“And there is something else.” Bashir inclined his head toward Ryan and Vikkas. “You need to consider what you will say when it’s time to explain to Sheikh Kamran why you did not show these men every courtesy that could be extended by the Durabian Constabulary Force.”
Chapter Seven
“So, your agent just gave you up once you got here?” Aziza asked, frowning.
The Senegalese woman sighed, and her eyes filled with tears. She shifted onto her side to face Aziza. “I thought the modeling agency knew about the trip to Durabia. We were already in the air when confirmation came that it was something he arranged to benefit himself. I did model in the show, but how could I have known he planned to sell me into slavery when it was over?”
More tears escaped from her eyes, making Aziza blink hard. The reality of their situation settled deeper in her soul with every hour that passed. A grapefruit-sized lump blocked her throat, and it was a moment before she controlled her emotions. Crying wouldn’t help them, nor would wallowing in their misery.
In the four days since her capture, several girls and women disappeared in ones and twos each time their jailors visited. Aziza’s stomach somersaulted at the image of the hideous, frog-like man who ran his pudgy hand over her leg a day ago. She rubbed her calf where he cruelly wrung her flesh just because he could. The kick she flung at him by reflex earned her another whack across the head from the man she now knew as Abdul.
Naima’s intense stare brought Aziza back to the conversation. “This girl isn’t cut out to be anybody’s slave, so we have to find a way to escape.”
“It is impossible,” Naima declared, sniveling into her headscarf, while her braids spread around her like a black tide on the dirty sheet.
“So you plan to go quietly with them when they sell you to some fat sheikh who will abuse you?”
“We do not have options,” she said in a monotone.
“Yes, we do.”
When Naima lifted her head off the cot, Aziza continued, “We just don’t know what they are as yet.”
“And time is not on our side.” Despair filled Naima’s voice, and she waved at the empty beds.
The women who originally occupied them had vanished, and Aziza estimated that their time would come in another day or two. They didn’t have the luxury of lying around acting like damsels in distress.
When the sound of metal grating together reached them, Aziza’s heart pumped hard. So far, they had been fortunate the men who came wanted young girls. The ones interested in them had cruel eyes, which confirmed they were masochists, who wanted them as playthings rather than as sexual partners. Only eleven females remained in the beds coming down to theirs. Thankfully, they were teenagers. A pang of shame hit Aziza for hoping other women would suffer instead of her.
Her gaze shot to the entrance, where the door creaked open. The effect was eerie and prolonged, like something from a horror movie. When only Abdul and Hamid appeared, she sighed. No buyers this time. Hamid flicked the light switch, bathing the back of the container with light.
Carefully balancing the tray he carried, Hamid distributed the soupy mess of bread and vegetables. At meal time, Aziza forced down a portion of the cold, unappetizing glop to keep up her strength. They left all the lights on while they ate, and Aziza studied the other women. She didn’t have to worry about Naima. She was docile and would do what she was told, if it helped her situation. The youngest of them was a thin, East Indian girl with matted hair and huge eyes.
The others were a mixture of races—Black, Caucasian, Indian, and Middle Eastern.
“Hey,” Aziza called. “Do any of you speak English?”
At least five of them nodded. She scooted to the side of the cot to get closer. “We need a plan to get out of here. Who’s with me?”
One woman shrank away, but after a whispered exchange with the female in the next bed, they both nodded and sat straighter.
“Who else?” Aziza asked.
A few hands went up, and the women’s eyes lit with hope. A small girl huddled on the cot nearest to the doorway continued sobbing. Her misery pulled at Aziza, but she couldn’t afford the distraction. If they were going to get out of this container, they needed a strategy and they needed it fast. She motioned for them to come closer and whispered as loudly as she could so they all heard what action she thought could work.
Naima frowned at the food in her container, then said, “So, for now, you want to use some kind of diversion, but after that how are we going to get out of here? What about when we are outside?”
“I don’t have all the answers. If we can disarm Abdul, that will be a first step, don’t you think?”
An ominous squeaking from the direction of the door signaled that they had company. The women’s head swung in that direction, their default reaction. Abdul and Hamid appeared, and the prisoners’ relief was palpable. This time, none of them were destined for parts unknown.
Abdul studied each female, his eyes dark with suspicion. When his attention turned to her, Aziza willed herself to drop her gaze. Challenging him wouldn’t win her any favors, plus her face was still stiff from yesterday’s blow. If he’d used any more force, he would have dislocated her jaw.
While in a haze of pain, she’d been aware of someone picking her up and laying her on the cot. She mumbled and grabbed hold of his
