The Chateau Page 3

  “Then you aren’t leaving at all.” He turned back to the wagon and dragged my sister to the edge.

  I sprinted at him, knowing where he’d put that knife in his jacket.

  As if he’d been expecting it, he turned and grabbed me by the throat, his thick gloves getting a strong grip on my dry skin before he slammed me down into the ground. Then he turned me over and pushed my face into the pile of snow, shoving my face deep until the snow started to fall in, surrounding me with the icy powder. Instantly, I struggled to breathe because my heart rate was fast. It was like being slowly suffocated, the air becoming less available with every inhale.

  After a moment, he released me. He shoved me to my back and stood over me, the hood falling even farther over his face. “Save your strength—at least, if you want to live.” His grip loosened, and he stood upright to grab my sister. He pulled out his knife and did the same to her before shoving her into the snow beside me.

  Another man, dressed identically, approached, his boots audible against the powder. “What have we got?”

  “A strong one and a weak one.” He turned back around and pointed at me. “Put her on the line. The other can be a stuffer.”

  On the line? Stuffer?

  “Names?” He approached me and extended his hand to me.

  I glared at him in defiance.

  Melanie was too scared to fight. She submitted immediately. “Melanie.”

  The second man grabbed her by the arm and yanked her up. “Let’s go.”

  The first one continued to stare at me. “The only escape from this place is death. So, I suggest you make the best of it.”

  I spat on his extended hand, landing right in the center of his palm.

  He raised his palm and looked at the spit before he dropped his arm to the side. “You’ll take longer to break than the others. But you’ll break…like they all do.”

  It was a lot to take in.

  It was a settlement of cabins outside the tree line, the Alps the backdrop. It wasn’t fenced in like a prison, probably because there really was nowhere to run. I’d been living in metropolitan areas my entire life, so surviving in such harsh conditions with no wilderness experience was just stupid—at least without YouTube. There was a chance to make it to a village if I had a horse, but from what I gathered, they were in stables under lock and key.

  The man who’d tried to suffocate me in the snow held me by the arm and guided me forward, my sister in front with the other man. I didn’t attempt to fight him because I really was helpless. His clothing hid his frame from sight, but the strength he showed told me that he was strong as hell. And even if I overpowered him…then what?

  We came to an opening between the buildings, a long line of picnic tables shoved together, making tables that were fifty feet long. There were rows of them—and women sitting at all of them.

  The scene reminded me of elves in Santa’s workshop, working fast to get all the toys ready for Christmas Eve. But instead of presents, there were tubes of white powder that were carefully being weighed on small scales before being shoved into small plastic bags.

  It didn’t take me long to figure out what it was.

  Cocaine.

  But then I noticed something else…something much worse.

  A woman hung from a wooden pole, a noose around her neck, her body hanging down as she slightly swayed left to right from the breeze. Blood stained her t-shirt around her stomach like she’d been stabbed. The snow beneath her was a faint pink color…like she’d been dead for days.

  Oh my god.

  Some of the girls lifted their gazes from their work, watching us walk by. They were mostly young women, but some were older, as if they’d been taken as young women and had been there for a decade…or maybe longer.

  The man escorting me projected his deep voice. “Slacking off?”

  Their gazes immediately dropped back to their work.

  It was a labor camp. I shouldn’t be grateful that I wasn’t being trafficked to be raped, but I was.

  The guy took my sister a different way, to a different set of cabins.

  “Wait, we stay together.” I tried to twist out of his grasp. “Where is she going?”

  He tugged me hard and kept me on the path.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “And I heard you.”

  “We stay together.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a bored voice. “Did you think this was the Marriott?”

  “You’re a fucking monster.” I tried to fight his hold again, desperate to get back to my sister, to protect her from whatever horrible things were about to happen. My life didn’t seem important compared to hers, and I immediately turned into a sacrificial lamb meant to die for the greater good. “Please.”

  “You’ll see her later.” He didn’t struggle to contain my movements, his size superior to mine, his experience with previous prisoners giving him the upper hand. He’d probably done this a million times, dragged an innocent woman to her grave.

  “What’s a stuffer?”

  “What you just saw back there.” He guided me farther past the clearing and into the rows of small cabins.

  “So, that’s what you want us for? To make drugs for you?”

  “Drugs are already made. We need you to weigh them, stuff them, and prepare them for distribution.”

  “What does on the line mean?”

  “I love the enthusiasm,” he said sarcastically.

  I twisted out of his grasp again because I wanted to get that knife and slit his throat. “There’s more of us than you. We’ll get you motherfuckers.”

  He kept his eyes forward, escorting me through the snow to one of the cabins. “Good luck with that.”

  “You just keep us here forever?”

  He shrugged. “Not quite.” He turned me to the right, escorting me up the steps to the door of a cabin. He opened the door and pushed me inside the small room, with just a twin-sized bed and a bathroom.

