Keeping his bride

Aria

BLOOD IS DRUMMING inside my ears as I try to calm my breathing under the black hood covering my head. It’s strange what your mind begins to do when one of your senses is taken away for an extended period of time. I can almost see objects and colors that aren’t there even though I’m in total darkness, blind to the outside world or really anything within an inch of my face. I can smell metal, rain, desperation…and blood.

Is that even possible?

Also, I can hear everything, even the raindrops pelting off the roof and the little rocks pinging off the undercarriage of the van we’re riding in as we fly down a gravel road.

And then a thought occurs to me. Maybe I’m just going crazy at this point. Would I even realize I’ve gone mentally insane?Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

How long have I been in this van?

My head aches when I think of the events that transpired earlier tonight that led me here. Led me to this horrific point. It all started with what was supposed to be a fun night out…

The van abruptly hits a pothole, rocking everything violently from side to side and sending me crashing into a woman near me. There are several of us crammed in the back of the vehicle. I quickly try to right myself; the struggle being real since my hands are tied together. At least they tied them in the front and not in the back – one small benediction in this dreadful situation.

I don’t know exactly at what moment I became a silver lining kind of gal, but here we are.

Breathe, Aria. Just breathe, I keep telling myself in my head.

I was violated earlier by a so-called doctor, who physically examined me at the dock. I swear I can still feel his fingers inside of me poking and prodding, and a violent tremor runs through me when I think about it. He was absolutely ecstatic when he realized my hymen was still intact. And after that confirmation, I was immediately put on a boat and then an airplane and finally in this cramped van. All modes of transportation have been exhausting, especially without any knowledge of where we’re going or how far it will be until we reach our final destination. And each stop that we made included picking up more innocent, terrified women. I think I counted ten of us before the hood was placed over my head as we boarded the plane, but there could be more by now.

My lower lip trembles, but I refuse to break down. It’s too dangerous. I can’t appear weak. I know what happens to the weak girls here. To the girl who was crying and screaming and begging for her life in the back of the van an hour ago. I listened in horror as they dragged her out of the vehicle. I could hear the assault even though I couldn’t see it. I knew they were beating her into silence. After that, she was quiet. So very quiet.

I don’t even know if she got back in the van. But the truth of the matter is I almost hope she didn’t. I think most of us would prefer death than have to face our horrible inescapable fates. Auctioned off like pieces of meat to the higher bidder to do whatever they please with us. Whatever they desire.

Shaking my head, I clear those awful thoughts from my mind. I can’t think about her. I can’t think about them. I can’t think about anything in this moment except for myself and my own survival. My entire life depends on it.

The van comes to an abrupt stop, pitching us all forward. I don’t even have time to try to sit up before I hear the back doors opening and someone instructing us to climb out.

Not wanting to fall and needing to see what’s going on, I carefully reach up and remove my hood. I allow my dark hair to fall around my face, hoping they won’t notice that I took it off.

The smell of the ocean assaults my senses, and I know we’re on The Island. My eyes scan my surroundings, frantically looking for a way out. There are numerous armed guards in dark, tactical-style clothing and black masks leading us towards a huge building. Even if I ran, I wouldn’t get far. I’d either get shot or probably drown while trying to swim with my hands tied.

Distracted, I stumble and almost fall. My ankles bend awkwardly, and I curse my heels. Why couldn’t I have worn some comfy sneakers to the club?

“Walk,” a rough, deep voice says from behind me before the barrel of his gun is digging into my back, shoving me forward.

I whirl around, staring at the man in the mask. “You try walking in heels, asshole!” I snap before I can contain myself.

I hear a few of the women gasp, and I feel my heart stutter inside my chest. Oh god, what have I done?

Immediately, my mind goes to the girl in the van. How they forced her into silence. And now I’m about to suffer the same outcome.

The guard raises his gun, intending to hit me with the butt of it, and I tense, waiting for the blow. But it never comes.

“Easy. She’s the premier choice tonight,” one of the other men warns him.

I slowly open my eyes and see the two guards in a tussle. The one really wants to hurt me, but the other knows the consequences for those actions.

“Fine!” the first guard sneers, pushing the other off of him. “Then you make the bitch walk. And put her hood back on,” he demands.

