TRADED E-Book

Claire Smith

• Herausgeber: tredition
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 101

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

She thought she was heading toward a better life. She didn’t know she was being sold. Fifteen-year-old Lena dreams of escaping her crumbling village and her family’s poverty. When a woman offers her a job in the city—good pay, a safe place, a fresh start—she says yes. But within hours, the truth unravels. Lena isn’t being hired. She’s been traded. Thrust into a hidden network of traffickers and captors, Lena’s life is shattered. Her days become a cycle of fear, coercion, and silence. But deep inside, she refuses to disappear. With the help of another captive and a stranger willing to risk everything, Lena begins plotting her escape—and reclaiming her voice. Based on real-life trafficking cases and survivor testimonies, Traded is a gripping novel of exploitation, survival, and the power of a girl who refuses to be forgotten. For readers of Sold by Patricia McCormick and Girls Like Us by Rachel Lloyd, this story shines a necessary light on one of the darkest crimes in our world.

Leseprobe

Claire Smith

TRADED

A Girl’s Worth in a World Without Mercy. A Novel of Human Trafficking, Resistance, and Redemption

First published by GINNIE WRITES PUBLICATIONS 2025

Copyright © 2025 by Claire Smith

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Claire Smith asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Claire can be reached via [email protected]

First edition

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy.com

To the girls who were never given a choice,

and to the ones who fought to reclaim their voice.

You are not forgotten. This is for you.

They told her to stay quiet, to obey, to disappear.

She did not.

She broke the silence, and the silence broke them.

“You may choose to look the other way, but you can never again say you did not know.”

William Wilberforce

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Prologue

chapter-seperator

Promises in Disguise

The road out of Dolina curved like a question mark—winding, uncertain, and full of silence. It was barely wide enough for a truck to pass without crushing the brittle wildflowers that grew on either side. The ground, still soft from a light spring rain, carried the faint smell of wet earth and something metallic, like rust or sorrow. Lena stood on the edge of it, worn canvas bag clutched to her side, eyes locked on the bend in the road where the city-bound van would appear.

She had never left the village before.

Not really.

At fifteen, Lena had wandered only as far as the hills behind the cornfields and the market square in the next town over, where her mother bartered for soap and cabbage and old bread. The rest of the world—the world of buildings taller than the trees, and people who wore shoes without holes—lived inside the glow of a television screen, or inside stories whispered between girls who hadn’t yet learned to envy each other.

A soft gust of wind lifted the hem of her skirt, and she tugged it down automatically, glancing behind her. Her house, if it could still be called that, sagged slightly to the left. The shutters had been broken for years, one window patched with cardboard. A clothesline stretched between the porch rail and a crooked tree, but only one faded sheet hung from it, flapping like a limp flag.

Inside, her mother was probably sitting at the kitchen table, twisting her knuckles like she always did when worried. She hadn’t cried that morning. Lena wasn’t sure if that was strength or just fatigue. Either way, she hadn’t expected tears.

“Don’t forget to write if you find work,” her mother had said as she tied the scarf around Lena’s head—her best one, with the pale blue flowers stitched into the wool. “And don’t speak to men you don’t know. Even the ones who seem kind.”

“I’m not a child, Mama,” Lena had said, though a small part of her wished someone would tell her not to go. That part stayed quiet. She wanted to believe this was the beginning of something better.

“You’re not grown either,” her mother replied. “But you’re going anyway.”

Yes, Lena was going. The woman had said the job would be in Bucharest. Maybe Constanța. Cleaning houses. Helping in a restaurant. Something respectable. There was a dormitory where girls stayed, safe and watched over. A few months of hard work and she could send money home, maybe even get her brothers back into school.

Her mother had paused before Lena stepped outside.

“They don’t come back, you know,” she said, eyes fixed on the window. “The girls. The ones who leave like this. They send money sometimes. But they don’t come back.”

Lena hadn’t known what to say to that. She still didn’t.

The van was late.

She shifted her weight, boots sinking slightly into the damp ground. The village still slept behind her. No cars. No phones. No one who would think to question where she was going or with whom. The church bell rang once. Then twice. Seven o’clock. It was Sunday.

The woman had come to the village just two weeks earlier. Dressed differently—clean boots, manicured hands, earrings that shimmered like coins. She had walked into the church like she belonged, speaking softly to the priest, asking about girls who were “bright” and “willing to work.”

