Page 5 of Filthy and Dirty with my Captors

I got myself into this mess, and now I’m going to get myself out.

Chapter Three

Rosie

I can’t imagine having too many shots at this conversation, so I need to move slowly and carefully. I need to study each of these men. I need to make a profile of them psychologically and physically. I need to find their weaknesses, know their strengths, and use that knowledge to get me out of this hellhole.

At least that’s what I’ve seen victims do on those crime TV show commercials. I couldn’t watch the actual shows. There’s something unsettling about all the blood and drama. After I watch one, I go the rest of the day thinking someone is after me, too. And when I climb into bed at night, I’m convinced every noise is a break-in.

I prefer baking shows to most everything else. The most aggressive part of the series is a grumpy judge who hates the way a creampuff is baked. It’s soothing at the end of the day. If I’m in the mood for drama, dating shows fit the bill. Either way, I gathered enough from society to know that humanizing my captors is the way to connect with them.

I scan the line of masked men now standing in front of me. Judging by the height of the dog cage, I’d guess they’re all over six feet tall. I’ve seen this brand cage at the Tractor Supply in town. I like to wander through on days they have baby chicks and fantasize about starting a little hobby farm of my own.

Guess that’s not gonna happen.

The last man on the right is the biggest of them all. He’s at least five inches taller than the other men, and he’s wider, too. Conventional wisdom would tell me that he’s the one with the deepest voice.

The second tallest of the men, the one from earlier, steps forward and fumbles with a key at the lock to the cage door.

He’s letting me out? Is it for good?Maybe they realized they made a mistake. I should tell them I won’t tell the authorities. I should reassure them that I’m on their side, and I’ll keep all of this secret.

I open my mouth to speak, but the scent of something familiar catches my attention. I’ve smelled it before but can’t put my finger on it right now. Maybe it’s a cleaner or something.

The padlock unlocks, and the man slides it off the door and swings it open, reaching for my hand, almost like he’s going to be a gentleman, like he doesn’t want me to trip and fall over the edge of the cage entrance. I don’t know whether to go with the flow or swat him away. Swatting is my first instinct, but in an effort to humanize myself and the captors, I lean into his hand with grace.

“You didn’t eat,” he says, nodding toward the box of pizza still closed in the corner. “You need to eat.”

“Why? Don’t you want me slim and fit for whatever you're planning?” My tone is biting, which contradicts everything I just tried with the hand thing.

Really? I can’t even be sweet when my life depends on it?

The man shakes his head and lands his hand on the small of my back. Being that I’m of two minds right now, I consider flinching away, but apparently, my brain isn’t as offended by the touch. “You’re going upstairs,” he grunts.

“Upstairs?”

“Yes. You’ll wear a blindfold until we get to your room.”

“My room?I thought this was my room?”

“No.” The man flashes a look at the taller of the men to the left. “There was a mistake.” He pulls a ski mask from his back pocket and turns it backward before tugging it over my face. It doesn’t create perfect darkness, but the scratchy fabric does make it hard to breathe, and I’m sure it’s messing with my pores. One drop of sweat and my entire face breaks out for weeks. It’s bad.

“It’s only for a minute,” the man groans. “Your room is close.”

At this point, I know there are two huge men behind me and another in front, holding my hand as he guides me up the steep, creaking stairway.

Heat surrounds me as I stay tucked against the man in front, while the man behind holds my waist, steadying me as I walk. Why are they being so careful with me?

They must be selling me. It’s the only explanation. I read about this online. Women getting kidnapped and sold to sex trade. Apparently, it happens all over the world. The women get drugged and forced to fuck strangers until they’re garnered useless. Then, they’re killed. Maybe I’m a coward, but kill me right now if that’s the case. I couldn’t live in fear, waiting for my usefulness to be up.

Heart pounding, we reach the top of the steps and turn left. I want to kick off my shoes to feel what kind of flooring is beneath me or reach out and feel for what room I’m in, but the men have me surrounded, tightened in their grip.

Cool air rushes in as the man behind me shifts his weight toward a beeping sound that reminds me of an oven timer. Okay, so we’re in the kitchen. I wonder what they’re cooking. I drag in a deep breath, searching for clues, but all I get is more pine and cedar with a hint of something savory… maybe?

“We’re cooking steak. You hungry yet?” the man in front says. He sounds so dumb with that voice changer. I wonder if heknows it. Maybe I should tell him. Maybe undercutting them is the way to go.

I really need to pick a lane here.

A few more steps, and I feel the bump of a threshold before we’re in a smaller room. I can tell by the change in airflow.

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