Kindle Edition
Amazon
BooksbyJamesWNelson
Amazon
Category:
Women
Type: Fiction
Pages: 188
Copyright: 2016
ISBN-13: 9781310825620
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
18-year-old Gabriella went to a singing modeling agency with no clue of the agency's underground business of human trafficking. When the boss lady takes her home for an in-depth interview, gives her an innocuous-seeming glass of root beer, the interview soon becomes a training session for prostitution with other women.
Emma, now 22 and main character throughout series, has a donated ranch where rescued trafficked girls go to live temporarily, learn to ride horses, self-defense, and firearms-handling. Gabriella—who has led a very sheltered life—does not fit in, and leaves before she should have.
Gabriella has black hair, blue eyes, alabaster skin, is very small, exactly what the slavers want in a young girl for sex trafficking. She just wants to sing. That's why she went to the "Nineteen Ways to get a Song Agency," to promote her beautiful voice. When she walked past the one-way mirror-window she had no idea that two slavers were watching.
Emma—along with her attorney partner, Jacey Wendell—through the donation of a small acreage with buildings, has created a ranch for rescued, trafficked, girls, where they can learn horseback-riding, self-defense, and firearms-handling. The goal is to let the girl know she has value and can learn to do many different things.
The ranch survives on contributions and voluntary help.
****
Book 6 sees characters from other books return to volunteer and help at the ranch.
Arianna and Brandi from Book 5, Ava, 16 Book 3, and Fayanne, 10, from Book 4, both now Emma's foster sisters.
Excerpt
Chapter 2 entirely, very beginning of chapter 3
Intimidation
Gabriella allowed Moira to continue holding her hand as they went down the hall leading to an exit to the alley and parking. She didn't actually think allowing Moira to hang onto her hand was a bad thing, exactly, yet her hand was beginning to feel a little sweaty on the palm..
When they reached the door, Moira opened it. She was sure the woman would then release her and even tried to relax her hand, a sort of signal of what she wanted...but Moira simply tightened her grip.
"You don't mind me hanging onto your hand, do you, Gabby?"
Yes, I think so. "No, it's all right, Moira," She lied, and what went through her mind next surprised her, because she couldn't think of any other time in her life that she had lied, not even to her stepfather, who actually at times had asked questions that sounded like a father concerned about a daughter and prying for information. But no matter what he said or asked her, she had never been forced to lie.
But she had just lied to Moira.
"The maroon Cadillac is mine, Gabby, I'll get you in first."
That surprised her. Certainly the woman didn't think she needed that kind of guidance.
Moira opened the passenger-side door but still didn't release her hand, but just stood there hanging on tightly.
"Well, I guess I'll sit down," she said.
"Of course." Moira guided her to sit, then finally released her hand and started to operate the seat belt.
"I can do it." She grasped the belt and stopped Moira from reaching across her waist.
Is that what she wanted? To touch me more closely?
"Of course you can, dearie." Moira then stepped back and closed the door.
Her mind beginning to wonder what, exactly, was going on, she finished fastening her seat belt and watched as Moira—never taking her eyes off her—walked around the front of the car. The woman even hesitated at the driver side door, and just stood there appearing to...stare at me?
For this child time began to stand still—should I leave? But why? I'm in no danger...am I?
Her hand moved to the door handle, gripped it, began to pull it—
The driver-side door opened and Moira slipped in, "Sorry, I had to answer that phone call."
What call? I didn't see a phone. Her hand released the door handle, "Oh, I didn't notice you were on the phone."
"Yes." Moira glanced at her, then reached in a pocket on the front of her pantsuit, "Here—see the phone?"
Yes, she saw it, but hadn't seen it being used. Was the woman lying? And why would she lie? Why on earth would she lie? She released a breath and felt her shoulders fall forward a bit, "Yes, I'm sorry. I just didn't see it...before."
"That's fine, sweetie." The woman fastened her seatbelt, then reached across and patted Gabriella's leg, her upper thigh in fact, and on the inside, and then left her hand there for a very long two or three seconds, then patted again and removed it, "Okay, Gabby?"
Her right hand by her side—out of Moira's sight—had turned into a fist, but she began feeling she was wrong to be nervous, so relaxed again, and felt her shoulders again lean forward a little more. That bothered her that her body was responding in such a way, one of the things her step-father had told her, 'Sit up straight, keep your shoulders back. If you allow yourself to slump people will think they have defeated you.'
And she had always listened to his words, had never allowed teachers or other kids to bully her, but for some reason she did not understand, this woman was being allowed to...at least intimidate her, and why do we have to go to your home? Why couldn't we just continue the interview right here?
Moira turned the ignition and the car started, causing her to jump, slightly, hardly at all but continuing the feeling of intimidation.
The woman put the transmission in 'drive.' The car jerked, "And off we go," Moira said.
****
Not another word was spoken during the fifteen-minute trip, not until they turned into the parking lot of an extravagant-looking apartment building constructed of many shades of earth-colored bricks. Gabriella had expected a house, but didn't know why she had expected that. A house would have been more private than an apartment, yet it didn't seem to matter.
When Moira parked she reached for the door handle—
"Just a second, Gabby, I will have to unlock your door."
What? She felt her eyes enlarge, "My door is locked? Why?"
"It's not a big thing, Gabby, when I ordered the car that's one of the options I requested."
But why? "Can't you just push a button, over there...." She pointed, "Or something?"
Moira laughed, "No, I have to unlock your door with my key, from the outside."
Her hands both flexed but didn't become fists.
The woman reached over and grasped her left hand, and squeezed, "It's all right, Gabby, I'll have you out of there in a jiffy."
