Luca

Chapter One

Olivia smooths her white slip dress with her hands while I apply lip gloss. "I'm so excited for you, Liv. This is going to be the best bachelorette party ever." We took advantage of the spring break from classes to get Liv married to her long-term boyfriend Michael. It's our senior year of college, and we can't wait to start careers. She just got accepted into PT school and I'm going to headline a fashion show in August. With our projects and classwork, it's a miracle we've even been able to make time for her bachelorette.

"Are you sure you're okay being the designated driver?" She questions, glancing at me in the large mirror.

I laugh. "I don't drink, remember?

"Yeah but I don't want you missing out on all the fun."

"I'll be dancing, that's the fun part. Plus, I don't like how alcohol makes me feel. I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything," I assure her.

There are six of us in the hotel room getting ready for a night of pretty typical bachelorette party activities: dinner, drinks, and dancing.

***Later that night***

"Don't you get married at sunrise? I'll go get the car." I turn to Liv, shouting over the music.

She continues to dance but a subtle nod lets me know she hears my words. I step into the cold air and wrap my arms around myself. Footsteps fall loudly on the concrete behind me as I walk to the parking lot. My breath hitches in my throat and I quicken my pace, hoping the predator will lose interest.

But I am not that lucky.

All of a sudden, arms wrap around me from behind, one pressing into my mouth, silencing my scream and the other goes around my torso, squeezing until my feet aren't touching the ground. I wiggle in the attacker's arms, hoping to make him lose his grip. He carries me through the unlit parking lot to a vehicle with its trunk open. I was so close to my car.

He mumbles something in another language and I feel a needle pierce my neck and inject something. The dark world goes fuzzy before fading completely to black.

"Nighty night," the man laughs, his accent unidentifiable in my current state.

I wake to a loud metallic sound, like someone banging on a metal bar. I slowly open my eyes, groaning. I lay in a cell that is surrounded by others. I feel the cold cement floor, feeling like ice on my bare skin. I look down at myself to assess the damage. There are no bruises and I don't feel sore except for the spot in my neck, however, my clothes are gone. My feet are shackled to the ground and my hands are in handcuffs attached by a long chain to the ceiling.

"The men will be here shortly. Look pretty," a man at the end of the hall chuckles. It is not the man from last night, but he has the same accent. Russian.

The men will be here shortly? What, so you're not a man? I laugh to myself despite the situation I'm in.

I sit up, the chains rattling with the movement. A buzzer sounds and a door opens. Men in fancy suits walk down the hall, stopping in front of a cell every once in a while. It dawns on me what exactly is going on here. Human trafficking. My pulse quickens and I tug on the chains but it's no use. Even if my muscles weren't weakened by whatever they drugged me with, it'd be pointless.

Sweat trickles down my back despite the low temperature in the room. This brings to my attention the temperature and my body's natural reaction to it. I try crossing my arms to hide myself.

I look back up and see one of the men watching me. He has tan skin and dark curly hair. His jawline is sharp enough to cut skin, and lips perfectly pink and plump. How is a man so beautiful on the outside yet so vile to at least consider buying a human? I hold my arms tighter around my body as his eyes bore into me. I stare at him back, not wanting to show fear.

His lips press into a thin line and he reaches and presses a button on the wall near the cell door. A groaning sound comes from the ceiling as the chain attached to my handcuffs shortens. It slowly pulls me up. I stand so it doesn't pull so hard on my shoulders. Even after I'm on my tiptoes, the chain continues to go up, lifting my arms above my head. When I'm barely still touching the floor, it stops.

A knot forms in my stomach as the man's gaze lingers on my face before trailing down my body. I'm no longer able to hide from him at all and my breathing becomes quick and uneven. He presses another button on the wall, not taking his eyes off of me. Pervert.

He wears all black, his suit, shoes, belt and shirt the exact same shade of the dark color. His shirt is only partially buttoned and the suit jacket left open to expose a smooth, muscular chest. I swallow hard. The things I'd let him do to me, you know, if we weren't here.

A man in black cargo pants and a tee shirt makes his way to the stranger in front of me.

"Open the door," the stranger commands, voice icier than the concrete floor. The other man nods, taking a set of keys out of his pocket. He opens my door and steps back, allowing Suit through.

"No touching the merchandise," Cargo Pants says gruffly. I recognize him as the man who kidnapped me. Suit nods and walks into the cell.

He folds his hands behind his back and steps toward me. He makes circles around me, studying me like cattle or a piece of property. I look down, trying to avoid his gaze.

His feet stop, toes pointing toward my own. He grasps my chin in his hand, tilting my head back so that my eyes meet his. They are dark brown, warm and soft, with bits of caramel. If I say 'no touching', does that mean I admit I'm merchandise?

Suddenly, he drops my chin and stalks back out to Cargo Pants, who for some reason lingered and let Suit touch me. Who is he that he doesn't have to follow the rules?

Suit speaks to Cargo Pants in another language that might be Spanish, or maybe it's Italian, but doesn't face him. His focus is on me. I don't understand what's happening until I hear a number: one million.

Suit reaches down and grabs a briefcase I didn't notice earlier and hands it to Cargo Pants. He simply nods, takes the briefcase, and walks away. Suit follows him.

By the time my heart has slowed down a little, both men are back. Cargo Pants opens the cell again and steps toward me. He grins wickedly as he unlocks the shackled from my feet and then frees my hands. I fall to the ground, unable to hold myself up. I use my hands to stop myself from busting my face open.

I hear a loud smack and then a thud and I look up to see CP laying on the ground, holding his nose, blood seeping through his fingers. "Do you understand?" Suit asks, accent heavy. He stares at the man at his feet, face completely void of all emotion.

CP nods, unmoving from his spot on the floor next to me. "I disrespected you by disrespecting your things."

Suit nods, steps over him, and walks to me. He grabs my wrists with surprising gentility and helps me to my feet. My body trembles with both fear and fatigue. I shake my head.

Suits' eyes sweep over my body like he's looking for something. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it across my shoulder. I pull my arms through the sleeves, grateful for the covering. He's so much taller than me that the jacket falls just below my waist, covering most of my butt. He grabs my arm tightly, but not so hard that it will bruise, and holds his other hand out to the man still struggling to stop the bleeding from his broken nose.

"Keys." He says with authority. The man reaches into his pocket and hands Suit the keys. He leads me out of the cell and stops. He turns, shuts the door and locks it, Cargo Pants still inside.

Cargo Pants stands and staggers toward the door. He looks between me and Suit. "Why'd you cover her?"

Suit's grip tightens on my arm and I wince. "I don't like to share."