Page 53 of Property of Spike

“They came out of nowhere,” she whispers. “Armed men. They didn’t say a word, just grabbed us and shoved us into a van.”

My stomach turns. I don’t even know this girl that well, but I already feel sick imagining what she went through.

“They were insurgents,” she continues. “Or at least some kind of militant group. Anyway, their leader saw us as a payday. American women? We were prime money. They planned to sell a few of us. To the rest, they planned things far worse.”

I don’t ask whatworsemeans. I already know.

“Bubby found me,” she says after a moment. “He and his men tore through their compound like the devil himself. I don’t even know how they found us, but one second, I was locked in a room, and the next, gunfire was everywhere, and he was carrying me out.”

A single tear slides down her cheek, but she wipes it away quickly.

“My friends didn’t make it,” she whispers. “They killed two of them first to make a point. The other three were either sold or killed elsewhere. I haven’t heard anything from or about them since.”

My breath catches.

“I was there for three months.”

“Oh, Abby,” I murmur, reaching for her hand without thinking. She doesn’t flinch when I take it, just grips mine tightly.

“I should’ve died too,” she says. “They had already decided we weren’t worth the trouble anymore. I was next. But Bubby got there before they could do it.”

I don’t know what to say. What the hellcanyou say to something like that?

“At first, I stayed in my brother’s house here inside the compound,” she continues. “But being so close to the Mexican border terrified me. I was constantly on edge, always waiting for something bad to happen. So, my brother took me to stay with our other brother in Kentucky, hoping I’d feel safer there.”

She pauses, shaking her head. “But I never did. If anything, I felt more vulnerable. I don’t know why, but the further I got from here, the worse it got. The thought of traveling back was just as terrifying, but so was being alone. In the end, with the help of some pretty heavy medication, I let my brother bring me back.”

“I’m really glad you’re here,” I tell her honestly.

She gives a small, shaky laugh. “Me too. So yeah, I guess I’ve got sad eyes.”

I squeeze her hand gently. “You’re stronger than you think.”

She shrugs. “Bubby thinks so too. I’m not sure I believe it, though.”

“Well,” I say, offering her a small smile, “maybe one day, you will. Maybe one day, both of our sad eyes will be a thing of the past.”

She gives me a watery smile in return. “Maybe.”

And for the first time since I met her, I see just the tiniest flicker of hope in her eyes.

After a beat, I take a deep breath. “Well, since we’re sharing, let me tell you my story.”

“You don’t have to,” she says softly. “I can tell it’s fresh. The pain is still raw.”

“It’s not any worse than yours,” I tell her. “Just different. And I want to tell you.”

So, I take a deep breath and lay it all out. The fear, the betrayal, the heartbreak.

When I finish, her face is pale, her eyes wide with horror. “And he just made you sign the papers while you were barely conscious? With a concussion?”

I nod, my jaw tightening.

Her expression hardens, her voice shaking with anger. “That’s…Gosh, Riley. That’s evil.”

I swallow hard, pushing back the lump in my throat. “It didn’t stop there. He took Asher and disappeared. Left me helpless, desperate, and with no way to get to my baby.”

She shakes her head, furious. “No wonder your eyes are so sad. You went through hell.”

---