  I took a quick look around and didn’t find any weapons to use for an attack. There were a couple outfits folded on the bed, and the bathroom had a small tub and shower with no curtain. Just a bathtub up against the wall. I turned back to him. “I want to stay with my sister.”

  He shut the door behind him and took a seat in the single wooden chair against the wall. His knees widened and he leaned back, appearing relaxed like this was just another day in paradise. “We keep a garden here. We nurture the flowers, the best always getting the most water, soil, sunlight. Those that don’t, start to wilt. When they become weak enough, they fade away…and turn into weeds.”

  I stared at him with my hands by my sides, unsure where to look because the darkness of his cloak made it impossible to distinguish anything about him. Sometimes there was a faint glimmer of his jawline, which was hard and covered with a shadow of dark hair. But I never got a look at anything else, like his eyes or nose. “What the fuck are you saying?”

  He leaned forward and rubbed his gloved hands together. “We reward the obedient and the hardworking with essentials—warm clothing, food, water… And those who make our lives difficult don’t get such luxuries. You’re young, so you can probably get by with little sustenance, but over a long period of time, it’ll age you…and make you weak. Before you know it, you’ll be a weed. And we kill the weeds.”

  Fuck.

  He rose to his feet. “Take a warm bath. Otherwise, you’ll get hypothermia. You’re already pale.” He turned to the door and opened it once more. He looked back at me before he walked out. “Your work begins tomorrow. I suggest you rest…because it’s going to be a long day.”

  4

  Show Your Face

  Locked alone in the cabin with nothing to do, I really started to feel my fate.

  I was a prisoner.

  I checked every cranny of that cabin, and there was no way out. It didn’t have a window, so I couldn’t break through the glass and jump out. Surrounded by four solid walls, with a mattress that sat dir
ectly on the floor, there wasn’t a single tool at my disposal. I tried to pull the faucet out of the wall to use that to hit someone upside the head, but it was impossible to accomplish without a wrench.

  My biggest fear was my sister’s treatment, but I suspected she was experiencing exactly what I was. Other than being locked up against our will and forced into servitude, there was no immediate danger. They didn’t seem to hurt you unless they were forced to, and they seemed more interested in productivity than holding us down and taking us against our wills.

  Most people were consumed with wallowing in self-pity, in venting their frustrations rather than acting on them, but I was a problem-solver, and I tried to think of a way to solve this problem.

  The biggest hurdle to my captivity was the weather conditions. Snow was everywhere, there was no village in sight, and I would die from the cold before I could get far on foot…unless I found a village.

  But did it snow here all year-round?

  We were miles away from the base of the Alps, probably because there were chalets and ski lifts up the mountains there. So, I assumed it only snowed here from December to March. That meant I had three months of this before the weather improved.

  Could I make it on foot in the spring?

  Without food, water, or a map…probably not.

  Were there maps somewhere at the camp? If I could find one, I had a chance.

  But would they keep physical maps when they had phones? Did they carry phones? Would they even get reception here? How did they communicate with the outside world?

  Whether I escaped in winter or spring, my odds were still slim, without any idea where I was going. Maybe if I were a French native, I would have a better understanding of the geography and have a greater chance of reaching a safe destination.

  But I also had no chance without a horse, because they would hunt me down quickly if I were on foot.

  When I thought everything through, it was depressing, because I realized I really had no chance of getting away, let alone with my sister. I could escape on my own and then alert the authorities to the location of the camp.

  But I’d have to successfully escape first…and survive.

  I spent that evening soaking in the tub, feeling the warmth infect my limbs and cure the developing frostbite. I didn’t realize how cold I was until I was surrounded by warmth, until I felt the numbness. It took ten minutes for me to finally feel the temperature of the water, to feel my muscles relax in response.

  Later, a knock sounded on my door.

  I was in bed, wearing the clothes that had been provided for me, my hair still a little damp because there wasn’t a hair dryer in the room.

  The door unlocked, and a gloved hand appeared as the door was opened.

  Then a woman set a tray of food on the chair against the wall. Her head stayed down, and she didn’t look at me before she walked out. The man shut the door, locked it, and then they continued on.

  I grabbed the tray and ate in bed, realizing how hungry I was once the smell hit my nose. The last time I ate was in that wine bar, when I’d smeared the assorted cheeses on the fresh slices of bread, topped with some dried cranberries and nuts. That’d been…I don’t even know when.

  I ate everything and drank the glasses of water left for me before I returned the tray to the chair. Then I got under the covers and lay in the dark, comfortable for the first time since my capture. The sheets were clean and warm, my stomach was full, and there was a sense of peace in my helplessness.

  It could be worse.

  At least that’s what I told myself.

  The door flung open, bringing the morning light into the dark cabin. “Up.” The coldness immediately rushed in, the dry air that made it difficult to breathe through the night without burning the nostrils.

  I sat up immediately, jolted out of my dreamless slumber.

  The light flicked on. “I said, get up.” He threw a pair of snow boots on the floor for me to wear.

