A Girl Called Fearless (23 page)

My arms prickled.
This place isn't what I expected at all.
Father G had said I was going to stay in people's houses, and all these rebel grannies and their sons would sneak me from town to town, zigzagging me to the border.

I sat down hard on the corner of the bed. This had to be some kind of mistake.

Billy walked in with pajamas, a toiletry kit, and a plastic bag with a red biohazard symbol. “Put your old clothes in the bag and hang it on your door. I'll see they're destroyed.”

“Okay.”

“You decide what you want to be called?” he said.

The name popped right out of me. “Juliet. Everybody can call me Juliet.”

“Well, Juliet, I got to go back to work. See you tomorrow.”

He closed the door and I counted to twenty before I got up and tried it. It was unlocked. Strange.

I wasn't locked in, chained up, or chipped. I was free, but all I had right now was a toiletry kit, pajamas, and a wad of money in my pocket. I felt for the little silver dolphin dangling from my neck.

Becca, if you're up there, could you keep an eye on me—and Yates?

By now he should be back in L.A., dropping off Dr. Prandip's car. I prayed that he made it safely, and that the police wouldn't find the driver who'd chased me through the neighborhood before Yates flattened him.

The huge window looked up the Vegas Strip. Neon lights pulsed, circled, and soared like comet tails. Life outside was one big insane party.

Even if I didn't completely trust this place, I needed to get something to eat, get cleaned up, and sleep. For now I was going to believe this was just my first stop Underground.

54

Food was next after my shower. I wrapped my hair in a towel and peeked out into the hall. The biohazard bag I'd left outside was gone.

Somewhere close by, a girl was crying, big, angry, painful sobs. “It hurts! It hurts!!!”

My heart skipped a beat.
What the—

I stole down the hall and rested my ear against the door. I couldn't hear actual words, just a girl whimpering and sobbing while another girl comforted her. They seemed to be alone, so I knocked.

A girl with big brown doe eyes opened the door. With those eyes and full red lips, she could have been Dayla's sister. “What do you want?” she said.

Her blond friend sat on the bed in her underwear, a big piece of white gauze taped to her hip.

“Hi, I heard somebody crying,” I said.

“Sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you. I'll tell Shae to keep it down.” The girl went to close the door, but I put my hand on it.

“You didn't disturb me. I just wanted to know if she's okay.”

The girl squinted, and looked me up and down. “Are you … Cast?”

“No, I'm Juliet.”

Her eyes relaxed. “Shae'll be fine,” she said, almost friendly. “Her tattoo wipe's burning and that crappy painkiller they give you is wearing off.”

“So she had a tattoo removed?”

“Had to. You know how Magda is about
resale value
. Bitch.”

Resale value?
“I'm sorry. What did you say?”

The girl threw her hand over her mouth. “Ohmygod, don't tell her I said that. I didn't mean it. She's not a— Promise me you won't say anything?”

“I promise.”

“Okay. Well, thanks. See you around.” She shut the door in my face.

Now everything clicked into place. Magda sold girls. She was a broker.

And based on that raging party, that wasn't the only thing she sold.

I backed away from the door. I was blind, thinking I could trust Exodus. Crazy to have assumed that everyone Underground would be like Yates or Father G or Dr. Prandip. Honest and good and committed to the cause.

I strode up the hall and grabbed the handle of the emergency exit. I braced for the alarm and then pushed. The door flew open onto a staircase of windowless cinderblock. No alarm.

Fluorescent lights lit up this floor and the other nineteen below it. I could bolt right now, but I'd end up out on the Strip in my cami and sleep shorts, surrounded by horny, half-wasted men.

I retreated into the hall.

Nothing made sense. Father Gabe wouldn't work with people he couldn't trust, right? Not unless they had him fooled. Or he was working for them. A priest cozying up to desperate girls, promising them freedom and he gets, what? A cut of the profits when they're resold? Maybe that was why he was arrested for kidnapping.

No, Yates would know if Father G was corrupt. He's known him for years.

