She was probably right, and given that I hadn’t thought of a better plan, hers was looking like the smartest course of action. I looked down at the offensive little pill in my hand and sighed. My best bet was to just pretend to swallow, then ditch it when this chick wasn’t looking. Surely it wouldn’t be so hard faking that dopey, vacant look they all had?
Placing the pill carefully and deliberately on my tongue, I then closed my mouth and tucked it into my cheek before doing an exaggerated fake swallow.
Luckily for me, this girl was either drugged enough or simply didn’t care enough to double check that it was gone. Feeling rather pleased with myself, I looked around the room at the doped-out slaves about to be sold for who knew what. Sex, most likely.
Shaking some of the lingering stiffness from my muscles, I moved to pace the room a little, but my stupid goddamn stiletto heel caught in a drain grate and sent me crashing to my knees. Embarrassing, yes. But worse than that, I’d swallowed the fucking pill.
5
Within minutes, the drug began taking effect, clouding over my thoughts and slowing my movements until I felt like I was wading through water. All of my emotions had indeed been numbed to the point that I just felt empty, just like the girl had said. I hadn't even asked her name, but no longer cared.
It wasn't long before the Russian guard returned to the room, his beady eyes running over me with a predatory leer before he grunted his satisfaction at what he saw. He snapped something in his harsh voice, clapping his hands loudly then hauling the girl closest to him to her feet. He shoved her out the door, making her stumble in her high heels, and motioned for everyone to follow. The rest of the room’s occupants, including myself, followed along without argument. In the hallway more bored looking guards waited and made jokes in their foreign language, roughly groping several girls as they wandered past them in their drugged-out worlds. Somewhere in my foggy mind, my anger flared at their behavior, but the emotion smothered almost as soon as it arrived, once again leaving me wrapped in cotton wool.
The leering guard, who seemed in charge, led our little procession down the long, damp corridor and up several flights of stairs before stopping at a heavy fire door, which pounded and thudded with the bass of the loud music on the other side.
He turned and addressed our group in rapid-fire Russian, not a word of which I understood without my helpful translator, but I didn't care enough to find her and ask. All I could seem to focus on was the way my hand floated in the air, certain I could feel the vibrations of sound on my skin. I kept waving my hand back and forth in front of my face, desperate to feel more of it, and a small voice in my mind started screaming at me that I looked insane.
But that’s silly; insane people can’t feel sound. Obviously.
Finished with his speech, the guard opened the door he had stopped in front of, and the waves of music and chatter crashed over me like a tsunami. I staggered slightly in my ridiculous shoes and caught myself with a hand on the wall. My reaction was barely fast enough to save me from taking a face plant onto the concrete floor. One of the guards roughly grabbed my upper arm and shoved me forward, growling something at me and pointing sharply after the other captives. They were all staggering through what seemed to be an upscale strip club while shadowy figures watched with hungry eyes.
Like juicy lambs through a den of wolves in winter.
I blinked slowly a couple of times, trying to clear the haze, but soon forgot what I was trying to do. Smiling at the pretty flashing lights, I drifted along in the direction I was pointed.
Across the room, a grossly obese, bearded man was organizing the captives along the wall while the booming techno music faded out, and an elegant, middle-aged woman stepped out onto the small stage, dressed in a glittering evening gown and holding a microphone.
“Welcome,” the woman purred in accented English as she continued, “to the Onyx Auction.” She paused for dramatic effect, and the room clapped politely as though she had welcomed them to a charity gala or something.
Thank fuck, I can finally understand something!
I abruptly noticed that my mind was just the tiniest bit clearer, and my limbs felt a little less like they were stuck in a vat of custard. I sent out some quick mental thanks to whatever turn of fate had enhanced me, as it seemed like my body was slowly working the drug out of itself.
“Tonight we have a very special catalog on offer, which you have all been provided a copy of, along with the corresponding lot numbers. We also have a late submission which will be auctioned at the end of our usual proceedings.” The woman was a natural performer, captivating the crowd and sliding her disgusting message out into the room like silk. I took the opportunity to look around at the roomfull of what I assumed to be buyers. The lights over the tables were dimmed so low that it was hard to make out any details at all, except that most of them were men. Every now and then the light would catch on the metallic surface of a gun, and I knew the girl had been right in telling me to wait before attempting an escape. I wouldn't make it halfway across the room with this many armed sleazebags in one place.
The enigmatic woman was still making her opening speech on the stage. All attention was on her, so no one was taking notice of my return to clarity. I was almost ready to give up on inspecting the room's inhabitants when a figure directly opposite me caught my eye.
Staring hard through the gloomy light, I desperately tried to make out whether my mind was playing tricks on me or not. I could have sworn that Simon was standing in an alcove halfway behind a heavy velvet curtain and staring at me.
I blinked hard a couple of times, trying to shake a bit more of the foggy drug from my brain, but when I refocused, he was gone and I was left wondering if I was just hallucinating. The last time I had seen Simon, my childhood friend, he’d had me handcuffed naked to a cot. He had done his best to break my mind that night, and I had been furious to hear he had escaped when Dupree was captured.
I seriously hoped I was imagining things.
6
In despair, I watched helplessly as one by one my fellow captives were paraded across the stage. Their physical attributes were listed, then they were bid on and sold like cattle. After the closing bid on each slave, a collar was buckled around the slave’s neck and the leash handed to the new owner, as though it weren't obvious enough that they were no longer free people. The whole thing was making my stomach churn and my morals scream that I needed to do something, save these poor people being sold into a life of slavery.
Don’t be stupid, Kit. You’re way outgunned, and who knows what effect this drug is having on your body right now.