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  The man walked forward, one hand outstretched, the other held behind his back. What was he planning?

  “You may be leaving us soon, and we need to make you pretty.”

  Hannah hopped onto the bed and moved her hands like an ape. She screamed and wailed like a mother who had lost her young. Widening her eyes as far as they would go, she attempted to look as crazy as possible.

  It worked. The man put his hands above his head in a defensive posture and backed away. Outside he told the others, “She isn’t worth it. If the man wants her, he can take her as is.”

  A sigh of relief swept over her. She fell back against the bed. Another tragedy avoided. But how long could she keep this up? And what did they mean about someone taking her?

  As she lay still, sleep took over. She awoke to a new flood of voices, filtering through the door.

  “Ah, this one here is our finest. She has creamy skin, like milk. I believe she will be to your taste.”

  A British voice replied, “Very well. I wish to see the product.”

  A deep timbered laugh escaped the captor’s throat. “I am afraid you will have to look at her through the door only. This one is a spitfire, and I cannot run the risk of her attacking a client and perhaps having to put her down.”

  “All right, I shall peek through the bars. But I do have a question. If she is so dangerous to your potential customers, then how do you plan on selling her?”

  “Ah, that is easy my friend. Some men enjoy taming the beast, if you understand me.”

  The Brit and the South African shared a hearty laugh. Stuck on the idea that she was to be sold, Hannah couldn’t muster up the appropriate amount of anger over their rudeness.

  The potential buyer rapped his knuckles along the door and demanded, “Look up and smile pretty.”

  Hannah ignored him. Just let him come through the door and make me.

  “Look at me, love.”

  Clinching her fists, she thought about ripping out his eyeballs and feeding them to wild hogs or using her fingernails to scratch a scar across his face. But something familiar in the newcomer’s voice caused her to obey. She lifted her gaze and swallowed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On the trip to Tapiwa’s camp Rory argued with himself. The boy and the priest had convinced him he had to go. He was the only one who could rescue the woman. Why this one white woman was so important to them or to him wasn’t completely clear. Father Thomas was worried about American relations. The boy wanted his mother back and believed Melanie and Hannah would be together. Rory participated out of some sense that he needed to.

  The father had enlisted the help of Sister Mary to dress Rory for the part of a wealthy business man: white linen suit and fedora accentuated by a walnut cane. For extra effect, she’d added shiny polarized sunglasses. Black oxford shoes, which pinched his toes, created the final piece.

  A local villager had been chosen to be his driver. The hardest part of the entire venture had been finding a vehicle that befitted a man of his stature. Rory was to visit the camp as a man who traded in human flesh — a man who’d come to purchase women to sell to others for profit. If the plan wasn’t executed properly, then he and the others could be in danger.

  Debate raged inside him as they approached the camp. What was he doing? This was crazy! The recesses of his mind harbored the idea that this Hannah could be his, but logic pushed that notion aside. What would a successful romance writer be doing in South Africa?

  Tightly shut windows kept the road dust outside. Specks of dirt littered the windshield, blocking his view. Like his life, he couldn’t see what was coming around the next bend.

  Sighing, Rory focused on the task before him. Regardless of who this Hannah was, she and those with her needed help. By a twist of fate he’d offered to be that help.

  The car slowed. Idly drumming his fingers against his thigh, Rory pretended indifference. Staring at the landscape, he felt the hot breeze rush inside.

  The driver rolled down his window and announced Rory, while holding out a colorful wad. Immediately the vehicle was ushered in. The presence of money brought what he needed.

  Now hours later, he was standing in front of the cell door, purveying the merchandise.

  His heart thumped wildly. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. He clasped his hands together. He couldn’t believe his eyes. An eerie glow cast around the room from a lone light bulb. Before him was the girl he’d fallen in love with almost ten years before. It was Hannah Baker. The one he’d been forced to leave behind without saying goodbye.

