Page 95 of For a Price

I’m even more confused as I’m shoved down the brightly lit hall lined with other doors. One of them opens and two stoic men step out looking nonplussed by the fact that I’m being harassed and roughed up by this woman. It’s as if it’s par for the course wherever I am.

They see this kind of thing all the time.

We’re at the end of the hall when I rediscover my voice and choke out, “Where’s Roman?”

The woman smacks me upside the head. “Don’t fucking speak. If I wanted you to fucking speak, I would tell you. Are we clear?”

I’m shocked by the abrupt slap, unsure how to even respond.

Something tells me if I defend myself, I’ll pay for it.

I’m dragged the rest of the way down the hallway ’til we’re turning down another hall with more doors.

“In here. Hurry up.”

The woman shoves me from behind. I stagger forward on unsteady feet, my mind still foggy.

The last thing I remember was going for a walk with Edik, Roman’s chef. We’d been near the loading dock of the old factory discussing what he was going to make for dinner.

“It will be a Russian lamb and rice pilaf soup. You will enjoy,” he said warmly, casting me a sidelong smile. “And dumplings. Dumplings will be…”

The memory cuts out at that point.

It flashes to black and nothing else, like a chunk of my memory bank has been removed.

“Strip. Now!” the woman barks.

I blink and realize we’ve stepped into some kind of huge washroom. But it’s no kind of regular bathroom you’d encounter in a home—it’s a room with walls and flooring made up of tile and several shower heads and hoses. Almost like a room where large groups of people or animals are pushed through to wash at once.

…ormadeto wash.

“I said strip!” the woman says when I don’t move.

It’s the first real time I get a good look at her. She’s only a few inches taller than me, face bullish and square, with ruddy skin and wispy sand-colored hair. She’s clutching what appears to be a cattle prod. A bolt of electricity flickers from the tip.

Her threat is clear. She’ll shock me if I don’t.

“Please,” I say, “I don’t know who you are… but if I could speak to Roman?—”

ZAP!

A whimper leaves me at the sharp jolt of electricity that shoots up my arm. I throw myself back, my heart beating fast.

“I said take your fucking clothes off.” She presses the button on the electric prod and another spark of blue-white electricity flashes ominously. “Take it all off or the guards will be called, and then you will be taking it off black and blue.”

My mouth dries at the threat while my hands obey before I can process what I’m doing. With quaking hands, I tug at the t-shirt I’m wearing and then the button on my jeans. Both drop to the cold ground as modesty hits and I hesitate to keep going.

“I said everything!”

ZAP!

“Ow!” I scream.

She’s jammed the cattle prod into my ribs and shocked me. The electricity sparks its way up my torso and leaves me stinging and shaken.

The last two pieces of clothing are done away with. My bra and my panties wind up in the same pile as my t-shirt and jeans. My hands do their best to cover parts of myself up, but that’s not allowed either.

The woman twists on one of the shower’s faucets and then sprays me with the hose. Icy cold water blasts over me, forcing me back several steps. My back touches the tile wall trying to escape the chilling blast of water.

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