#Seen Read online

  #Seen

  #NorthStarBook1 #Freedom

  Taylor Hart

  ArchStone Ink

  Contents

  #3WomenOnAMission

  Praise

  Foreword

  Prologue ~ Zoey

  1. Zoey

  2. Sammy

  3. Zoey

  4. Sammy

  5. Sammy

  6. Zoey

  7. Sammy

  8. Zoey

  9. Sammy

  10. Zoey

  11. Sammy

  12. Zoey

  13. Sammy

  14. Zoey

  15. Sammy

  16. Sammy

  17. Zoey

  18. Sammy

  19. Zoey

  20. Sammy

  21. Zoey

  22. Sammy

  23. Zoey

  24. Sammy

  25. Zoey

  26. Sammy

  27. Zoey

  28. Sammy

  29. Zoey

  30. Zoey

  Epilogue ~ Zoey

  All Books in the North Star to Freedom Series

  #Seen ~ Book 1

  #Lured ~ Book 2 ~ Excerpt of the Next Book in the Series

  #Caged ~ Book 3

  Author’s Note

  About the Author ~ Taylor Hart

  Also by Taylor Hart

  Acknowledgments

  Rights & Copyrights

  Book Club Questions

  Ways You Can Help Stop Sex Trafficking

  Donation of Profits

  Dedicated

  To my children.

  I love you.Remember God loves you, even when you feel alone. Remember He always knows where you are.

  To my husband.

  Thank you for being the soft place in my life where I go when I feel weak and tired and need support. And thank you for being the person I want to tell everything to! I love you forever!

  #3WomenOnAMission

  Taylor Hart, Jo Schneider, and Heather Horrocks are #3WomenOnAMission, using their ninja author skills to write knock-your-socks-off cautionary tales to help teens recognize the tools predators use and to save #JustOneChild.

  Praise

  Praise for the North Star to Freedom Series

  “This is a book that all parents and young girls need to read.”

  “This book was amazing. I cried. If you ever print this one, Heather, I want copies. Lots of them. I want to make my daughter read this. She is turning 11 in a couple of months and keeps begging for a cell phone. I keep refusing. I want her to understand why.”

  —Katherine Ward

  “Taylor weaves a masterful story about contemporary problems teens face everyday. I love how she took a cheerleader and had her lose her spot on the cheer team, lose her boyfriend, and face the mean girls—all at once! Masterful!”

  —Joan Anderson

  “Heather, this piece was so moving. It was different from your normal works but in a great way. You kept the warmth in your normal books but realness of pain, PTSD, and human trafficking added depth to each of these characters. I felt like it addressed a very serious and terrifying issue in a non-threatening way. I could not put it down.”

  —Desiree Taggard

  “Oh my gosh, I just don't even know what else to say. I think you did a great job on this book. It's well-written, and the plot is logical, with likeable characters (except for [the bad guy] and his baddy buddies, obviously). This left me wanting to know more about Autumn's story, and I love that she got a black belt in karate and was able to take a big step toward confronting her demons. I also love that even though Destiny had to suffer before she was rescued, she also grew stronger and braver and more ready to face her own mistakes. You just did something amazing and brave.”

  —Heidi Nielsen

  Foreword

  Cammy Bowker

  Global E.P.

  Global Education Philanthropists

  August 19, 2019

  Since starting an international humanitarian aid organization a few years ago, I’ve noticed an unexpected thing, communities worldwide have a connection to an unspoken monster—child sex trafficking. This includes communities here in the United States.

  As I served in Caribbean villages, I couldn’t help but be forever changed by the women and children I met who had been affected by human trafficking. So many children sold. So many children without parents. So many vulnerable people. All because they lacked education.

  Returning to the U.S., to my “safe” neighborhood, I found myself unable to put the beautiful faces of the survivors out of my mind, even though they were thousands of miles away.

  I didn’t realize how much child sex trafficking went on in my own country until, one day, I met a victim in my own neighborhood. Someone who needed my help.

  Almost overnight, my voicemail and messaging inboxes filled up daily with messages from survivors, victims, and advocates —all reaching out to me for help and for hope.

  I determined that, if there was anything I could do about it, no one would ever hurt them or their families again.

  I knew if I was going to do this right, I had to learn more—had to do more. I needed to get educated and trained for the fight. So I did. I am now a trained rescue operator. (Thank you, Adaptive Ops!) The people in my organization and I will not stop looking for missing kids. Ever. Worldwide.

  I started providing education and real hands-on aid directly to those in need. Aid to aftercare centers/safe houses. My organization offers vocational training so survivors can have a fighting chance of staying out of trafficking. We provide outreach missions that require staring this monster in the eye, seeing traffickers sell children for money. As I mentioned, this is happening all right here within the U.S. Under society’s nose.