  She didn’t look like herself. Caked with dirt, her silky brown hair matted on one side in a large wad. The other side stood straight up about a foot from her skull.

  Emerald green eyes flashed like those of a frightened animal. One sleeve was ripped away from her blouse, exposing bruised, torn, and bloody skin. The rest of her clothing was holey and covered in dirt and grime. She’d only been inside the trafficking camp for a few days, and she already looked like this? What would happen to a person who was forced to stay longer?

  As Rory watched her through the bars, he realized she hadn’t recognized him. Good. Now was not the time. He only hoped when the deal went down, he could keep her under control long enough to escape the compound. Then he would explain everything.

  Hannah turned away from the intruders and laid her head against the wall. Until this point, he had kept his emotions in check. Anger wasn’t an emotion he could afford. Not yet. He needed to remain neutral. He was a buyer of flesh. It was business. Nothing more.

  She wept. The bitter sound of the quiet anguish begged him to release his pent-up anger. She was a human being!

  Great delight would have been taken in using his bare hands to rip out the traffickers’ innards and shove them down their throats. Of course he could also tie them up and use lights to burn out their retinas, or he could rip out their toenails with pliers, one by one. Then, he would…

  “Sir?” said Tapiwa.

  “Hmm… yes?”

  “What do you think? Is she what you’re looking for?”

  Rory didn’t answer and Tapiwa seemed unperturbed by his lack of response.

  He tapped his forehead. A smile parted his lips. “She’s exactly what I’m looking for. I’ll take her.”

  ****

  Hannah refused to look at him. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Let them come in and take her! But his voice. His accent. It brought back memories of someone else. Someone from her past, a person she couldn’t disregard.

  Hannah faced the door. The bright light kept her from seeing outside her cell. Tears streaked her face as she turned away and sobbed.

  The Brit made plans to purchase her. Her brain wouldn’t allow her to contemplate the ramifications. The dilemma was so outrageous, she couldn’t see it as reality.

  Instead she reverted to what she did when a bad situation arose. She either made up a story or embellished a real one.

  It was the story of meeting Rory Chance, digging holes for rosebushes. A smile graced her cheeks, and she swiped her tears away. That summer had been the best summer of her life. If she closed her eyes she could remember every vivid detail…

  The sun blared on the hot asphalt as Hannah walked to Rory’s door and knocked. No one answered the door and she turned and walked around the house. A “For Sale” sign graced the yard. He was gone.

  Just like that. If she hadn’t taken pictures of them together, she’d have thought he’d been a dream, the entire summer imagined.

  Desperation set in. Rory had talked so little about himself that, now that he’d disappeared, she didn’t know where to begin to search for him. Trying the post office revealed no forwarding address.

  Hannah waited, hoping he would contact her. A week before school started, she moved. She made sure to leave a forwarding address.

  Years passed. While visiting her grandmother she picked up a foreign magazine and was startled to find a photo of Rory on the cover.

 
Over and over she read the article, devouring every word and every piece of information. Sometimes the news she read hurt, other times it made her proud, but always she read more. Until Monica, of course. The repeated stories of their exploits ruined even that.

  Voices outside her cell door brought her out of her reverie. Sighing deeply, she fought her rising panic. Why now, when she was at her lowest point, did there have to be a reminder of her one and only true love?

  Why did her purchaser have to be British? Why had he called her “love”?

  Reality struggled to slip in, and the memories faded. Besides, they couldn’t help her. Nothing could.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rory and the driver drove back to the monastery. Father Thomas waited outside.

  “Well? What did you find?” he asked, his words drifting through the open window.

  The car stopped and Rory stepped out. He ran a hand over his short hair and stumbled toward his room.

  Father Thomas ran after him. “Please. What did you discover? Does Tapiwa have the women?”

  “Yes.”

  The father froze and Rory continued walking.

  Feet pounded the ground, and the father appeared beside him. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to buy her.”

  That afternoon they discussed Rory’s plans. The father was disappointed with his decision of how to rescue Hannah.