“No, please,” I beg the nicer guard, but he doesn’t listen to me, and soon I’m consumed in darkness once more. I try to breathe, but it feels like I’m not getting enough air as I panic under the hood.

“Go. Now!” he yells, pushing me roughly. Okay, so this guy is definitely not nicer.

I hold my tied hands out in front of me as best I can so that I don’t accidentally bump into anything along the way. My fingers become tangled in the long, matted hair of a girl in front of me, and she whimpers when I pull them free. “Sorry,” I whisper quickly. I don’t want her to get in trouble because of me.

We walk for a while before I hear metal scraping. A door opening maybe. And then suddenly, the dark hood is pulled from my head, bright fluorescent lights above instantly blinding me. I slam my eyes shut, desperately seeking another way to ground me to my surroundings. I reach out in front of me but instantly regret my decision when I feel the muscular arm of one of the guards. He immediately shrugs me off, almost sending me toppling to the ground. Stumbling around, I manage to grab onto a wall and get my footing in these godforsaken heels I decided to wear earlier tonight. Was it earlier tonight? No. No, I’ve been gone for far longer than that. It must have been at least two days ago now that I was taken. Stolen away from my friends and family by Constantine Carbone. The bastard. I hope he rots -.

“Keep moving,” the guard from earlier says, breaking me out of my bitter thoughts as he shoves me in the back. I fall to my knees, whipping around, ready to snap at him again. But the challenge in his blue eyes daring me to say one word to him has me biting the inside of my cheek to keep from telling him what I really want to say. I have a feeling the other guard won’t save me this time, and I don’t feel like pressing my luck.

Let’s just say my mouth and choice of words have gotten me in trouble in the past, and right now is not the time to be audacious. Right now, I have to play it smart, bide my time, and hope that someone rescues me from this place before things get worse. And I have a feeling they’re about to get so much worse.

With a lot of effort, I manage to pick myself up off the dirty floor and huddle into a corner with the rest of the women, who range in ages from very young teens to middle age. The look on all their faces is the same – we are screwed. Totally and completely. I tear my eyes away from their despondent expressions and focus on my surroundings.

We’re in some kind of concrete jail cell. Possibly in a basement, because there are no windows, which ultimately means no way out.

My designer dress is dirty, mangled and torn, barely providing me any sense of warmth or cover, and my metallic gold Louboutin red sole pumps are scuffed beyond repair. If I wasn’t in such a dire situation, I would be pissed about the shoes. They were in perfect condition when I put them on to go to the club. A present from my mother. Maybe the last gift I’ll ever get from her. And when I think about my parents and the rest of my family and friends, my chest aches with a pain I’ve never felt before. I press my tied hands against me, desperately trying to rub out the hurt when the first of what will probably be many tears finally cascades down my cheek. A sob threatens to break free from my throat, but I don’t allow it. I quickly swallow it down and straighten my back. I was raised tougher than this. My dad and brother did their best to prepare me in case I found myself in any similar circumstances. Although, I don’t think anything or anyone could have prepared me for this exact situation. I know how many bad men there are in the world, and I know how many bad things can happen to people. I’ve seen it firsthand.

My father has been taking down places like this for years; even before I was born. He’s a bad man himself, but he does good things, like saving numerous women and children from human trafficking rings. He’s made it his mission in life to save people from being bartered and sold like animals. And I can only hope that he’s on his way right now with his team to save me.

The door opens suddenly, and one of the masked guards steps inside, holding an assault rifle. I recognize him from earlier; the same one who almost hit me after I smarted off to him.

“It’s time for the auction,” he announces, motioning with his gun for us to get up and walk out. “Stay quiet or die. Those are your only two options,” he says, purposely looking at me.

I stand up slowly, my entire body bruised and aching. All of us fall in line, our footsteps forced and slow, like we’re being led to slaughter. It certainly feels that way at this point. I don’t know exactly what will happen after we leave this room, but I know one thing for certain – all of our lives are going to change forever.

As the group of us are led down a dark hallway, I hear one of the other guards say, “Smile and look pretty, girls. It’s almost showtime.”

Slowly, a wicked grin forms on my face. They want us to pretend to be polite, pretty, little dolls for those sick, rich perverts? Well, they’ve got another thing coming.