Jean felt her heart stop as she saw the gun emerge from his pocket. Everything went fuzzy for a minute and she thought she was going to pass out. Her mouth went dry, and she was too shocked to move or say a word. Instead of pointing the gun at her, he pointed it directly to the head of the tattooed girl. The girl let out a sob of desperation and fear.

How was this happening?

"Drop your phone," Donovan said. "Or I kill her right here."

Jean instantly dropped her phone to the pavement and put her hands up so they were next to her head. The other man, who did not at all seemed bothered by the sight of the gun, threw his cigarette down and started walking towards Jean. Instead of looking at her though, he kept his eyes on her phone and quickly crushed it with his boot. She could feel her body shaking in fear as he bent down to pick up her destroyed phone. Her breath quickened and tears rushed to her eyes as she continued to stare at the other girl, who looked scared out of her mind as well.

She had always known Donovan as a tad creepy, but never violent. Not someone who assaulted women as he was clearly doing. Was he planning some sort of revenge on the club for firing him? Did this all stem down to Jean? The girl with the gun to her head became blurred through her tears.

Did this sort of thing happen all the time?

Instead of walking towards Jean, the man who destroyed who phone walked back towards Donovan, who handed the girl off to him. She stumbled, and Jean gasped when she saw the man not even hesitate to punch her in the stomach. The girl doubled over, and he grabbed her by the back of the neck before shoving her towards the back of the building.

"Here I thought you had learned by now," the man said to her. "There'll be more of that later."

The sickness was up to Jean's throat. She had no idea what was going on or who any of these people were. When Jean looked back to Donovan, she watched as he turned the gun on her.

Everything spun, and she was certain she was going to pass out, but she closed her eyes instead, waiting for the shot that would end her life.

"Always you," Donovan said, his voice menacing with anger. "Messing up everything. You really picked the wrong place to be this time."

Her hands were shaking so hard she didn't know how much longer she could keep them in the air, but she was too terrified to move an inch.

"Please don't kill me," Jean whispered, unsure if Donovan even heard her. He wouldn't do it, would he? After seeing him dragging that girl, she really didn't know what he was capable of anymore.

Donovan looked like he was absolutely losing it. While he kept the gun pointed at her, she could tell he was struggling with whatever was going on in his mind. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as he growled profanities under his breath as he wiped his forehead on his arm. He was sweating and it looks like his own arms were shaking. He clearly had not expected her to see him.

When Jean noticed he wasn't as focused, as carefully as she could with her hands still in the air, she started to inch away. However, he noticed her movement and this only seemed to startle him. He thrust the gun harder in her direction and she couldn't help the cry of fear that escaped her chest as she froze back in place.

"Why'd you come?" Donovan shouted, obviously upset and trying to hold it together. "You weren't supposed to be here, Jean!"

She was terrified of the intense emotion he showed, and she knew this could either go one of two ways. It was obvious he was struggling with what to do. There was a chance he would let her go. She willed for him to forget about the negative encounters they had and remember the times where they had normal conversations. He knew her before any of this. They laughed together, he walked her to her car every other night after work. Surely he wasn't capable of hurting her?

But even Jean knew she had seen too much. All of this was way too much.

Then, Jean watched as he straightened. A calm seemed to overtake him as he cleared his throat. Suddenly, whatever chaos that appeared to be going through his head moments ago seemed to be gone.

Yet, something had changed in his eyes. Something she couldn't explain, and it shook her down to the very core of her soul.

"Hey, Mitch," Donovan yelled over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving Jean's. "How much money could you charge for a blondie with blue eyes?"

As she processed the words he just said, she no longer cared if he shot her. She turned and ran as fast as she could, waiting to feel the gunshot explode in her back. Surprisingly it never came, and she ran as fast as her legs would carry her. Sooner than she expected, Donovan had his wrist wrapped around her arm, whipping her back towards him. She screamed, but instantly felt the blow to her face, shutting her up and sending her to the ground.

She felt the darkness close in and she let it swallow her.

She didn't come to until she heard the van doors slam. For a second she laid there, too afraid to move and process the reality of her situation. The side of her face was screaming with pain. Feeling the cool floor of the van beneath her, she knew that he hadn't let her go. She started to scramble, knowing exactly where she was. Her head hurt too much to scream, but she started to hyperventilate as she moved to try to open the van doors.