  “I’m convinced this is the safest way.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because this was Tapiwa’s reason for taking her in the first place.”

  “What about Melanie and the others?”

  Rory shrugged and ignored the question. Hours before, he’d contacted a friend in London to wire him the funds to purchase Hannah, and it was just a matter of waiting.

  Wealth, in certain circumstances, was a plus. Grandfather Chance had died and left him a fortune. More than he would ever use. If it had been necessary, he would have given everything he owned, even a king’s ransom, to get Hannah out of the prison she was in.

  Father Thomas pleaded, “You can’t forget the others, Rory.”

  Rory studied him. His chest clenched with worry, but he shook his head and forced it away. “Hannah comes first.”

  The father frowned. “I fear you will regret saving only one.”

  Rory shrugged, turned on his heel, and headed to his room. That night as he tried to sleep, dreams of Hannah being touched by Tapiwa’s men haunted him. He rose early and headed into town.

  ****

  The fancy car having been returned, and the driver off for the day, Rory borrowed one of the monastery’s jeeps and drove out to Tapiwa’s camp. The gate opened and he parked inside.

  Escorted to the building in the middle of the compound, Rory waited. The four walls housed nothing more than a small office and smelled of stale tobacco smoke. A leather chair rested at an odd angle behind a beat-up, scarred desk. On the corner sat an ancient, black telephone. Black wires covered paint-cracked walls.

  Rory paced, and sweat gathered across his palms.

  Finding a seat, he cradled his head in his hands. He still couldn’t believe it was her. After all this time, to see her again. Of course, he’d followed her career extensively. After reading some of what she’d written about British men and torture, he’d thought perhaps it was safer to just leave her alone. The woman had it in for his kind, man and Brit, of that there was no doubt.

  The door opened and Tapiwa entered, a grin splitting his face. The transaction complete and the arrangements finalized, he seemed eager to end their time together. Rory agreed. He wanted to retrieve Hannah and leave there as quickly as possible.

  Would she recognize him? If she did, what would she do? Would she tell him to get out? Would she give him away? He’d thought his disguise was fairly decent, but would it be enough? All he could do was wait and hope.

  When she walked in, Hannah looked rougher than before. Whether it was because of better lighting or new abuse, he wasn’t sure.

  Once-stylish clothing hung in tatters. More purple and yellow bruises dotted her skin. The stench from her unwashed body almost sent him to the floor.

  A soldier dragged her by the arm and shoved her farther into the room. She wobbled and fell to her knees; a low moan escaped her throat.

  His voice caught. “What’ve you done to her?”

  “She was a tad resistant so we quit feeding her.”

  Rory squelched his urge to kill the soldier. “Jolly good,” rushed past his lips as he bit the interior of his mouth until he tasted blood.

  Hannah lifted her head and gazed at him. The look smoldered like hot daggers. He foresaw a lifetime of apologies leaving his lips, and it still not being enough.

  Father Thomas had urged him to take along one of the monks from the monastery. After her stay in the camp, Hannah might need special care, and the monks were trained in such matters, he’d said. Rory had refused. He could only protect so many people at one time. This he’d learned the hard way. But looking at Hannah, he realized he may have made a mistake.

  Grasping her by the arm in a possessive way, he pulled her to her feet. He hoped to communicate gentleness to her but ownership to Tapiwa. At his touch, she bent at the waist and retched. The vile liquid landed on his shoes. The rebel leader stared at him expectantly, and he did the only thing he could do. Palm open, he slapped her.

  A red mark, showing the length of his fingers, splayed across her pale skin. Her head lolled backward. Weakness overtook her shuddering frame, and she collapsed in a heap. Bending down Rory inspected his merchandise making tsk-ing noises to express his displeasure.

  Hannah was dehydrated, almost starved, and as he’d realized earlier, filthy. Once she was safe, he would make sure Tapiwa paid for his actions.

