Free Stolen Souls by Stuart Neville

hand in marriage.
    “I can help you,” he said. His accent was soft and soupy, not hard and angular like the men who owned this flat. English, maybe, she couldn’t be sure.
    Galya lifted her eyes to meet his. His gaze locked solid on hers, his expression firm and truthful.
    “If you can get away from here,” he said, “I can help you.”
    Galya went to speak, but closed her mouth when she realized she had no words for him.
    “Please believe me,” he said. “I can help you. If you can get out of here, don’t tell anyone where you’re going, I can help you get back home. What’s your name?”
    Galya shook her head.
    “My name’s Billy Crawford,” he said. “I’m a pastor. A Baptist pastor, but I haven’t been placed with a church. Instead, I help girls like you, help you get away from this. Do you understand?”
    He reached for Galya. She pulled away.
    “It’s all right, I won’t hurt you,” he said, as if he were calming a trembling puppy. “Look.”
    He held a fine silver chain before her eyes, a cross dangling from it.
    “For you,” he said. “So Jesus will protect you.”
    He went to place it over her head. She flinched.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his hands. The cross settled in his lap. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I know you’re scared. I know you don’t want to be here. You don’t, do you?”
    Galya wanted to shake her head, tell him no, she didn’t want to be here. Instead she turned her eyes away.
    “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m here to help you. I can help you get back home, away from these people.”
    Away.
    Such a big word. So big there were many ways to say it in Russian. Away, like she wanted to get away from Mama’s farm. Like she wanted to leave her village. To be free of the things that bound her there. To go to another place and have a life of her own.
    Those notions seemed foolish now, but the word still weighed as heavy. She wanted to be away from here more than she had ever wanted anything before.
    So when he reached again, she dipped her head, allowed him to place the chain around her neck. The cross lay cold on her skin. She touched it with her fingertip, felt the hard angles.
    “Jesus will protect you,” he said. “He will protect you, and He will help you get away from these people. Do you understand me?”
    Galya nodded once.
    “Good.” A smile split his moon face. He took her hand and put a piece of paper in her palm, a string of numbers written on it in pencil, each digit impossibly neat. “When you get away from here, call me. Understand? Call me. I can save you.”
    He stood and walked to the door, opened it, and left her alone in the room. Galya stared at the paper and the numbers printed on it. She lifted the cross from her breast, turned it in the light, brought it to her lips, kissed it.
    Hard, quick footsteps approached from beyond the bedroom door. Galya bunched up the piece of paper and stuffed it beneath the pillow on the bed beside her. She lifted the chain over her head, ready to stash it with the phone number, but the door opened. Galya clenched her fist around the cross as Rasa entered and asked, “What happened?”
    “Nothing,” Galya said.
    “That’s right,” Rasa said as she approached the bed. “Nothing.”
    “He just—”
    Rasa’s open hand struck Galya’s cheek, the impact followed by heat, heat followed by pain. “Nothing. You didn’t do a thing for him.”
    “He only wanted to talk,” Galya said as her throat tightened with tears. She held up the cross. “Look. He gave me this.”
    Rasa’s hand lashed out again, leaving its stinging mark on Galya’s other cheek. “Men don’t want to talk,” she said. “Men want to fuck. You ungrateful little bitch, after everything I’ve done for you.”
    Galya could hold the tears back no longer. “But he didn’t want—”
    She cried out as Rasa grabbed a fistful of hair and hoisted her to her feet. “They only want to fuck. That’s all you’re here