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But by that point, she was beyond caring. They had forgotten her and left her to rot in a cage. It was her fate. She had accepted it.

They’re not coming for me.

Her eyes still closed, she ignored the guard’s kicks and knew he would eventually tire of tormenting her and leave her alone with her nightmares and rats. But instead, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked, lifting her limp body into a seated position.

“Go away,” she muttered in Mandarin.

Her scalp screamed in agony and was almost a welcome distraction from the empty hell of her pitch-black cell. The guard punched her in the face and split open several wounds that had nearly healed since her last beating.

“Stand,” the guard said. When she didn’t move fast enough, he punched her again.

She opened her eyes and glowered at him as he continued to pummel her broken nose while holding her upright by her knotted hair. She wanted to cry but couldn’t summon the strength to feel sorry for her condition. She wanted to scream but couldn’t find the breath.

All she could do was watch in hopeless fascination as the guard’s gloved fist punched her face until it was so swollen, she could see nothing but her own bruised and bloody flesh. The hand holding her hair let go, and her weakened body collapsed to the concrete floor with a hollow thud.

She felt hands grab for her ankles, pulling and twisting upward until she rolled onto her back. It took several seconds of her shoulders and head skipping across every imperfection in the concrete before she realized she was being dragged from the room by her feet.

The reddish-hued light she could make out through the swollen flesh around her eyes grew brighter, and the surrounding noises echoed less. Part of her knew they were only moving her to a new location, but a larger part of her was beyond caring.

“Put her in the truck,” a voice commanded.

“It’s a long ride to the dock,” another replied. “Want to take turns with her?”

Lisa’s stomach lurched at the thought of their disgusting hands on her. They hadn’t raped her yet but had violated every inch of her body, and just the thought of their clammy hands on her made her want to vomit.

So, she did.

She didn’t move her head, and what was mostly bile spilled from her lips in a weak cough that covered her face and neck. She coughed again as her stomach continued heaving against the gripping nausea, and the hands holding her ankles quickly let go, letting her bruised feet slam to the ground.

“Hose her off,” the first voice said. “You can have your turn with her. But she smells terrible to me.”

Another voice chuckled, but Lisa couldn’t make out who it belonged to before ice-cold water showered her naked body and took her breath away. She made no move to avoid it and savored one of the few things that didn’t bring pain. The cold water washed away the blood, dirt, grime, and vomit she had accepted as her only clothing.

She didn’t move when they groped her again, looking for a hold on her wet body to lift her and dump her into the back of a truck. She collapsed in a heap on the rough wooden bed and choked on diesel exhaust as the engine sputtered to life. Within seconds, the truck lurched and began bouncing down the road. To where, she had no idea.

Apparently throwing up on herself had been enough to keep the guards at bay. Other than a sharp jab of a boot in her ribs or an open-handed strike to her bare skin, they didn’t touch her. For over an hour, she rode in the back of the truck and winced with each pothole or speed bump. When their drive ended, she heard the ocean and knew they were moving her someplace new.

But why?

It doesn’t matter.

She had long since given up hope of being rescued. For all she knew, she was already a star carved into the Alabama marble wall and a blank space in the Moroccan goatskin — bound Book of Honor.

The diesel engine turned off, and she heard the tailgate being lowered. Unseen hands grabbed her ankles and pulled her toward the edge, breaking off splinters from the rough wood into her skin. She prepared herself for the drop as best she could, knowing her captors enjoyed watching her naked body fall to the ground in what had become almost a sport to them. They laughed every single time.

But there was no drop. Instead, another pair of hands grabbed her under her arms and carried her a short distance before lowering her onto what felt like a cot. Her body tensed, and her eyes darted back and forth, trying to see beyond her swollen flesh while she waited for the rain of fists she had grown accustomed to. Instead, someone draped a blanket over her.

The cot lifted into the air, and she grasped its edges, afraid of falling as her head spun with a severe case of vertigo. She couldn’t tell if they were moving her forward or back, left or right, and she felt like she was tumbling end over end. But the stretcher was stable, and the itchy wool blanket felt warm on her exposed skin.