And then what? Her thoughts began flying again as she felt her whole insides beginning to tighten up, but why? And why was this woman appearing to like touching her? She had read and studied about modeling agencies long before approaching this—her first one—and now was thinking she should have checked even further. From her reading she knew that some agencies existed for many different kinds of jobs.
But this one, she thought, was for talent, singing talent...she was certain the ad specified singing talent. For the first time she wished her step-father would come get her, but they weren't exactly friends, not un-friends either, of course, but no love existed between them, least not that she ever picked up on. Yet, she had never feared him, and he had always cared for her, fed her, clothed her, went to PTA-meetings, but he had never hugged her, never said he loved her.
But she had never said or did those things either, yet, somehow, they had connected, or she wouldn't be thinking about him right now.
Moira at last dropped her hand, removed the keys, opened her door, came around the front of the car—looking—no, staring, again, gawking at her, all the way, got to her door, unlocked it, opened it, and she would have gotten out, except she was still buckled in!
How stupid—
She felt like an idiot!
A breath left her as Moira reached across her—brushing first across her tiny breasts—and undoing the seatbelt lock, "There, young lady, you are free."
The woman stepped back slightly and held her hand out.
She stared at the hand. You don't need to help me! But the hand stayed. She felt her shoulders fall forward again—only slightly, but—she finally accepted that hand. It didn't exactly help her exit the car. No, it appeared the woman just wanted her hand, to hold it, to touch her.
Again, she thought of her step-father, but he didn't even know where she was. She had told nobody. She hadn't thought she needed to tell anybody. She was just going to a simple interview.
"Come on, sweetie, step out, and stand up." She didn't want to but she did...maybe if I just keep doing what she wants....
The hand was warm, possibly a little sweaty, but not repulsive, so, not wanting to seem like she hated the hand...she gripped it more tightly, pulled herself up, and stood.
Moira closed the car door. She expected the woman to then drop her hand, but she didn't, just held on a little tighter and pointed toward the apartment entrance. So, hand-in-hand, they walked toward the door. Halfway there a well-dressed older—maybe late-forties, like Moira, she thought—appeared, noticed they were holding hands but looked away and passed them without speaking.
At the door Moira pulled it open and nodded, "After you, sweetie."
Why does she keep calling me 'sweetie'? That was beginning to bother her, but she had no idea why it should be bothering her, but something—some empty part of her stomach—was beginning to feel like something was not right. She had heard lots of older women refer to younger women—and children—as 'sweetie,' so she didn't know why that should be bothering her, but it was.
On the way to the second floor they met a young man maybe in his late twenties. Moira stopped and guided her up one extra step—and still held tightly to her hand. The young man absolutely noticed they were holding hands, possibly grinned, then quickly passed them.
Once on the second floor Moira hurried them to the right. At the second door she finally dropped her hand, found her keys, opened the door, slipped her hand and arm around her waist, and hurried—almost pushing—her in, "Welcome to my abode, Gabby. Would you like something to drink?"
"A root beer would be nice. Thank you."
"Oh, you can have something stronger when you're here, sweetie. Some wine, perhaps?"
"I...I don't drink."
"A little wine would help you to relax a little."
"I'm relaxed."
"No. I can tell you aren't relaxed. I've worked with many young girls, and I truly can tell you're not relaxed, so, are you sure you don't want a little wine?"
"I'm sure."
"Then root beer it is." Moira pointed to a round table of rich-looking dark wood, "And have a seat while I get us our drinks."
She nodded, then walked to it and ran her hand over the shiny wood. She was young, but recognized the table's value and construction as good. She sat down and continued running her hands over the shiny wood, and noticed she could see herself.
Only a moment passed before Moira returned, carrying two small glasses. She had expected a closed can or bottle and wondered why that feeling that something wasn't right had returned to her stomach—but that was silly...but why was it silly? Something wasn't right; she was pretty sure.
The woman sat both drinks down, then quickly placed coasters under each.
Gabriella smiled, "Thank you," then picked up the glass and sipped. The tangy uniqueness of root beer traveled through her taste buds. She had always liked root beer, and her step-father had always kept it in the refrigerator, just for her.
And again thoughts of her step-father slipped through her mind. She hadn't seen him for a few weeks, and, until that day, in fact maybe the last hour, since she had been feeling uncomfortable, she had not even thought about him, or wondered, although, every day, when she got home, she would call him. That he had not exactly demanded, yet she felt he really wanted her to call him, to stay in touch—she wanted to call him right then, even though early in the day—but she suddenly wanted to hear his voice.
She opened her purse, quickly, and reached for her phone.
Moira's face went into shock, "What are you doing?"
"I—I, just wanted to call my dad...he requires me to call him every day."
"But this time of day? It's so early."
"I know, but...." She had no words to justify calling her dad.
"Take another sip of your root beer, sweetie." The woman's face was more sober than she had yet seen, "Truly, it will help you relax."
I'm relaxed. But she took that sip, a slightly bigger one, and wondered why she continued allowing this woman to tell her what to do.
Moira smiled.
3
Losing Her Bearing
Seconds passed, or minutes, Gabriella no longer knew for sure...she felt—she didn't know how she felt, and wondered, and wondered, and didn't know what she was wondering...she sipped again, "Uhmmm...," and smiled, and sipped again, and noticed Moira looking at her—no, actually watching, as if expecting something...
And something maybe really began happening. She felt a little dizzy, and thought Moira's lips had moved, "What...?" she asked.
"I said, sweetie, you don't have to do anything you don't want to, but I think when I begin introducing you to your new life, that you will want to."
My new life? "Want to...what...?"
"I brought you here, Gabby, to begin your training."
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