And that’s what sickened me the most—I was just like them.
But I also knew that if I’d tried to stop Oleg that night, I’d be dead now. Sergei would have pulled the trigger and I’d just be another immigrant who disappeared.
Marta shivered in the hot desert air and I realized that it wasn’t just from fear. Her thin arms showed track marks on the inside of her elbow. The healthy dancer’s body of just a few weeks ago had shrunk and decayed.
But her eyes were not quite hopeless, and they stared into mine, begging me to save her.
“Where are you staying?”
She bit her lip, her eyes darting restlessly toward the alley’s entrance.
“They keep me at a trailer, about 30 minutes out of town. It’s horrible. There are four of us. I’m supposed to meet men and take them to a hotel. I don’t have long—they’re watching.”
“Give me the address and . . .”
And you’ll what? What the fuck are you going to do to help her?
Marta’s expression grew more desperate.
“You’ll help me?”
“I’ll try. Give me the address.”
“The hotel is across the road there, but after the men . . . they take me back to this awful place. I’m not sure where it is. It’s dry and dusty, very hot. It’s near a ranch, I think. I can hear cows at night. And the road is close—maybe half a mile.”
It wasn’t much to go on, but I soaked up every detail.
“When they take me there, they head out of town in that direction,” and she pointed west. “Toward the sunset, but a bit north. And they drive straight for 20 minutes.”
She glanced out at the street again.
“Promise you’ll help me. I can’t take any more.”
I grimaced as her nails bit into my forearm.
“I promise.”
“Please!” she cried, her eyes glossing with tears. “Please!”
And then she darted out of the alley and disappeared into the crowds.
I leaned back, the rough texture of the wall digging through my shirt.
I couldn’t stand by any longer. My heart began to race and my palms were sweating. I dragged them over my pants and took a deep breath. Then I stepped out into the stream of people sauntering along the Strip, my eyes searching for a police officer.
I began walking faster, dodging the dawdling tourists. Weeks ago, I’d memorized the location of the nearest police station, just over a mile away. Ready for this moment—the moment I dared to risk it.
I strode down the street, eyes darting left and right, my heart thudding.
I was close, so close, when a limousine with tinted windows pulled up next to me, and the window slid open with a soft hiss.
“There you are! I was beginning to think you didn’t want to talk to me. You hurt my feelings.”
Sergei was grinning at me and I could see Oleg sitting in the driver’s seat.
“I have $430,” I said, knowing it wasn’t nearly enough.
“Oh, Alja?!” he laughed. “I want so much more than that. Besides, you owe me $4,000.”
“There’s no way the clothes cost that much!” I snapped back furiously.
“Compound interest,” he said mockingly. “And Daddy is tired of waiting.”
“I’ll have the rest tomorrow,” I grit out.
I’d borrow it from Gary—I was out of choices, even though I didn’t want to involve him.
Sergei sighed and drummed his fingers on the window’s edge.
“Get in the car.”
I swore in Slovenian and stuck up the middle finger from the hand that he’d broken.
Then I turned and started jogging in the opposite direction, knowing that I’d just pissed off a really fucking dangerous man.
I heard cars honking, and I glanced over my shoulder to see the limo forcing its way through a line of traffic as Oleg made a U-turn.
I broke into a run, weaving through the evening crowds. I was being herded away from the police station and back toward the hotel. I calculated how long it would take me to change direction again and reach the police, but swore when I saw the limo wrench free of the traffic and start to speed up.
I was full out sprinting by the time I reached the hotel, racing up the fire escape stairs and slamming into my room.
Gary jumped, startled when he saw me.
“You just about scared me out of my skin, dreamboat!” Then he saw my expression. “What happened?”
“Sergei.”
I only had to gasp out that one word for all the color to leech out of Gary’s face.
“Now he’s saying he wants $4,000. I tried to make it to the police station, but he blocked me off. What the fuck do I do now?”
I was pacing up and down the tiny room, fisting my hair, frustration and fear pouring out of me.
“God, don’t go there!” Gary blanched even further.
“Then what? Wait here until he catches me and kills me? Fuck that! I’m going to get away—tonight. I have to. I’ll . . . buy a bus ticket . . . hitch out of town . . . something.”
Gary shook his head. “That won’t work. But I’m going to call Elaine.”
“Elaine?”