Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(16)

Who were they anyway?

I latched onto a word: trafficker. It blared like an angry hurricane, hurling me further into terror. As much as I wanted to deny the realization, I knew.

I was being trafficked. Me and these women were about to disappear around the world, exchanged for money, no regard for us as people—we were belongings.

I’d read enough horrible news to know the window of saving a smuggled woman was very short—only a few days before they were never seen again.

No one but my parents and Brax knew I was in Mexico. My parents wouldn’t know I’d ever gone missing—they never called or texted. It would be months before they noticed my absence. And Brax. My heart choked. Brax might be dead for all I knew. Dead and cold and blue under a man’s urinal.

The man with the scar shoved Leather Jacket away, reclaiming my leash. He tugged the rope, twinging my neck. “Get up.”

I wanted to laugh. He expected me to stand when my body was cracked and broken? The beating taught me something, though. Obedience was paramount. Nothing wrong in following orders if it meant I survived another day. So, even though it killed me, I fumbled to my feet.

Breathing hard, my entire body wanted to weep, but my eyes remained dry. These men didn’t deserve my tears.

Jagged Scar wrapped fingers around my bicep, holding some of the weight. He gave a lopsided grin, shrugging. “You can make this easy. It’s only temporary. Keep your fight for your new owner.”

My mind blanked with shock; I blinked. He confirmed my suspicions and I wished I was wrong.

Jagged Scar pulled me forward, both by his grip and the rope. Injuries screamed, especially the cracked rib, but together we shuffled down the corridor. The line behind started up again, each woman taken into a different room. Would I ever see them again?

Leather Jacket smirked as he opened a door, and Jagged Scar guided me inside. Just like the cell we lived in: a windowless room with only one door.

The lock clicking closed set off panic in my chest like an atomic bomb.

Everything about the space was non-descript, apart from the torture contraption in the centre of the room, half dentist chair, half gynaecologist table with stirrups and levers.

Beside it rested a stainless steel table full of instruments from my nightmares, all glinting wicked sharp under the huge spotlight hanging above.

My mouth snapped shut, and I huddled, trying to become invisible. Switch off, Tess. Disappear from this hell.

Needles, scalpels, glass vials full of crystal liquid, and leather straps heralded my doom as Jagged Scar pushed forward. I had no energy, zapped with pain, but I spun away. I couldn’t get on that chair. I couldn’t.

The rope around my neck squeezed tight, and I clawed at my throat with broken nails and anxious fingers. “No!”

Another set of hands from an unknown person wrapped around my nakedness and half-dragged, half-carried me to the chair. Together, they threw me on the squeaky, blood-stained leather and Jagged Scar went behind, jerking the rope, making me lie down or choke.

Skin stuck to the leather, making sucking sounds along with my panicked breathing.

The person who’d helped throw me on the chair appeared above.

My heart squeezed with indignation. A woman—young, cruel, with a glossy curtain of black hair framing her face. Her lips lined with early smoker creases, black eyes as vacant as the men. A surgical mask hung from one ear, and rubber gloves sheathed her fingers.

Rage consumed me. She was a woman involved with trafficking women—a traitor to her own sex. “How can you, bitch? How can you be a part of this?”

Jagged Scar reached from behind, tapping my cheek in warning. The woman didn’t answer, but averted her eyes. Not from embarrassment, but to secure the leather straps around my forearms. Once secure, she spread my legs into the stirrups and secured my ankles, buckling them so tight the leather bit into my skin like fangs.

Mortification painted my cheeks at being so exposed, so defenceless. I hadn’t even fought.

Through the walls, a scream ripped fast and high, but shut off as quickly as it came. My eyes popped wide. Oh, my God, what was happening?

My breath rasped in the small space, rushed and ragged. The woman secured the mask around her mouth and tore open a sterile packet.

My eyes wanted to close, to avoid knowing what was in the plastic, but I couldn’t look away. I stared with sick fascination as she attached the needle to a pen like contraption, adding a vial of black liquid.

What was that thing?

Jagged Scar grabbed another bottle and doused the underside of my wrist, pushing Brax’s bracelet further up my arm. My heart squeezed in painful loss. Brax. The bracelet was the only thing I had of him. They’d allowed me to keep it. Misplaced thankfulness overwhelmed, at least these bastards hadn’t stolen that, too.

Using a white piece of cotton, Jagged Scar dried my wrist, before nodding at the woman.

She bent over my arm, placing a carbon transfer she plucked from the table, sticking it to damp flesh. She smoothed it against my skin, making sure the image adhered before ripping it off, leaving a purplish outline of a barcode.

Discarding the transfer, she picked up the pen with the black vial and pressed a button. Whirring mechanical noise vibrated.

Shit, they were going to tattoo me! I’d never been inked before, never fell in love with an image enough to want it permanently on my skin, and I definitely didn’t want a barcode.

“Stop!”