A/N: this story does have harsh themes and situations. Trafficking is a terrible crime and it will not be sugarcoated or glorified here. Before you continue, be aware that some of these situations can be potentially triggering. If you can't continue, I understand and I have other stories that you may enjoy instead. -Sam

**

Terrible things. The words crush like the building falling down onto me, all around me, but when I blink I'm still here. I'm still pulling the stagnant air into my lungs, surrounded by these thick walls.

"He's coming today," Caleb says. "Soon."

I feel an icy chill. Caleb's lips tremble. I see his jaw work, biting back words he probably thinks he shouldn't say. If he tells me he's sorry again, I might go insane. Sorry people don't keep you in dungeons, which is essentially what this place is.

Or could it be...

Is he having second thoughts? I jump at it.

"You can let me go," I blurt. "Please, before he gets here." I've taken him by surprise. He stares all wide eyed and then he starts shaking his head profusely. I'm losing him. "No! Help me, come on, you said you were sorry, if you are then let me go. Just say you were caught off guard or-or you dropped the key-or I stole the key! I stole it right from your pocket and I ran so fast, it could be believable—"

"No!"

His sharp shout catches me off guard. It rings around the room the way a firing squad's gunfire might, one big boom that seals my fate. I can hear in it, that there will be no changing his mind. Whatever hold this Michael has on him, it's strong.

"He will know. I can't lie to him. He always knows."

He turns his head away, so he can't see me, putting himself behind an invisible wall. I wonder what kind of past he and Michael have that forged their bond. He called him his brother. Real or metaphorical? Did they grow up together? Survive a violent home? Did they grow up with a home? Has Michael always been there? Has Michael ever hurt him? There must be some cracks in there somewhere. It would take time, I know. I need to forge my own bond with Caleb—or at least make him believe there's one.

"Hey," I say softly, I touch his arm to give us a physical connection. He lifts his eyes to mine. I hope my touch says, I'm real, I'm warm, just like you. Alive. But who knows what he's thinking. Normal people don't kidnap others, so something is obviously off with his thought process. But I need him calm right now. I need him on my side. "It's okay. I'll go along with it, okay? So he won't get rid of me."

"Good," he says. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

He puts his right hand on top of my hand on his left arm. It takes a lot of nerve to hold the connection, when what I want to do is lash out at him. Something is happening to me. I fight an inner battle to calm my rage.

"What do I have to do?"

"He will tell you. Just clean up and put on the outfit. He likes to see first."

See first? I want to vomit. I want to punch Caleb and tell him I don't want his creep brother seeing anything, to let me go.

But I don't. That isn't how I'm going to be able to get away. I can't bust out of a concrete room, I need to find cracks and seep through. As much as it pains me, I go for the gross shower, turn the knob. The pipes scream awake.

"I'll leave you to it," he says over the sound.

As soon as he's out the door, I deflate. My posture loosens and the air in my lungs goes out in a puff. Sobs take over. For a few minutes. That's all I will allow. I have to pull this off and I know I can't be a mess when this Michael guy comes. Somehow, he determines my fate, so I'll have to try my best to make a good impression.

Several minutes later, I'm wearing the godawful outfit. I hear sounds from the other side of the door. I worked it all out in my mind, I'm supposed to stand at the center of the room so I'm the first thing anyone's eyes will fall upon while entering the room. It shouts obedience, trust me, I'm a good girl--but I'm not. I'm going to get away as soon as I get the slightest chance. Until then, I need to--

I need to--

I can't make my feet go. My legs are like warm rubber. I suppose planning and doing are on different planets. I sit in the chair as the door opens, my chest pounding in anticipation of this Michael guy. I bet he looks scary, big and muscular, like a wrestler, with scars all over him...

But when the guy walks through the door, it's just Caleb again. What is this strange relief I feel? It's because this 'Michael' has been built up in my mind. The unknown is always scarier than real life, I guess. Not knowing Michael, but knowing Caleb gives at least a drop of normalcy, but I shouldn't be feeling any relief for Caleb, he's also a captor. 

"Is he coming?" I ask. 