  With difficulty Rory straightened and left her on the floor. Disgruntled, he stared at Tapiwa. The man was tall, well over six feet, with an intimidating air. Black, coarse hair was shaved to precisely one-fourth of an inch. Full bicep muscles strained against the sleeves of a brown military-style shirt. Casually he leaned upon his desk and a cigar drooped from his broad lips. Large brown eyes gazed at Rory.

  Assuming an air of irritation, Rory said, “You have almost killed her. I believe I should have haggled the price down a bit farther. I can’t see her being of much use in such a state.”

  Tapiwa removed his cigar and ground the lit tip into his palm. Placing the stub on his desk, he folded his hands together. “Oh, so you do not want her? I’m sure I can find another buyer. She is a feisty one and will bring me a hefty price, no matter her state.”

  Rory fanned away Tapiwa’s comments.

  “Ah, very good. You have made the right decision. Rest assured, once the woman is fed and bathed, she will make you a hefty profit.” Tapiwa snapped his fingers at his hired men. They took the directive and carried Rory’s “property” to his waiting vehicle.

  Lifted over the tailgate and stretched along the back seat, Hannah instinctively curled into a tight ball. Rory resisted the urge to cover her shivering form. He would pull over soon enough, but first he needed to get her out of the compound and to a safer location. It wouldn’t do for him to express concern for a slave’s well-being in front of Tapiwa.

  “Where is your driver?” asked Tapiwa, one brow raised.

  “Ah, he stayed home. The poor lad has no stomach for filth.”

  “But of course. Perhaps you should hire another man then. One who would be more willing to stand with you during your work.”

  “Perhaps. But I mustn’t run the risk of angering the family.”

  “Ah, I see. Nepotism is everywhere.”

  “Indeed.” Rory smiled. He tipped his hat and opened the driver’s side door. “Until we meet again.”

  Tapiwa shook his hand. “Yes. It has been a pleasure.”

  Rory climbed behind the wheel of the open jeep and crept out of the compound. As soon as the back wheels exited, the large wooden doors thrust shut. He glanced
over his shoulder. Hannah was still there. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, he placed his foot to the pedal and drove.

  For over an hour he followed the dirt road. Every so often, he looked back to check on Hannah. She hadn’t moved one inch since the jeep went into motion. His worry mounted. She needed adequate food, clothing, and shelter. He needed to get her to the monastery, but he was afraid she wouldn’t make it.

  He swerved off the road and parked between two large bushes. Cutting the engine, he studied her steady breathing. He jumped from the driver’s seat and walked to the storage chest, located on the back of the vehicle.

  Father Thomas had sent medical supplies, food, clothing, and even a tent in case they needed a temporary shelter. At their current rate of speed, Rory saw no reason why they wouldn’t make it to the monastery before nightfall, making most of these items unnecessary.

  He rifled through the chest, retrieved a blanket, and shut the lid. A streak of light crossed his vision. Before he knew what hit him, he was kissing the dirt.

  ****

  The jeep bounced along rutted dirt roads. They drove for what felt like an hour without so much as slowing down. The heat from his stare had caused goose bumps to form on her already-flushed skin. Squeezing her eyelids tighter, she worked to relax.

  Why had he purchased her? What did he plan to do with her? Would he sell her again? Would she become part of his personal harem? It didn’t matter because Hannah had no intention on sticking around long enough to find out.

  The jeep shuddered to a halt. A shift indicated the Brit leaving his seat. There was a swish of air and lack of sunlight as something lifted behind her. Now was her chance.

  Fingers woven together in a sort of double fist, she held her hands up as high as possible and waited for the Brit to lower the chest lid. When he did, his head bent. She brought her hands down on top of his head for all she was worth.

  He staggered and fell to the ground. Hannah jumped from the back of the vehicle. The world swirled in front of her eyes as she weaved. Lightheaded from lack of food and movement, she almost gave up, but adrenaline rushed through her veins, pushing her on. I will make it.