Page 24 of StoryTeller's Tale

I don’t even bother to look at who’s talking, but I’m even more terrified. If their leader, or whoever Knuckles is, is indeed worse than any of these men in front of me, what kind of hell could I expect?

But, as I’m taken away and led into a basement, and, to my horror, pushed into a cage, I try to congratulate myself on getting a reprieve, even if that might not last forever.

The door is slammed, and a padlock snapped into place, after which the bikers leave. It’s only then I take a moment to inspect my surroundings, only able to see by the light from a single, dim, overhead bulb.

There are six cages, women in various stages of undress in each. A couple are looking my way inquisitively, while the others are curled up in balls or rocking, lost in their own distress. Swallowing rapidly, I realise the latter could have been me if I hadn’t come up with a way to distract the men who’d been prepared to rape me. It could be me with my clothes torn, or, as I see, completely naked in a couple of cases.

The woman in the cage closest to mine rattles the bars. “They didn’t touch you,” she tosses out, almost accusingly.

Quickly, I study her. She’s pulling the remains of a blouse around her, and there’s a large bruise on her face. But though she’s clearly been molested, there’s a challenge in her eyes, a sign of a spirit that hasn’t been broken.

I need information, and I need it fast. While I doubt there’s a way out of here, I can’t give up without making a try. Though I’m tempted wallow in my own misery, I force myself to respond.

“I’m a virgin.” I make it sound positive, leaving no room for doubt. I wouldn’t put it past the bikers to have planted some kind of listening device.

“Really?” She cocks an eyebrow.

“Really,” I confirm, as firmly as I can, knowing my only course is to make anyone who can hear believe it.

I examine the padlock holding my cage shut. It’s unfortunate I have no handy bobby pin on me, or the knowledge how to open such a lock if I had. I take hold of the bars and shake them, but they’re not flimsy enough to pull apart. Reluctantly, I accept I’m a prisoner until someone releases me.

I decide to get information from the person who’s spoken to me. But first, I personalise myself. “I’m Sheri.” I turn to her, then pause.

She doesn’t disappoint. “Carole,” she responds, still viewing me with curiosity.

I let go of the bars and turn to face in her direction. “Do you know what’s going to happen to us?”

“Can’t you guess?” Her brow wrinkles in disdain. “We’ll be sold.”

That’s obvious. But I want detail, like, how, and, “When?” I want to know how much time I’ve got. Though why, I’m not sure. There’s going to be no one rushing to my rescue, no one to know where I’ve gone. I swallow down the wave of nausea that threatens to overwhelm me.This can’t be happening.

She snorts. “How the hell should I know? They don’t exactly let us in on their plans.”

While my legs shake and threaten to fail me, I make a determined effort to stay standing, and to keep talking to the only person here who seems capable of holding a conversation. Otherwise, I’ll end up curled into a ball just like the others around me.

“How long have you been here?” I ask.

Carole purses her lips. “Two days? Three? It’s hard to know.” She jerks her head toward the other cages. “Some of them have been here longer.”

While not feeling optimistic, I have to know. “Do you think there’s any chance we’ll be rescued?” Carole doesn’t seem as bothered as the others by her situation, so is she hanging onto some hope?

But she disavows me of that immediately. “Honey,” her eyes roll, “there’s no chance in hell. This isn’t the first rodeo these boys have been to. You can see by the setup. They’re running a smooth operation here.”

I clasp my hands together to stop them from trembling. Half of me is convinced this is a nightmare from which I’ll soon awake, while the sane part of my brain realises however unlikely, the situation is real. I watch as Carole turns away, sinks down to the floor, pulls up her knees and rests her chin with a sigh. I wonder how she seems to be resigned to her fate, unlike the others who are openly crying or frozen with fear.

As my heart rate speeds up, knowing however strong I think I should be, everything is against me being able to influence the outcome by positive thinking. Once I finally accept my predicament and it sinks in, I’m more likely to be ranting and railing against my fate. Right now, even with the evidence in front of my face, I can’t bring myself to believe it. Other women get kidnapped and sold, not me.

“What makes you so calm?” I suddenly throw at her. “Why are you different?”

She raises her chin and gives me a sad smile. “Oh, honey, I didn’t have much to begin with. I was taken off the street.” She grimaces, adding “Where I was working,” in case I was in any doubt as to what she meant. “There’s probably not a lot they can do that I haven’t experienced before. And if the end comes fast, so be it. I probably wouldn’t have lasted long anyway.”

I swallow hard. Maybe the trick is accepting you haven’t got much to lose. I haven’t got much either.

Copying her action, I sink down to my knees, clasping my hands around my head. I might not have reached rock bottom like the woman in the next cage, but if I was gone, who’d miss me? Agatha, maybe, but she’d soon find a new housemate. My dad? No, he doesn’t go out of his way to contact me, and as for my stepmom, she’d be pleased to be finally rid of me. I exist day to day. I have no big dreams I’d have to give up.

But I’m me. I’ve got a life, and no one should be able to take it away. I’m not a possession to be owned, used and discarded. I can’t stifle the sob that comes unbidden from my throat. I might not want to give in, but I can’t see any way to escape.

And, unlike all the stories I get engrossed in, there’s no group of good bikers, SEALs, Marines or other alphas, all currently plotting how to rescue me from my fate.

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