The Fae King's Prize (Between Dawn and Dusk #3) - Jamie Schlosser Page 0,3
my temple, sliding down the side of my flushed face as I shuffle toward the light. Even though I’m cooperating, the man roughly yanks at my rope, causing it to tighten further.
A whine finally escapes as I fall to my knees. The wooden boards of the wagon are unforgiving, leaving bruises on my legs.
As the pain radiates through my body, I crawl forward the rest of the way, until my hands find the ledge. I don’t want to tumble out headfirst, so I gingerly swing my legs over and make sure my tennis shoes land on the ground before I slide my butt off the wagon.
And speaking of that. Who uses wagons and horses for travel these days?
Once I get a few feet away from the guy, I finally find my voice and whisper to a fellow captee in front of me, “Hey, do you know what’s going on?”
“I have an idea,” she replies, her voice accented. Irish or English? “I’m Sasha.”
“Maelyn.”
“Are you human?”
Huh? “I’m sorry, what did you just ask me?”
“No talking,” a gravelly voice barks. “Everyone out.”
The last few women do as he says. In total, I’ve counted ten of us. I think.
With these numbers, this has to be some sort of sex trafficking thing. Or a sex cult. Why else would someone round up a bunch of girls and throw bags over our heads so we can’t see where we’re going?
And isn’t that just a kick in the teeth? I’ve spent a good part of my life guarding my virginity as though it’s something special. The couple guys I’ve dated had a reputation of sleeping around, and I refused to be another notch on their bedposts. Sure, they’d sweet talked their way into a couple of dates, but my suspicions about what they really wanted from me were confirmed when they broke up with me for not putting out.
I even avoided partying and drinking in the past, because I was too afraid I’d be less picky if I was intoxicated.
Now I might end up being raped.
Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. Being trapped inside this sack with vomit all over my face is the last thing I need.
“Single file line,” our kidnapper orders, walking from person to person.
From his jerky motions, it seems like he’s checking our bindings.
When he gets to Sasha, she hisses with pain.
“You don’t have to be rough about it,” I say, keeping my voice soft and placating. “We’re doing what you want. There’s no point in hurting her.”
The man just chuckles. I flinch as he moves on to me, anticipating his fist. Instead, his hands go to my wrists. If I thought the knots were tight before, I was mistaken. He tugs, and I swear I feel my blood soaking the rope as the fibers cut into my skin.
Once we’re all secured, someone new pulls us from the front, forcing us to walk.
Being in the sun makes me impossibly hotter. I thought it would be better out in the open, but there’s barely any breeze, and the sun beats down relentlessly. Maybe that heatwave we’re supposed to get came a couple days early.
At least I’m wearing a tank top. When I make out fuzzy outlines of the other girls, I see a couple of them wearing long dresses, including Sasha. They’ve got to be burning up.
As I put one foot in front of the other, panic and resignation war with each other. I don’t know what to do.
Scream or stay quiet? Fight or go along with everything?
Not like I have much of a choice.
If I yell, I’ll probably just end up getting punched. And even if I could get away, I wouldn’t make it very far with my hands tied up. Not to mention, I don’t know where we are.
We can’t be far from Dallas. If we were moseying along in a freaking horse and buggy the whole time, we couldn’t have gotten out of Texas.
Obviously, we’re in the middle of nowhere. But are we north or south of my home?
I tune into my other senses. Overgrown grass is soft under my feet. There’s a lack of sound. I hear the far-off rustling of leaves and some birds twittering, but there are no cars driving by. I don’t smell anything from the city—no asphalt or exhaust.
It feels like we walk for hours before I hear anything different, and when I realize what it is, hope erupts in my chest.