor said not.” The woman could have been discussing the weather for all the disinterest in her tone.

Zoya’s gasp and attempt to pull away did no good as thick fingers were thrust into her vagina. She was held firmly in place by the man as he probed inside her. Pulling his fingers out, she felt humiliation flood her as he wiped slickness caused by his examination across her bottom. “Maybe not but she is still very tight. Not as good as a virgin but inexperience will keep her price high.” A slap on her ass had Zoya bending forward, tears finally slipping down her face at the sound of a rubber glove being snapped onto the man’s hand. She bit her lip as she felt the globes of her bottom being spread apart and then cried out as a finger was thrust into her anus.

“She told the doctor that she’s an anal virgin,” the woman informed him as his finger invaded and wiggled about in a place which Zoya had never once considered for anything other than its natural purpose.

“Not for long.” The first sign of any emotion was given in a chuckle as the man withdrew his finger, giving her bottom another slap. “Put her between two brunettes. With her wheat-colored hair, she’ll stand out and draw the eyes of the bidders. Perhaps they’ll forgive the size of her tits.”

Within hours, Zoya stood with her hair curling in waves down her back, her eyebrows thinned and plucked into delicate arches, and her pubic hair almost completely shaved, leaving just a narrow thatch of blonde curls between her thighs. Her nails had been shaped and painted, her makeup artfully applied, and the white chiffon dress chosen for her to wear carefully arranged to show off every curve of her body. She tried not to stumble wearing the ridiculously high heels as she was led to stand behind Natalia, who was wearing a dress of the deepest ruby, and before a woman named Anya, who was wearing a deep sapphire blue. They’d been warned to remain silent in line.

“Once you are on the stage, you will stand straight and then follow the instructions given by Mr. Poplov. Failure to do so will result in quick correction.” The man had paused and then added in a tone that caused Zoya to shiver, “Believe me, none of the clients will mind if you decide to test my instructions. A few marks would only increase their lust.”

As the lights dimmed and a spotlight appeared in the center of a makeshift stage, Zoya remembered Natalia’s question. Scared? No, she was beyond scared… beyond terrified, even. Zoya didn’t believe there was a word to describe the feeling that had consumed her from the moment she’d arrived. She’d first thought she must be in hell but had learned that wasn’t true. No, hell would be experienced when she was sold to some faceless stranger who was even now waiting to make his bid. Hell would be when she was handed over, sold like some animal to be used, abused at their whim. Hell was still in the future. That meant she was still in purgatory… but it was enough for her to wish for death.