But maybe Yates was fooled, too. He'd basically admitted that he and Father G never spoke again to the girls they helped. Maybe those girls never got to Canada.

Cold cascaded through my body. “I will not be a casualty. I will not be a casualty,” I whispered.

Ajax had made me yell that back at him every day at self-defense camp. I saw him with his buzz cut and his oversized biceps, drilling us on how to survive a kidnapping, barking outcomes.

“Best case: you escape or are ransomed. Worst case: you disappear in the white-slave trade.”

Had I been kidnapped? I wasn't sure. Nobody had drugged me. Nobody had locked me up. But they'd set it up so I really couldn't leave. I needed tools: food, clothing, a phone.

Ajax barked orders in my head. “You need to have a plan. Observe the surroundings. Know where the exits are. Pay attention to the players and their routines. You need to stay in top condition. Eat, sleep, exercise. You can't make good decisions if you're starving or exhausted.”

Okay. Deep steadying breaths.
Slow down. Focus.

I looked over my shoulder. Ajax always made a big point about how fire inspectors required
multiple means of egress.
I knew where two were, but there had to be another at the end of the hall.

Shae was still whimpering when I passed her room. Signs for
CARDIO
,
YOGA
,
SHOWER
, and
SPA
decorated the hall like this was some twisted luxury resort.

The hall ended in a wall of beaded glass, but I could tell there was a big, open room behind it. A couple spotlights were still on, and I peeked around the glass.

Two styling chairs stood in front of a makeup mirror. Blow-dryer cords snaked out of a stand. Fifty bottles of nail polish climbed little acrylic stairs, and the counter had more colors of eyeshadow and blush than Dayla did.

Even though I couldn't see the other half of the room, I knew I was alone. I crept across the wood floor.

There was the other exit; two frosted glass doors lit up from behind. The way the light hit the glass, I could tell they led outside. And right next to them were shelves stacked with folded workout clothes. I pawed through them. Yoga pants and racer tops, sweats and warm-up jackets. All sized for girls like me.

I tucked a set under my robe. Now if I had to escape, I wouldn't be in sleep shorts and a skimpy cami.

I pushed through the glass doors into a rooftop garden with a spotlit pool, cabanas, a glass railing around the whole thing. A band rocked the penthouse bar on the casino next door. My hair whipped in the wind as I scanned the roof. There was no way off. This place might be a lush escape, but it wasn't an exit.

Once back inside, I spied what I'd missed before: a dozen racks of clothes—like the costume racks backstage at a theater. Curiosity lured me over. Each rack was labeled with a girl's name. Amanda, Sirocco, Persephone. And the dresses hanging on them were all baby soft or shiny tight and cut so they'd hug and reveal a girl's breasts or legs.

All the hairs on my arms stood up. I'm in a— I couldn't say the word.

Who hides a runaway with a broker? Or worse, a—madam?

I tore back to my room, pulled on the yoga pants and zipped the jacket up to my chin. I pulled the comforter over me and sat with my back to the wall, tugging my sleeves over my hands.

I hooked my hands under my knees, fighting off the spinning in my head. Clearly, the effect of a precipitous drop in blood sugar, Dad would say. He'd tell me to eat, but I knew if I tried to, I'd spew.

55

Neon lights flickered on the ceiling as I lay with the comforter around me. Time seemed endless, even though I'd only been here a couple hours.

I couldn't stop thinking about Yates. Roik wasn't stupid. He probably guessed Yates was involved the minute I took off. And Roik knew Hawkins would be pissed he let me get away. I could see Roik showing up at Yates' apartment so he could beat the crap out of Yates without any witnesses.

Roik wouldn't care how badly he hurt Yates, and Yates' dad wouldn't press charges, not when Hawkins owned so much of the company.

Please, Yates. Please be okay.

I closed my eyes and saw him cradling my hand, heard him say, “Love wields the scissors.”

“Love is the escape,” I whispered back.

I have to believe everything will work out. That's the only way I can do this.

It was two thousand miles to Toronto and at least a year or two until we could be together, but right now it felt like infinity.

