Page 7 of Captivated with Them

Chapter Four

Rue

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“COME ON, IT’S TIME.”

One of the Capellos’ men stood in the doorway of the room I’d been given. From previous encounters, I knew his name was Otis. He was tall and slender, with hard, almost black eyes and a smile that never quite reached them.

I wanted to cry but didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of my tears. Plus, I knew it would anger Frankie Capello if I didn’t act the way he wanted for his guests. Some men liked to see a girl cry—and if the girl whimpered and begged while the men took what they wanted, even better—but I refused to give them that pleasure.

The dress clung perfectly to my frame. I’d piled my hair up on top of my head, exposing my neck, and two silver droplets hung from my ears. At my throat nestled the necklace I’d been given for my birthday.

I was fully aware they had Dillon stashed away somewhere, and if I didn’t do what they wanted, they would hurt him.

It’s okay. You’ve done this plenty of times before. Just play the part.

We left the room, and Otis led me through the house toward the huge orangery at the back, which Frankie Capello liked to use for entertaining guests. The orangery was filled with tropical foliage, giving the place an exotic feel. Running down the middle of the room was a large dining table where he ate with his visitors. More often than not, his brother also attended these functions.

Though this property was big and expensive, it wasn’t Frankie Capello’s main home. So as not to expose his wife and children to these kinds of functions or the women who provided the entertainment, his family lived in an equally grand property on the other side of the city.

Two other girls waited in the hallway outside of the orangery. Both were dressed similarly to me, but I could see by their body language that they were new. I recognized the person I’d been only a month ago by their hunched shoulders and the way their hair hung over their faces. My heart broke for them. Who were these girls? Were they like me—sold from a young age and without an identity of their own? Or were they runaways who had been promised a different life, only to find themselves locked away, subdued with threats of violence and rape if they didn’t behave?

The girls were brought here for training, to be turned into the perfect plaything, only to be sold on to hugely wealthy men, whether that be here in the United States or, more likely, abroad. Once they were overseas, there was little chance of them ever finding their way home again. They’d discover themselves with no passport or other identity, often in countries where they didn’t even speak the language. They would be kept prisoner with threats of violence and the removal of hope, and when they eventually died, whether that was at the hand of someone else or their own, no one would even miss them.

The girls noticed me approaching, both their gazes flicking in my direction.

I tried to offer them a reassuring smile, but really, what could I reassure them about? I knew what was going to happen. How could I tell them it would be okay, when it most likely wouldn’t?

Just pretend you’re someone else,I wanted to tell them. Box up your heart and mind and put them somewhere safe.

“Hi,” I said as I approached. “I’m Rue.”

Otis shoved me in my lower back. “No talking!”

I came to stand beside the closest of the girls, a curvy blonde. Her blue eyes were bloodshot from crying, but she shot me a grateful smile.

She glanced past me toward Otis, who’d gotten distracted with someone on his cellphone, and then whispered to me. “I’m Skye.”

I returned her smile. The other girl was a brunette, like me, though her hair was several shades lighter. I hoped she would join in our attempt at a conversation, but she kept her head down, her fingers knotted together in front of her body. Skye lifted her eyebrows at me and shrugged. I knew what she was saying—that the other girl might be a lost cause. I didn’t think so. I didn’t think any of us were.

Loud male voices came from inside the orangery, followed by a roar of laughter. The sound twisted my insides with anger. We meant nothing to them. We were of no more significance than the food they ate—consumables, here purely for their pleasure. They didn’t care about our tears or nightmares, or how, once this was done, we’d throw up in the bathrooms and scrub our bodies clean until our skin was raw.

To them, we were barely human.

Otis gave me another shove from behind. “They’re ready for you.”

I sucked in a breath, squared my shoulders, and stepped into the room.

The business part of the meeting was already done. Cut-glass tumblers sat on the table before them, amber liquid in the bases. Brandy, I assumed, or possibly whiskey. From the ruddy faces of the men sitting around the table, I doubted it was their first. Alcohol wasn’t a good thing. I’d found it made men freer with their fists than normal. But if the Capellos intended to sell these girls on for a good price, they wouldn’t want them to be injured in any way. Men didn’t like to pay for damaged goods.

Bright, white dots of starlight and the rounder, warmer glow of the moon shined through the glass of the orangery walls and roof. My heart expanded in my chest at the sight. Freedom. The whole world lay under those same stars. The last time I’d seen them had been when I was with the guys, and even though the immensity of our journey had been overwhelming, we’d still been free and full of hope.

Now I had nothing.

A hand grabbed me by the wrist, and the man closest yanked me toward him.

The other girls had either followed, or been shoved, in behind me, and the men Frankie Capello had invited for dinner were claiming their dessert as well.

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