Chapter 39

The seven girls spent a restless last few hours in the cell that night. They had already marked themselves out as a group, forming bonds in the face of their shared fate. Though they were leaving, the ability to talk freely among themselves allowed them to express their emotions more openly.

Holly, one of the checkers, meticulously examined her assigned girl, Dilan. “I’m sorry,” Holly whispered as she ran her fingers over Dilan’s arms and legs, searching for any imperfection. Dilan nodded, spreading herself resignedly. She did not want Holly punished.

As Holly’s fingers moved along Dilan’s body, she felt a few small bumps alongside her labia. Her heart skipped a beat. “I think I found a few,” she whispered urgently. She marked the spot in her mind and continued her search, finding a few more bumps along Dilan’s arms.

Mrs. Parker immediately came over, her face a mask of stern efficiency. She inspected the spots Holly indicated and, finding the tiny hairs, swiftly applied the electrolysis treatment. The sharp smell of burnt hair briefly filled the cell as the machine buzzed, and Dilan winced but remained silent. Once Mrs. Parker was done, she gave a slight smile, signalling that Dilan had passed inspection.

After more electrolysis and careful frisking, the girls eventually gave up, their silky smooth skin no longer showing any more sprouting stubble. Despite their efforts and the meticulous inspections, the fear of the Master inspecting the girls in the morning meant they could not totally relax. However, the drama of the moment, of the goodbye after months of being cooped up together, overtook it.

In the sweaty cell filled with flesh and emotion, shy glances, heartfelt talks, and tender embraces took over. The reality of their impending separation added a layer of poignancy to their interactions.

Sabine and Anna sat close together, their foreheads touching. “I’ll never forget you,” Sabine said, her voice choked with emotion. “I’m so sorry you are here because of me.”

“No, it is me they were after,” Anna replied, her voice filled with remorse. “In fact, I am the only girl here who actually caused my own problems. I stuck my nose in my dad’s affairs, and that’s why I was targeted, and they picked you because of me.” Anna cried, her tears mingling with Sabine’s. “I’m sorry I blamed you.”

Sabine held Anna tighter, her own tears flowing freely. “We can’t change the past, Anna. All we can do is look out for ourselves. Do your best, and I am sure you will get out of here. I am not planning on being a slave. This place is hell; maybe the future will be worse, but at least one of us will get out. If I do, I swear I will do everything to bring these bastards down and find you.”

The other girls talked amongst themselves, making solemn promises to look out for each other’s relatives and friends if anyone managed to escape. Messages were pledged to be relayed, and strategies for escape were discussed in hushed tones. Despite their determination, they all had to acknowledge the harsh reality that, in all their time there, the chances of escape had seemed minuscule. The only girl who had made even a basic attempt was Zara, and she was presumed dead.

The following morning, Pembroke was meticulously preparing for his own departure. He put on a finely tailored, lightweight linen suit, perfect for hot weather. The suit, a pristine white with a subtle pinstripe pattern, exuded elegance and sophistication. Underneath, he wore a crisp, sky-blue cotton shirt, paired with a sleek, silk tie in a complementary shade of blue.

His shoes were handcrafted Italian loafers, polished to a high shine. On his wrist, he sported a luxurious, gold Patek Philippe watch, its face gleaming in the morning light, which he had purchased with the profit made from Afshan’s abduction as a celebration.

Entering the hall, his hair slicked back, Pembroke commanded authority and respect. His ensemble and polished shoes clicking against the floor were a striking departure from the norm, and the girls stared, a mixture of fear and curiosity in their eyes. Several remembered with regret this same impressive figure when they had first met him, thinking him harmless, compassionate, and impressive, to their severe detriment.

“Mrs. Al-Haraz, have the girls cleaned, inside and out, and put into the suits,” Pembroke ordered, his voice cold and authoritative.

Mrs. Al-Haraz moved swiftly to carry out his instructions. The seven girls were taken to the corner of the cell where they were scrubbed clean and given enemas. The process was humiliating and uncomfortable, but they endured it silently.

As they were being prepared, Dilan mustered the courage to ask, “Can we have something to eat?” She directed her question in a whisper to Mrs. Al-Haraz, speaking in Arabic.

Before Mrs. Al-Haraz could respond, Pembroke interrupted, having overheard. “No,” he said sharply, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. He then relaxed, like the chameleon he was, and adopted a friendly, cheerful smile.

He switched to English. “Your new owner may want to have sex with you, even anal, within minutes of meeting you. First impressions count, and I don’t want his first experience of my products to be marred by any unpleasantness, so you will stay on empty stomachs.”

The seven girls were fitted into black bodysuits that clung to their bodies like a second skin. The thin material covered them from head to toe, with fingerless glove ends that restricted their finger movements. Their hair was tied into buns, and the suits were pulled up into hoods over their heads and faces, zipped up at the back like gimp suits. Their mouths were gagged with material that filled their mouths, allowing moisture to pass but preventing any sound. Their eyes were covered with goggles, and as they were pulled over them, the girls exchanged fearful glances, taking in a last look at their fellow prisoners and the cell that had been their home for months.

Mrs. Parker sighed at Freja as the last of her blonde hair disappeared from view and her blue eyes were covered for the final time.

Their hands were cuffed into a single glove attached to a collar around their necks. Their ankles were cuffed together, and their thighs were cuffed to their necks and ankles, forcing them into a tight, immobile ball. They were then placed on the ground, unable to speak, see or move.

Seven black boxes were wheeled in. The girls, now curled into tight balls, were lifted and placed into the snug spaces, like spare tires. A heavy seal was placed over them, cocooning the tightly packed figures. On top of each box were small containers filled with cheap plastic jewelry.

The ruse would not fool any serious customs agent, but fortunately, this time it was not necessary. The boxes were lifted out and carried by men on dollies. The remaining girls in the cell watched in tears as their friends and cellmates disappeared from view forever in a completely dehumanizing way.

Pembroke glanced at his watch. Losing products in transit was a worry after all this time of careful preparation. He would have balked at transporting laboratory rats in such a horrific way, but necessity overrode his scruples, he told himself.