A small light illuminated the other girl enough for Jean to see her. She looked very calm with her head leaned back against the wall of the van. The two of them were separated from the front and there was no seats or windows. She didn't acknowledge Jean, but instead she pulled something from her pocket and put it in her mouth. Her expressionless face was back to the way it was from when Jean had seen her in the club,
seemingly indifferent to the fact that they were currently locked in the back of a van.

Jean was in too much shock to say anything, and the other girl barely seemed to notice she was there. Wasn't this the the same girl who had tried to run and looked at Jean desperately with fear for her life just a few minutes ago?

Jean froze when she heard someone climb into the front of the van, even though she couldn't see them.

"What are you thinking?" she heard the other voice say. "She's old. She looks put together. I swear if this blows the entire thing-"

"It's fine," It was Donovan's voice. However, he didn't sound too sure.

"You obviously don't know how these things go! She looks like someone they're going to put a search team together for. There's a reason we do things the way we—"

"I get it!" Donovan was obviously frustrated. He sounded like he was on the verge of desperation. "What was I supposed to do? She'd seen too much!"

"You're the one who said this place was safe! Why'd you pull the gun?" The guy Jean was assuming as Mitch was saying all sorts of profanities under his breath.

"Just start driving," Donovan said, his voice angry. "I know her. She's got no family. Brooke says nobody comes over to her place. She worked here for months because she's desperate for attention. Nobody is going to be looking for her."

"If her picture ends up on the news, it's all over."

"It's not going to happen! We're gonna be far away! Nobody is looking for Jeanette Arthur." He paused for a second. "Brooke's got us covered."

"You better hope she does."

Donovan didn't speak again for a few seconds and Jean could just make out the words.

"You saw her. Think of the money."

Jean was sick; she had never felt more fear in her entire life.

When Shawn realized she was missing, he would call the police. Would they kill her then?

Jean started to panic when the van started moving.

"Here," the girl finally said, stretching out her hand towards Jean. She saw some pills in the palm of her hand. "Make you still. Make your face feel better."

Jean shook her head. Now was not the time to be getting high. Did she not hear what they said? Jean shook her head, unable to speak.

The girl shrugged and put the pills back in her pocket. "I hear we head to hotel next. You want these then."

This girl knew. She had obviously been part of this for some time. She didn't look fearful, she just looked like she had given up, like she had rode in the back of this hundreds of times before.

Jean wasn't an idiot; she knew what was happening here. If she thought what she went through when she was sixteen was bad, she would never survive this.

She covered her face with her hands. She had no idea what was going to happen to her when they opened the doors. Was she going to die? Or would she wish she was dead?

She began to think that this kind of thing didn't happen to people like her, but she realized how wrong she was. This became her story's end the night she picked up those drinks. When she let herself step into that building, when she accepted that job and put on those clothes. They had made her believe she was important. Special. Worth loving. She had thought all these people wanted her, but they only wanted the lie she was selling.

She knew this was no longer pretend. She was no longer in control, and she was no longer the one selling herself.

She wanted someone to rewrite her story.

"What were you doing at Carmello's?" Jean finally asked, her voice shaking. They needing to be figuring out a plan to get out of this. There girl remained motionless, her eyes closed.

"I go where they tell me to go. I do what they tell me to do. I make the money and they take it."

They were forcing her to dance there? Did Brooke know about it? She thought about Brooke's reaction, what Donovan had said, and she felt her stomach twist in half.

Brooke knew.

Had there been other girls all this time? How many others did Jean not notice working directly alongside her?

Jean pulled her knees to her chest, wanting to disappear. This was it. When she was sixteen years old, she had her virginity taken from her. She couldn't control that, but at least she could control who else she gave herself away to. So she chose to wait, and then she ended up here.

How was any of this fair? Why had a target been placed on her back for constant abuse?

Maybe if she just had slept with Anthony, she'd still be with him. Maybe they'd be married at this point and he'd never have looked to Ametta in the first place. She wouldn't be here and she'd be living an ordinary life.

She thought about what Shawn would say if he knew she was thinking this way. He would tell her it was the "enemy" lying to her. But maybe the world was just a messed up place and she was being realistic.

She was locked in the back of a van where she would be forced to have sex with strangers or be killed. This was farther than rock bottom; she was in the pits of hell.

"What is your name?" Jean asked, trying to get this stranger on her side. There was power in numbers, and she obviously knew more about what was going on than Jean. She was her only chance.

"Cecilia."

She looked at Cecilia across from her.  She didn't even look alive. Had she become so numb to this that there was nothing left within her? Is that was hopelessness looked like?