  Most people have no idea what human trafficking actually looks like here on American soil or beyond. Yet there is more slavery today than ever in the history of the human race.

  Why has trafficking become such a plague?

  Because human trafficking makes much more money than drug trafficking.

  Because far too many American men—who are the #1 consumer of child sex, whether purchased domestically or abroad—think pornography is a victimless crime—but there are millions of victims.

  Because porn never stands still. It always requires more—more violence, younger victims, more perversion.

  Because our children, grandchildren, and neighbors are extremely vulnerable to the sophisticated technology and practices used by trafficking rings.

  Because traffickers groom potential victims from all walks of life through online measures every day.

  Because we hand our kids electronic devices and online video games, not knowing that we’re making our own children prey to vicious predators. It’s staggering to know that eighty percent of missing children were first “friended” by someone through an online game or message. Eighty percent. Let that fact sink in. Eighty percent of missing children were enticed by someone on an electronic device that their parents gave them.

  My hope is that this book series—written by the talented Taylor Hart, Jo Schneider, and Heather Horrocks—will help preserve families, communities, and future generations.

  Our youth need to know the danger is real. Parents need to know it’s real and happening in their communities. These stories bring trafficking scenarios into relatable light, to help all of us see how easily those we love could fall prey to such an unimaginably heinous crime. How easily many do fall prey.

  Forty million people, including children, are enslaved today. Yet here many of us sit, in the United States, not knowing that human trafficking is just as bad here as in foreign countries.

  When I learned more, I began to do more. Now you’ll know more, too, and I hope you’ll also choose to do more. We need you. This f
ight needs you. These children need you. We need an army of people willing to fight to save children from harm.

  I want you. I need your help! Please join my organization in the fight, go to www.globalep.org and be a financial partner. We rely on donations for teams to extract victims, to provide vocational trade tuition, to keep survivors safe, and to support safehouses/aftercare facilities.

  866-589-HOPE

  Cammy Bowker

  Prologue ~ Zoey

  “Let me out!” Zoey screamed, or maybe she wasn’t screaming. Maybe her voice was muffled now. She didn’t know.

  Zoey lay on the bathroom floor, feeling weak. Her vision hazy.

  She tried to yell again. “I’m starving!”

  How long had she been in this bathroom? Days? Weeks? She didn’t know that, either.

  The floor tile was cold against her body and she pulled a dirty, threadbare towel over herself and scrunched into a ball, blocking the smell of pee and trying to hold onto her consciousness.

  She closed her eyes, ignoring the swelling in her right eye and the dried blood on her lip. “I hate you, Marcus,” she whispered, thinking of the way he’d come in after her last “client” and tried to make her take a pill. When she’d refused, he’d jammed it down her throat, then pushed her back and slammed the door shut.

  “My name is Zoey Thompson.” She mumbled the words. “My name is Zoey Thompson.”

  She had to remember her name.

  They never let them use names. Told them to forget their names. Forget their old life. Forget…who they used to be.

  Well, she wouldn’t forget.

  It should have been different. None of this should have happened. But she’d messed it all up.

  Her thoughts drifted to that day, on the bus, when she’d run away from her old life. When she’d thought Marcus was her boyfriend. When she thought Marcus…loved her.

  The drug started to take more of an affect and all of her thoughts got more blurred. She thought, again, of getting off the bus and the way three guys had grabbed her and gagged her and blindfolded her and shoved her into the back of that car.

  She’d been scared then. Afraid that day. Even though she’d still had hope that someone would be coming for her. That she’d get out.

  Now…it was worse. More tears pooled into her eyes, because she knew that no one was coming. It had been too long.

  So she would go to sleep and wait for the next client to be sent in.

  A sudden crash came through the door and Zoey flinched, sitting up and opening her eyes.

  A machine gun was in her face.

  “What is happening?” She fought for clarity through the drug.

  The gun pulled back and another man walked into the bathroom.

  “Zoey? Is that you?”

  Her name. Her name. Her name. Hope filled her. “Y-yes."

  The man went to her side. “I’m here to help you.”

  She tried to focus, not believing him. “You know my name?”

  The man reached his hand out. “Zoey Thompson.” He hesitated. “I’m Cyrus Black. My team is here to rescue you.”

  Chapter 1

  Zoey

  3 Months Later

  “You know our daughter has been through unspeakable things, Mr. Black. Things that have left her unable to resume a normal life at this time,” Zoey heard her father say.

  Zoey was crouched in the hallway, hiding, her heart racing at the thought of being discovered and punished.

