She gives an answering nod and grabs my arm. Her fingers press painfully into my muscles.
Or it would be painful if every inch of my body wasn’t already aching.
Peony’s sobs grow louder, the sudden jerking of my arm possibly frightening her.
“Maybe give her something”—he nods at me—“to make her more compliant.” He doesn’t spell out what that is. He doesn’t need to. The fog in my brain from spondyloarthritis is bad enough. I don’t need to add drugs to my system too…even if they will temporarily help dull the pain.
“I’ll do whatever you want.” My tone isn’t defeated. It’s earnest. Hopefully earnest enough to convince them I’m telling the truth. Earnest enough to buy myself time, while I figure out how to get away from this hell.
The woman escorts me back to the bedroom, her spine stiff, hand still hooked on my arm. She glares at Tilly, who’s sitting on her bed, painting her toenails. “Tell her the rules, then get downstairs. You’re working tonight.”
She huffs as if the two of us are an inconvenience and leaves.
“She’s pleasant,” I mutter and sit next to the stack of clothes Tilly had put on my bed.
I blow a raspberry on Peony’s cheek, hoping it will distract her enough to get her to stop crying. Not that I blame her. I’d be crying too if I could get away with it. But crying won’t get us out of this situation.
The smirk Tilly flashes me isn’t so much a look of amusement—it’s more of a shudder. “That’s Lola. She’s a bottom bitch. You don’t want to get on her bad side. She’s meaner than Satan on his worst day.”
“Bottom bitch?”
“She’s like The Bear’s right hand. She used to be like the rest of us but worked her way up to where she is now.”
I pick up the crop top from the pile of clothes. “Lovely. So much for feminism and protecting your fellow sisters.”
Tilly’s gaze darts nervously to the open door. “Never trust her, no matter what she says. She’s not on your side—even when she pretends to be.”
Tilly needn’t worry. There’s no way I’d trust that woman. The only person I can trust to get Peony and me out of this place…is me.
59
ZARA
The next day,I still have no idea how to escape this fortress before I’m forced to do what no little girl dreams of doing one day.
I stiffly move from one yoga pose to the next, silently cursing the lack of a yoga mat on the bedroom floor. Cursing I have to practice yoga without ibuprofen or clothes better suited for the activity. The boy shorts keep riding up my ass.
Yoga hasn’t been enough to control the warfare battling in my body. It’s just something to distract me. Distract me from curling up in a ball, from sobbing uncontrollably.
And maybe, just maybe, the increased blood flow to my brain will stimulate an idea for getting out of this place.
Peony is asleep in her playpen, worn out from playing with me and Tilly earlier this afternoon, worn out from her most recent bout of tears.
I shift into warrior pose, breathing through the stiffness and pain.
I am strong. I feel no pain. I am a warrior. I am Peony’s warrior.
Breathe.
During the past twenty-four hours, I’ve learned that Rosaline really was Kenda, based on the description the other girls gave me of her. And I’ve discovered there are six girls in this house, ranging from eighteen totwenty-six years old. All were coerced, in one way or another, to be part of the sex trafficking ring.
Two of the girls believe they made the choice to be here. They haven’t figured out yet the only person benefitting from the arrangement is the man who calls himself The Bear. The money he gives them doesn’t come close to a fraction of minimum wage. The pretty clothes, the fake nails and lashes, the blowouts—none of it is worth what these girls are forced to endure.
Queen E limps into the bedroom, the bruises on her face still dark from when a john beat her two days ago. According to Tilly, it was on the menu. Like numerous other horrendous acts I’m sure none of the girls in this house arewillingparticipants for.
She smiles at me, but there’s only sadness in her eyes. “Your hair looks good.”
I was taken to a salon this morning for my “makeover,” and she had insisted on a blowout for me.