Out in the hall, girls were laughing. I pulled the comforter over my face as the door swung open.

“Could you believe that guy?” a girl squealed.

“He would not give up!” another one said.

“Shh. There's somebody in here,” a third said.

My new roommates gathered around my bed. “Oh, she has
no idea
what she's gotten into.”

They tried to smother their laughs. “What's her name?” one whispered.

“Who knows.”

They giggled about a party trick with a candle and a glass of wine. Shoes clunked on the floor, and someone pulled the curtains shut. The room went black, and I lay there, listening as they fell asleep.

They didn't act like they were being forced to do horrible things. So why were they here? Why was I here?

My spinning thoughts kept waking me up, and I finally stopped trying to go back to sleep when I was too hungry to lie there any longer. I squinted as I entered the brilliantly lit kitchen. Sunshine coated the buildings and the mountains in the distance. Someone had set up coffee, so I took a cup and some cereal and headed for the rooftop.

As I stepped into the sunlight, cool morning air flowed over my face. The sky stretched blue-white in all directions. It was huge, and for a second, I felt completely free.

I lounged beside the perfect turquoise pool and dug into my cereal. Obviously, I let myself get out of control last night. How genius to hide a runaway with a broker. Nobody'd ever guess, right?

Magda was probably planning on moving me this morning. By tonight I'd be in Utah or Colorado.

But then I realized that she hadn't said anything like, “Get some rest. Big day tomorrow.” She asked what name I wanted to use, and promised me a phone, but didn't say when I'd get it.

I put my bowl down and got up.
Stop pretending this is perfectly fine.

I paced the edge of the rooftop. For all I knew Magda was waiting for Hawkins' Retrievers to show up so she could turn me over for ransom.

And that's when I saw the guy staring at me. Outdoor bar, top floor of the next hotel over. His eyes trained on me like I fit the description of the person he was looking for.

Retriever! I tore across the deck for the frosted-glass doors. I'd almost reached them when one swung open and Billy stepped out and caught me in his arms.

“Let go of me!”

His hands flew off me. “What's going on, Juliet?”

He seemed sincere as if he actually cared, so I said, “A Retriever found me,” and pointed to the rooftop bar.

Billy rolled his eyes. “Lowlifes.” He walked over to the wall and pushed a button, and the glass around the rooftop fogged up. “That's no Retriever. Just some dude with nothing else to do. He can't bother you now.”

“Thanks.”

“Don't mention it.” He toured the deck, straightened a few cushions, and headed for the door.

“Billy, am I leaving today?”

“I'm not in charge of that. You gotta ask Magda.”

“Okay. So when can I see her?”

Billy checked his watch. “She won't be up before noon, but I'll let her know you want to talk.” The door closed behind him with a whoosh.

They weren't in a rush to move me. They weren't even thinking about getting me out of here. I could feel my pulse start to race.

They stick you in this place, and it's so nice and pretty you think you're perfectly safe.

Why'd I let Yates talk me into this? Why'd I think I could do this?

I dropped into the pool in my yoga pants and started running. The cold water slapped my chest as I pushed through it. Two laps. Four. Eight. Twelve. Twenty.

You never thought you could run a mile, but Ms. A made you run five. You never thought you could mastermind your escape or Tase Roik, but you did. You can do this. You can make it to the border. But you can't let your fears take over.

I flopped onto the deck and caught my breath.

I didn't know how Anne Frank made it two years in hiding. I'd been Underground less than twenty-four hours, and I was already fighting off the crazies.

56

Backstage came alive at noon: treadmills and ellipticals whirred and blow-dryers were going all out. The kitchen was full of girls in exercise gear scarfing down salads and protein shakes. They were lining up at the window like a show was going on outside. I stole glances at them as I poured a glass of juice.

They were all different. Black, white, brown, Asian, and they didn't look like—
call girls,
my mind whispered. They looked
normal
with their hair pulled back and no makeup on. From the way they acted, laughing and joking with each other, not one of them seemed drugged or hungover.

So why don't they leave here? What's stopping them?