  Her parents wouldn’t do that, though. The abuse, the cruelty, was over. She was home.

  Home.

  Somehow, the word sounded wrong.

  “The only reason I allowed you to come is because it was your team that rescued her,” her father said.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” Mr. Black said. “The night I pulled Zoey out of there, she told me she wanted to help others. She told me she wanted to help others get out.”

  Pain stabbed at the center of Zoey’s chest. She couldn’t remember much about the night she was rescued, but she did remember the man called Black. Her captors had been scared of him.

  Her hand shook, and she stared at the little scorpion tattoo Marcus had branded into her skin the first night she’d been with him. After he’d raped her, beaten her, and shaved her head, he’d put a lighter to a metal stick with a scorpion at the end of it, then held it against her hand, telling her that she belonged to him now. That she would always belong to him. She shuddered and touched her hair. It had grown to her chin now.

  Her father let out a sardonic laugh. “Zoey can’t help anyone. She can barely manage to get up in the morning.”

  The words brought a new wave of shame. It hurt to hear her father say that, even if it was true.

  Mr. Black was silent for a moment. “I have people who can help her get through this part. If she wants to join one of my teams, they will give her some of the best therapy that’s out there.”

  “I’m a therapist,” her father snapped, his voice rising. “And I can’t help her. I couldn’t even see that my own daughter had been sucked into believing some sicko was her boyfriend. Who is going to be able to reach my child if I can’t?”

  Zoey squeezed her eyes shut. Her actions had hurt him so much. The constant panic inside of her chest threatened to overwhelm her. Would she ever be normal again?

  Mr. Black exhaled loudly. “Do you think God could help her?”

  Zoey wanted to yell “No!” at the man. Once, she’d been locked in a closet for three days, naked. She’d prayed her guts out. Where had God been then?

  “I don’t know,” her father said.

  “Mrs. Thompson, what do you believe?” Mr. Black asked.

  “I used to believe in God,” her mother whispered. “Until Zoey was taken.”

  “But she was brought back,” said Mr. Black, his voice calm. “By my team. And I believe that the rescue was made possible because God has inspired good men and women to step forward and help put an end to all of this. And I believe now God is inspiring kids just like Zoey, who have been trafficked and gotten out, to step up and help others who may be in danger.”

  A tear trickled down Zoey’s face. Good people had risked a lot to get her out. For the past three months, she’d been so consumed with everything she’d been through, she hadn’t considered the people who’d saved her.

  After a bit, her father sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Black, but the answer is no.”

  “Listen, I understand what you’ve gone through. I understand how horrible this has been. I understand…a lot more than you think.” Mr. Black’s voice was a low murmur, and there was something in the haunted way he spoke that calmed Zoey.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think you do,” she heard her father say.

  “I do,” Mr. Black answered. “Because I lost my daughter two years ago to some sick, evil…” He trailed off.

  There was silence for a moment.

  “And I still don’t even know if she’s dead or alive,” Mr. Black said softly. “So believe me, I understand.”

  His daughter was missing? This information hit Zoey like a cold bucket of water. Where was his daughter when she was taken? Had she known the predator? How long had she been groomed? What was her name? Did she still have a name? Zoey’s pimp had tried to strip all of them from their real names. He’d called them awful things.

  She cringed. When she’d first gone to Vegas, Marcus had taken her to some seedy motel where there’d been a bunch of girls between a couple of rooms. After he’d branded her, she’d been unable to move for a long time. In the middle of the night, she’d woken to the sound of faint crying. There’d been a girl in the next hotel room, and Zoey had heard her being raped over and over for the next couple of days. The girl had cried all night, every night—until the night she’d been silenced.

  Could that have been his daughter?

  “I’m sorry,” her mother said. “Zoey can’t help.”

  “Listen,” Mr. Black said, talking quickly. “I started a foundat
ion called the North Star to Freedom Foundation. Our prime directive is to help the kids who have gotten out to heal and to have those same kids help prevent others from being taken. I have a few facilities around the country with on-site counselors and ex–law enforcement personnel who are trained to manage teams of undercover kids—”

  “Undercover kids?” her father asked. “That’s ridiculous!”

  “I say kids, but they are all at least eighteen now, like Zoey. Adults with tragic pasts. I can’t give you all the details at this time unless you decide to work with me. You can trust that my highest priority is to prevent kids from being trafficked. Your daughter’s situation of being deceived and lured away willingly is not unique. We try to find vulnerable kids, like she was, and use undercover operatives to help them make good choices. Meanwhile, we work in the background to track down the predators while we monitor the situation from the inside and the outside.”

  “How?” Her father sounded grudgingly curious.