Free No Safe Place by Deborah Ellis Page B

Gypsies!”
    One man raised his arm to strike her.
    â€œNot on the face!” his companion shouted.
    And in that instant, Rosalia knew, and she could tell that the men knew that she knew.
    The arm returned to the man’s side, then came back out in a rush and hit into Rosalia’s stomach with such ferocity that she buckled and fell to her knees. He pushed her into the dirty carpet with his foot.
    The other two girls were whimpering, arms wrapped around each other, trying to look small on the bed. Rosalia did not cry. She got to her feet and got back in bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.
    She closed her eyes, but she could feel the men glaring at her. She heard the bolt lock again, and she heard the chair being pulled into a position right against the door.
    â€œYou two — if she gets away, you will both pay,” one man said to the girls. “Now, go back to sleep!”
    â€œTake her shoes,” the other man said.
    She didn’t move a muscle as the covers were pulled from under the mattress and her sneakers were untied and yanked off.
    â€œNow try to get away.”
    Rosalia kept her face still, but inside, she was smiling.
    As if a lack of shoes could keep her from running.
    / / / / / / / /
    They were up and in the car again before the sun came up. No one was sleeping anyway, so the men decided they might as well be burning up miles. They sent all three girls into the bathroom together to get ready.
    â€œI’m watching you,” the Czech girl cautioned Rosalia. “I’m going to Berlin. I’m not blowing this chance and I’m not going to let you ruin my life.”
    â€œYour life is already ruined,” Rosalia was tempted to say, but she kept her mouth shut. If the girls couldn’t see the signs for themselves, they wouldn’t be convinced by anything she had to say.
    They made brief stops, no more picnic lunches. A few toilet breaks, sandwiches eaten in the car, the men trading off between driving and sleeping. It was raining. They hadn’t returned Rosalia’s shoes, and the socks on her feet were wet and cold.
    Rosalia read the highway signs and saw they were heading to the northern part of Berlin. The car finally turned into a housing complex beside a big shopping mall. It stopped in the parking lot of a row of short apartment houses.
    The men got out quickly and one took a firm hold of Rosalia’s arm. She was allowed to carry her own suitcase. The other man kept up cheery patter about how the girls would enjoy shopping at the mall on their days off.
    Rosalia kept her eyes open. She saw the name of the street — Zühlsdorfer — and took note of the giant number one painted on the front door.
    On the third floor, they stood before apartment 3A. One of the men knocked, and the door was opened.
    More men were inside. Rosalia counted four of them.
    Six men in total, and three girls.
    In spite of herself, she started to tremble.
    â€œThis is what you’ve brought us?” one of them asked. “You travel all that way, and come back with this?”
    â€œClean them up, they’ll be good enough,” one of the drivers said. “Keep the lights low.”
    They saw she had no shoes. “Problems?”
    â€œToo much spirit. We calmed her down.”
    â€œWe’ll see.”
    Rosalia was taken away into a small room with a narrow bed and a little bureau with four slender drawers. Three of the men entered the room with her and shut the door behind them.
    She tried hard to control her shaking, but it had taken over her whole body. She put her suitcase on the floor by the bureau, then stood upright with her shoulders back and her head high.
    I am brave, she told herself.
    â€œYou’re shaking,” one of the men said.
    â€œMy feet are cold,” she replied, in careful but correct German. She was far from fluent, but could manage simple sentences.
    She immediately realized she’d made a