"He's here," Caleb says. He sounds different. Gruffer. He's putting on a tough voice for this guy, then he must be close enough to hear us talk. I take note of that, since I should probably be more careful of what I say to Michael than I should Caleb.

Trust Caleb.

"Stand up," he says. 

I do, now that my legs have decided to cooperate. I still feel jittery inside, as if a motor in me has been turned on. I feel like I could sprint now, far and fast, zoom right by Caleb before he knew what I was doing. But That's ridiculous. I just stand there. Do what they tell you. I've always heard that. If you do what they tell you, you have a better chance of surviving. So I stand there, waiting. 

Caleb comes closer. He's changed his clothes, I notice. He was wearing a track suit earlier, but now he's wearing slacks and a white button up with long sleeves. The top two buttons are loose. There's a scar on his chin that I didn't notice before. He walks behind me, while I look at the door. I could run now, but Michael could be out there. I'd run right into him. 

"Your name is Ashlynn?"

"Yes." I told him that already. Could he forget so quickly? 

"No. It's not."

"It is, I swear."

"Your new name is Jazz."

I grimace, but I don't say anything. He can call me whatever he wants if it gets me out of here.

"You should make me a lot of money. I don't have many brown skinned girls to choose from."

Me? I? He said the words me and I, not Michael or he. He comes back in my line of sight, and I see his eyes. The look in them...it isn't a look of sympathy at all. It's a confident look. A powerful look. 

"You're Michael?" I ask. "You and Caleb are twins?"

He lets out a soft chuckle. "You thought I was him, didn't you? My whiney little brother." 

My stomach feels like I'm riding a rollercoaster and it's just gone upside down. Twins. Their bond is probably unbreakable. They've been together since they were conceived. I feel a tight tug at my hair. My neck pulls back, my head held firm, and he's in my face. 

"Were you hoping he would help you?" he says. I feel his hot breath, can smell some kind of whiskey. 

"N-no," I manage. It's difficult to speak with my head twisted so far back. 

"Liar!" He tosses me away, the momentum nearly knocking me to the floor. I stumble, but manage to stay upright. "That outfit is all wrong for you. It makes you look...used. I need you to look fresh. You'll get a new outfit. Something green should match your skin tone. A little bit of makeup--"

"Why are you doing this?" I ask. 

He steps forward quickly, his hand flying across my face. "Never interrupt me!"

My face stings, and I hold back several swears. "Sorry," I say, reluctantly. Prick. 

"Let's get this straight." He has a stage voice. The booming kind, so that if you were sitting in the back of an auditorium watching a play, you'd still hear him perfecly, as if you were up front.  Unfortunately, I have a front row seat to this freak show. "You belong to me now. I provide you luxuries like electricity." He waves a hand toward the bright lightbulb above. "Warmth. Food. You will work for me. You will do what I say. Who I say. When I say. And you will give me ALL of the money you make. It's not your money, it's MY money."

A storm of emotions is raging inside me. Anger, disbelief, disgust, fear. Now I truly know what they've captured me for. 

"You will be given an allowance, if I see fit. You will use it for clothing, makeup, and other things to make you more desirable to clients. If you don't listen to me, I will hurt you, then you come back down here and live like an animal until you heal enough to not scare off the clients or until you die. If you try to run, I will hurt you. If you try to use a phone to contact someone to help you, I will hurt you. You'll either work or die slowly."

He stopped talking. He's close enough so that I can smell his cologne. It's something expensive, that's for sure. It doesn't have the faint, underlying alcohol scent that most cheap colognes have. Strange what your mind grasps on to when it is in shock. 

"How is that a choice at all?" I ask. 

I didn't even see his fist coming. I just felt it against my jaw, and I fell to the dirty floor. My mind was processing the throbbing in my face when he followed it with a kick to my stomach. All the air left me. Now my stomach hurts as much as my face. He bends down to grab my thick hair again. 

"Bitch, I make all the choices around here. You got that?"

I can't help that I'm whimpering like a wounded animal. This is the most scared I've been in my life. An actual adult man is hitting me and there's nobody here to save me. I'm alone down here. Nobody knows where I am. "Please," I cry, "I got it. Please, stop."

He laughs in his loud voice. "We're just getting started." I see him reach for his belt. "We're just getting started."