She looked like she was sixteen years old, but with her tattoos, she had to be older.  As traumatized as Jean was by her experience when she was sixteen, she couldn't imagine what this girl had been through. Was there any hope for her? Even if they did escape this, could she ever feel joy again? Could she lead a normal life again?

Jean's eyes trailed down her dark hair when something caught her eye on her skin.

"Your arm," she said breathlessly. Cecilia didn't react or open her eyes.  "Look at your arm."

Jean crawled across the floor of the van when Cecilia didn't respond, her eyes glued to a black cross tattooed on the inside of her wrist. Cecilia finally looked up, her eyes glazed over. Jean couldn't help herself as she ran her hand over the girl's forearm, tears welling in her eyes.

"This is hope," Jean said, looking up into the her eyes. "This is hope."

Cecilia just stared back at Jean and didn't say a word.

"Someone I know told me that no matter what situation, no matter where you are, if you have Jesus, there is always hope," Jean said, desperately searching Cecilia's eyes. "There is hope for us."

Something shifted in the eyes looking back at her. Jean watched as her lips parted.

"No."

Jean froze, sitting on her heels in front of her. She didn't know what she meant. She felt her heart quickening and she couldn't stop speaking.

"I never thought God could speak, I didn't think he was real," Jean said, searching the girl's eyes. "But I guess he speaks all the time." She felt the lump form in her throat. She looked desperately to the ceiling of the van, trying to keep it together.

Maybe God was a stranger throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you home. A cold spring night breeze on the roof of a movie theater. A group of strangers jogging in the morning. An overgrown trail, a river in the woods. A field of buffalo. A man in a strip club telling her she was worth loving. But right now, He was a tattoo, printed on a girl in a van.

Jean opened her mouth to speak again, but Cecilia surprised her by speaking first.

"Six month ago," Cecilia said, her accent thick and her voice coarse. She spoke very slow, enunciating each word. "This man take me. So, I pray. I say 'God, set me free, but if not, you are still good.'"

Her dark eyes bore into Jean's, and Jean's heart quickened with fear.

"Then, they put me in room," she said. "I knew man would come. So I pray. I say 'God, don't let him touch me. But if so, you are still good.'"

Jean's eyes filled with tears but she couldn't take them off of the girl. She continued speaking.

"Everyday, new man. Everyday, I pray. But God does not set me free." She shook her head slowly back and forth, never breaking eye contact with Jean. She rose up her arm next to her face and pointed to the cross with her other hand.

"That because God is not good," she said louder. The pain was evident in her eyes. "God is not here. God is not real."

Jean let the sob escape from her chest as she fell forward onto her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor of the van. She raised her palms up beside her as tears flowed from her eyes. She began to pray out loud. The words kept coming and she couldn't stop herself. She prayed that God would set them free. She prayed that he would be with them, for more hope. She didn't stop praying for hours and hours,  until the van stopped and the back doors open. Even when her words stopped, she didn't stop praying.

When she rose her head up from the ground, Cecilia was staring at her, her eyes emotionless.

***

The sunlight blinded Jean when the doors opened. They had to have been driving for hours. There was only the one guy; Donovan was no longer here, and he shifted the gun between the both of them.

"You're getting in the car parked across the street," Mitch said. "If one of you tries anything, if you run, I kill the other. They're only expecting one girl anyways."

Jean's jaw twitched as she looked at Cecilia. She had done what she needed to do to help her before, but would Cecilia do the same for her? As they began walking, both of them locked eyes with each other. They didn't break eye contact, trying to read each other. After a few steps, Cecilia nodded to Jean. Jean somehow understood what it meant. Cecilia was reassuring her with that simple gesture. She could trust her; she wasn't going to let her get hurt.

When they got in the back of the car, she saw Donovan was already in the driver's seat. Her heart started to race. Could she talk some sense into him? Clearly he did not want to be doing this, but Jean was still haunted in the look that came into his eyes.

Jean noticed instantly that the locks were sawed off. She couldn't jump out of the car if she wanted to. Mitch got in the passenger seat and kept the gun pointed at Jean the entire time.

As they drove, Jean's heart raced as her mind ran wildly with things she could say to convince her to set her free. She was so filled with fear, she was struggling to find the words.

"Donavan," Jean finally said, and she watched as his eyes flicked back to her in the rear view mirror.

