True to her assumption, he carried on without a response from her.
“I truly feel terrible for putting you through all this. It wasn’t like you asked for it.” His head bent ever so slightly to the side, knocking a wisp of baby-fine hair across his brow. “Or perhaps you did in a roundabout way. How does that saying go? You’re judged by your bedmates?” He waved a pale, dainty hand. Light caught the clear coating on his neatly manicured nails and glinted. “Something like that.”
“I don’t know anything,” Juliette blurted, unable to hold her tongue any longer. “I would tell you if I did.”
He smiled beautifully, all pearly white teeth and a tiny dimple against his left cheek. “I know you would,” he soothed the way one would pacify a small child. “I know you would tell me whatever I wanted to know, because, unlike your friend, you’re not strong, are you, Juliette? You’re not a fighter.”
While perfectly true, Juliette inwardly winced at the verbal slap. The fact that he knew that about her from the single conversation they’d had made her feel beaten and ashamed.
Juliette had always tried to be brave. She had fought to keep Arlo away from Vi, she had struggled to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. She had done so unwaveringly for seven years. Before that, she’d had an entire high school to deal with, which most days felt like the greatest challenge of her life. Yet none of that had prepared her for being kidnapped by human traffickers. There was a unique sort of fear that came with being at the absolute mercy of someone without a conscious.
“Is that why you’re hurting her?” she forced herself to ask. “So she doesn’t fight?”
“More so she doesn’t cause any problems,” he corrected. “Just a little sedation technique. But that isn’t why I asked you here. I need you to make me another video.”
Automatically, Juliette’s gaze jumped to the corner of the ship, the cramped square of space housing a clunky camera on a tripod. It faced a fabric curtain depicting a concrete wall and a metal chair. Behind the camera was a set of construction floodlights and a table harboring a laptop. Her skin prickled just from the mere memory of having their beams burning into her.
“Who are you sending the videos to?” she asked, hoping to prolong having to sit in that chair. “Is it to Killian?”
“Not any of your concern, is it? Just be a good girl and make my video. When you’re finished, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Whatever it was, she didn’t want it. She started to tell him as much when her elbow was captured in a bruising vice and she was forcibly twisted around. Her struggles proved futile when she was shoved into the seat with enough push to send the legs teetering backwards. Juliette flailed as she struggled not to get thrown. The floodlights were snapped on. The bulbs behind the glass hummed as the wires blazed to life. The burn scorched into her skin. She could feel her pupils shrinking to pinpricks. She winced, but could do nothing more than sit there as her guard prepared.
Like the last time, two of the men started the show. One clicked on the laptop while the other maneuvered the camera. He was also the one in charge of the cue cards.
“Just like last time,” he told her as he stepped over the tripod legs and ducked behind the camera. “Read the cards.”
Someone else must have written them, she realized with some relief. The old set had barely been legible. The words had been sloppy, misspelled, and some of the letters had been backwards. It was the workings of a six year old.
The little red light just beneath the fat lens blinked on. Her guard adjusted the lever, getting the camera angle just right before poking his head around and giving her the nod.
“Go!”
Juliette took a deep breath and started. “My name is Juliette Romero and I have not been injured. Not yet. But my time is running out. If you ever wish to see me alive again, I will be waiting for you under the golden arches.”
The guard hit the switch and the red light flicked off. The flood lights were shut off next, leaving little bulbs popping across Juliette’s vision. She stumbled as she got awkwardly to her feet. The cords and wires bunched around her feet caught her ankle and her guard caught her before she could take the camera down. She was returned before the assembly. The computer guy remained behind to put her video together and ready to send.
“Beautifully done,” Man-Child praised. “You’re a natural.” His subtle mockery toyed at the corners of his thin mouth. “I think you’ve earned your treat.”
“Why are you doing this?” Juliette demanded. “Who are you?”
“I am Cyril Konstantinov,” he replied without a second of hesitation. “But we will save the reason you are here for another day.”
With a curt bob of his head, he motioned to the man on Juliette’s left. The man rose and ambled to the compartment door without a word. Juliette watched with growing panic as he flicked the switch cleverly disguised as a strip of paneling and disappeared down the stairs. Concern for Maraveet had Juliette starting after him. She got two steps only to have her arm grabbed by her guard. He smirked, clearly amused by her unease. His dark eyes burned into hers with the same sick pleasure as the others.
She pulled away. He let her.
“What is he doing?” Juliette turned to Cyril.
He didn’t need to answer. The man returned with a semi-conscious Maraveet being dragged along at his side. Juliette rushed forward and the other woman was unceremoniously tossed into her arms. The weight nearly took them both down had Juliette not braced her feet. Maraveet cried out on impact. Her entire body seized with the pain and Juliette had to tighten her grip. She shifted Maraveet higher and elicited another groan.
“Can’t a girl sleep in peace?” Maraveet rasped, lifting her head enough to glower at Cyril.
He seemed unperturbed by her lip. Maybe he was used to it. Juliette had no idea what the two talked about when Cyril brought Maraveet up.
“Alcorn and Calhoun will take you up for a shower,” Cyril said, ignoring Maraveet’s comment entirely. “Your smell is beginning to put me off my supper.”
Alcorn was their guard. Calhoun was the beefy man who had brought Maraveet upstairs. He reminded Juliette of a young Santa Claus with too much gut straining the front of his knitted sweater and a permanent flush to his round cheeks. His brown hair was matted to his scalp and there was just a hint of an unfinished mustache along his upper lip that she could never seem to take seriously. The straggly patches were missing in places and thick in others. Not a shaving job gone wrong, but more like he was still waiting for the rest to grow in.
He moved forward. Alcorn flagged their other side and the two herded Juliette and Maraveet up the winding stairs. It was a long process when Juliette had to practically carry the other woman. They were both sweaty and breathless by the time they reached the top. Juliette adjusted her grip under Maraveet’s arm and guided her the rest of the way to a small, three piece washroom.
It was clear immediately that this was something they did often. The white room was sparse. Just a sink, a toilet, and a bathtub. There wasn’t even a mirror. The only color came from the pile of fabric dumped inside the porcelain bowl. The forest green outfits were clearly meant for them to wear, but there were no towels, she noted.
“You got ten minutes,” Calhoun told them.
“Ten minutes?” Juliette panted. “That’s barely enough—”
“Nine,” he prompted.
Juliette didn’t speak again. She took Maraveet to the toilet and gingerly set her down. Behind her, Calhoun snickered and shut the door.
At least they’re giving us privacy, Juliette thought bitterly.
Sucking in a deep breath, she turned to Maraveet. “You go first,” she said, already reaching for the woman’s coat. “You’ve been here the longest.”
Maraveet arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying I smell worse than you?”