Page 17 of Her Mercenary

The guards listened intently as the King spoke, as did I, trying to discern what was going on.

Attention shifted to the brunette on the floor, now awake, trembling against the back of her cage. It appeared that Capitán was relaying the details of his latest slave to the man in black.

Then all attention pivoted to me. I could feel his gaze on me before he even took a single step. My heart thundered as the King crossed the room, the others close on his heels.

An unfamiliar scent caught in the breeze from the fan. A fresh, clean, citrusy scent. Happy, like my childhood. I was pulled back there, into the past, for just a moment. Pulled back to freedom.

Something awoke deep inside me with that scent alone.

Freedom.

Suddenly, distant screams broke the silence. Two voices, two harrowing cries, drawing closer and closer to the basement door.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I wondered what the hell was going on.

Capitán said something to the King, to which he didn’t respond.

The guards turned away from me as the door opened. Keeping my head down, I peeked under my lashes.

With my limited field of vision, I couldn’t see the two newcomers dragged past me, only their shoes. One wore a pair of white Converse with pink soles, and the other, black-and-red basketball sneakers.

Without considering the consequences, I looked up, the quiet now shattered by the piercing, blood-curdling screams of a young girl. Next to her was a young boy. They were twins, as best I could tell. Both were no more than age ten or twelve, about the same age as the children I taught in school.

No.

Oh my God was all I could think. A weird motherly instinct ignited like fire inside me. They were too young to be in a hellhole like this. Much too young.

The girl was wearing a pink tank top and a pair of denim shorts. The boy, a collared blue golf shirt and khaki shorts. They looked like every student I’d ever taught.

My brain was telling me to turn away, but desperation and panic kept my focus trained on the children.

Capitán said something to the King. Again, this was met with no response. The children were dragged across the floor.

Had the King brought the children? Did they belong to him?

The boy vomited all over himself, the floor, and the boots of the man next to him. Chaos ensued. The girl attempted to fight the men, to defend her brother, sick with fear.

Tears welled in my eyes.

Screaming, the children were shoved into separate cages. The girl continued to fight, trying to get to her brother. It was a horrific scene.

Unable to take it, I closed my eyes and covered my ears, focusing on the muted whirl of that goddamn fan.

My body began to tremble.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to retreat to the “happy place” I’d created since becoming a slave of human trafficking. I imagined everything fading away around me like smoke on the wind. The screams, the darkness, the heat, the smell, the men, the girls, the cages.

I inhaled and exhaled as lyrics slowly filtered into my head.

Somewhere over the rainbow ...

Inhaled, exhaled.

Bluebirds fly ...

I heard my mother’s voice, pulling me back to when she used to sing to me while tucking me in bed. I envisioned fluffy white clouds against a sapphire-blue sky, the bright, happy colors of the rainbow. In my head, I sang it over and over until the screaming stopped, and I heard the deafening thud of two bodies falling like dead weight onto the floor.

The children had been drugged.