  “I heard you the first time.” I moved my legs over the edge of the bed and blinked my eyes a few times as I woke myself up. I’d slept hard that night, despite being drugged for so long, probably because my body was exhausted from the adrenaline of the day before.

  “Doesn’t look like it to me.”

  I picked up the boots off the floor and pulled them on, tightening the laces and securing them on the outside of my pants. The clothes they’d given me were made of a similar material to their own, waterproof because I’d be working outside all day. “I don’t get breakfast first?”

  He was still and silent.

  I assumed he was staring at me. “Show your face.”

  He ignored what I said and walked out of the cabin. “Let’s go.”

  I followed behind him and stepped into the morning light. It was another sunny day, and the powder that had fallen days ago was slowly melting into slush in several places. It was so cold that it hurt every time I took a breath, probably because I wasn’t used to the conditions. I walked to university from my apartment, but it was a short walk, and then I spent the rest of my time indoors, usually with a warm cup of coffee in my hand.

  I saw other women leaving their cabins and walking in the same direction as I was. When we passed another cabin, I saw several girls file out of the same doorway, at least a dozen of them. That seemed to be the case more often than not, that several girls bunked together at once. “Why do I have my own cabin?”

  He kept walking.

  “Hello?”

  “You ask questions like you’re entitled to answers.” He walked slightly in front of me, like he wasn’t afraid of turning his back to me, like there was nothing I could do to defeat him. He had broad shoulders that hinted at his strength underneath the layers of dark clothing. He was tall, much taller than I was, and when he moved his shoulder, the fabric hugged the individual muscles of his arm.

  I might have had a chance against him if I knew a few moves, but since I didn’t, I really had no shot at overpowering him. He’d have me pinned down and bloody so quickly. Also, taking him down wouldn’t get me any closer to escape. Pickpocketing something worthwhile was probably a better use of my time.

  I noticed he didn’t carry a gun. That knife seemed to be the only weapon he possessed.

  I looked around and saw more women file out of the buildings and head to work, like it was a normal day in this hell. How did the men keep all these women in line with no guns? How did they get so many to submit when they were outnumbered ten to one?

  Maybe I needed to orchestrate an uprising.

  When we approached the clearing, most of the tables were already full of women working. Other men dressed identically stood around the edges, to keep an eye on the women. They were all wearing black garments with gray cloaks, their faces hidden.

  Why did they hide their faces?

  The guy walked me to the table full of brown boxes. “Open the box.” He ripped through the tape and folded back the edges to reveal the white powder. “Replace the empty boxes along the table. It’s that easy.”

  I glanced at the women, who were already filling small plastic bags with carefully measured amounts. “And I’m just supposed to do this all day, every day?”

  “You catch on quick.” He turned to walk away.

  “Why do you hide your face?”

  He halted in his tracks, taking a second before he turned around and regarded me once more. “Remember what I said about the weeds?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, still cold despite the heavy jacket they’d provided me.

  “Don’t be a weed.” He walked away, moving to the edge of the clearing to speak to one of the men. Then he entered one of the cabins and disappeared from sight.

  I turned back to the tables and searched for my sister. It took me a while to find her, but once I settled on her face, her eyes down on her work, I was relieved to see that she didn’t have any bruises, that she looked physically the same. She was measuring the cocaine and putting the contents inside
the small plastic bag.

  I wanted to walk over there, but I suspected I would be reprimanded for leaving my station. But when would I ever get the chance to talk to her again?

  One of the men at the end of the line addressed me. “Get to work.” He moved down the line of tables until he picked up an empty box. He threw it on the ground then walked away, as if he expected me to come pick it up.

  Now I understood why they didn’t carry guns. Because when he turned around and walked away, his waist was level to the girls, so it would be easy for one of them to pull the gun from the holster at his waist and shoot him.

  At least, that’s what I would do.

  I grabbed one of the boxes and hesitated, realizing it was at least forty pounds. I could carry it; I just hadn’t anticipated the weight. I understood why they’d asked me to do this while Melanie measured the cocaine. She couldn’t pick up these boxes once, let alone over and over.

  Once I got it steady in my arms, I walked down the table until I found the vacant spot where the new box was supposed to go. I set it down with a thud, breathing hard from the exertion.

  The girl across from the box kept her eyes down. “Welcome to the club…”

  “Yeah…thanks. I’m Raven.”

  She kept her eyes down. “Get going, Raven. They don’t want us to talk.”

  I glanced at the man who had just told me off and saw him staring at me again. I took the silent cue and turned away to grab the box left on the ground. I carried it back to the table, putting it in the pile with the other empty boxes.

  A woman was there, dirty-blond hair pulled out of her face. She stood and studied her table, waiting for the next forty-pound box of cocaine to be depleted so it could be replaced. With her arms crossed and her gaze straight ahead, she spoke. “Some advice… The better you work, the more they leave you alone.”

  I stood at the other side of the table and copied her movements, trying to make it seem like I was waiting for the opportunity to replace the next box.