"No talking!" Mitch screamed, moving the gun so Jean was looking directly at it. The tears burned her eyes and she felt Cecilia reach over gently touch the side of her leg. When Jean glanced at her, she saw her shake her head once. Jean suddenly was afraid that they would hurt Cecilia if Jean tried anything. It was enough to make her keep quiet.

They pulled up into the parking lot of a hotel Jean did not expect to see. She expected a dirty, sketchy motel. This hotel had a valet. She watched as regular people carried their suitcases across the parking lot, loading them into their cars. One family even had children with them.

Was this really where they were staying?

"You," Mitch said, looking at her. "Try anything, and you'll regret it. Just ask this one," he said, nodding at Cecilia. Cecilia looked down, obviously pained. Jean swallowed hard.

"Walk in front of us. Act normal," Mitch said in a low voice. Jean did as he said, his gun now concealed, but she could see he discreetly kept a careful hold on it. She looked back at Donovan as she walked, who refused to look at her.

"Turn around," he growled under his breath.

Jean walked in the lobby. It was like the hotels she had stayed in many times. There were people sitting on couches and at tables, some on their computers, some checking their phones. There were children running around as parents scolded them. It was all so normal. She was so close to someone who could save her, but she felt the gun pointed towards her back, and she was too scared to do anything.

Nobody was in line, and Donovan stayed back with her and Cecilia while Mitch approached the counter.

With her hands at her chest, she realized she was beginning to fidget again. This was when Shawn would take her hand and hold it in his, but Shawn wasn't here. She tried to take deep breaths through her nose, her eyes desperately searching for someone behind the check in counter to make eye contact with, but nobody seemed to notice her. There was one man already on the phone, laughing and smiling. He looked at Jean, but she could tell he wasn't paying her any attention, he was too focused on the conversation over the phone.

Mitch stepped forward when the woman at the desk smiled at him. Jean willed her to look at her, to see what she was trying to communicate with her eyes, but she wasn't paying her any attention. Jean looked over her shoulder, but Donovan suddenly put his arm around her shoulders tightly, kissing her on her temple. Surprised, Jean winced when his stumble scratched her face, and she felt the vomit rise up in her throat. He left his arm, and he reached around to grab her fidgeting hands with one of his.

"Stop," he growled under his breath, so low Jean barely heard him.

Jean could tell Mitch was having a problem at the counter.

"No, this won't work," she heard him say. "We can't do ground level. The girls are always panicking someone's gonna break in." He looked back at them with a fake smile. "The higher the better. And on the parking lot side too, so the wife can keep an eye on our car." He laughed. "So untrusting."

They knew what they were doing. Ground floor, and Jean could easily jump out a window. The higher up, the less of her chances of surviving a fall. Jean looked back to the guy on the phone, who was still looking at her but not actually looking at her. She prayed that he would hang up, to somehow see what was going on here. She thought about screaming but remembered the nod Cecilia gave her. She couldn't be the reason she got killed.

The girl at the computer handed Mitch their new keys, and she smiled. "Enjoy your stay," she said.

Jean felt everything around her go dark and Donovan started steering her towards the elevator. It felt like a dream. It couldn't be real. There was no way she could go through what she was about to go through and come back from it. How many men would come? How many would rape her before the night was over?

She continued to pray, repeatedly in her head. She eyed Cecilia's cross on her arm, and she prayed for her too. As they waited for the elevator doors to close, Jean couldn't help herself as she started to run forward. A hand caught her just in time and pulled her back roughly. Mitch swore under his breath and jabbed his finger into the door close button.

As soon as the door closed, he slapped her across the face. Before she could recover, he hit her again. She was sure he was going to go for another, but Donovan grabbed Mitch's arm.

"Enough," he said. "Not now. I've already messed up her face enough, people are going to get suspicious."

The tears ran down Jean's face as her face exploded with pain. Her teeth had caught the side of her mouth and she tasted the blood. When the doors open, they pushed them quickly down the hall. Unfortunately for Jean, nobody was there.

They opened the hotel room door, and Jean was pushed by Donovan inside. They put Cecilia in the room next door, and Jean felt sick that she was going to be separated from her. If there was any hope of getting out this, there best chance would be together.

"Donovan, you don't have to do this," Jean pleaded as pulled her inside by his tight hold on her forearm.

Jean eyed the phone on the table instantly, but Donovan had obviously done this before. She watched as he ripped the phone from the wall and threw the entire thing in his duffel bag.

With that, any hope that she had been clinging to started to die.