Lena had been introduced after the service. Her English was decent, enough to translate for tourists during harvest season when they passed through on volunteer trips. The woman’s name was Nadya. She said she worked with an agency that helped young women from villages find jobs in the cities.

“Too many girls waste their lives waiting here,” she had said, brushing a strand of hair from Lena’s forehead like they already knew each other. “You’re smart. You have eyes that see farther than this place. I could help.”

Lena had nodded slowly, heart thudding. The way Nadya spoke made her feel seen—like she mattered. Like she wasn’t just another girl with callused hands and a hungry stomach.

They had met twice more, quietly, in the churchyard. Nadya showed her pictures of clean dormitories, of girls smiling in matching uniforms. She told Lena what to pack, how to prepare.

“It’s not a scam, sweetheart. I was you once. That’s why I help now. We take care of our girls. No funny business. Just hard work.”

And Lena had believed her. Or wanted to.

The van appeared just before 7:30. It rumbled over the hill, kicking up a trail of mist and dust, headlights on though the sun had risen. It wasn’t painted with any company logo—just a plain gray vehicle with tinted windows and plates from out of region.

Her fingers tightened around her bag strap.

The side door opened, and Nadya stepped out. She smiled wide, as if they were old friends.

“Ready?” she called.

Lena looked back once—toward the house, the line of trees, the cracked front door that still creaked in the wind.

Then she nodded.

Inside the van, two other girls sat quietly. One looked younger than Lena, maybe thirteen. The other, older, stared straight ahead with blank eyes and lips pressed tight. Neither said a word. Lena offered a nervous smile, but it wasn’t returned.

The door slid shut behind her with a soft click—one of those sounds you don’t notice until it echoes in your chest.

Nadya climbed in beside the driver, a man with a thin beard and mirrored sunglasses. He didn’t speak. Just put the van into gear and pulled away.

Lena shifted in her seat. The windows were dark, hard to see out of. She reached for her phone—an old model with a cracked screen—but there was no service. No signal.

She hadn’t told anyone else she was leaving. Not her brothers. Not the girls at school. Just her mother. And the priest.

They drove for hours. The countryside blurred past—fields, abandoned farms, the occasional passing car. No one stopped them. No one asked where they were going or why the girls looked so quiet.

Around noon, the van pulled into a rest stop off a smaller road. It was a run-down place—just a few gas pumps, a bathroom, and a vending machine with faded snacks. Nadya turned around.

“Bathroom break. Make it quick.”

The younger girl didn’t move. The older one glanced at Lena before slowly stepping out. Lena followed.

Inside the restroom, Lena splashed cold water on her face. Her stomach was tight. The room smelled of mold and something sour. She looked at herself in the cracked mirror—pale, eyes too big, scarf slightly crooked. She fixed it, like her mother would have.

“You okay?” she asked the older girl.

The girl stared at her, unmoving.

“Where are we going exactly?” Lena added, softly.

Silence.

Then, just before the girl turned away, she said something barely above a whisper:

“We already left.”

“What do you mean?”

But the girl was gone, walking briskly back to the van.

Something inside Lena began to twist. A thread pulling tight.

Back in the van, Nadya was texting. The driver smoked. No one said a word as the vehicle started again.

This time, the road narrowed further. No more signs. No more landmarks. Trees pressed close to the windows. Lena’s fingers curled around the strap of her bag.

A few hours later, they pulled into a gravel lot behind a boarded-up building. A tall man stood by the door, watching.

Nadya turned and smiled at Lena.

“Welcome, sweetheart,” she said.

That was the moment Lena understood.

Not all cages have bars.

Some are built of promises.

Chapter 1

chapter-seperator

The Village Sleeps

“Before the silence, there was song.”

The neighborhood had a rhythm of its own—slow, tired, a little bruised around the edges. Apartment buildings leaned into one another like aging friends, their bricks weathered and worn. Rust-colored walls bore years of weather and graffiti, the vibrant tags telling stories of rebellion and hope. Broken blinds blinked open and shut in the occasional wind like tired eyes watching nothing in particular, as if the buildings themselves were weary of the world outside.

On any given evening, the street was a patchwork of old noise and newer silence. A baby cried two floors up, its wails echoing through the concrete canyon. A car backfired somewhere down the block, the sound sharp and jarring against the muted backdrop. Dogs barked without purpose, their voices mingling with the distant wail of sirens that came and went like waves on a broken shoreline, reminders of lives lived on the edge.

Nadia sat on the fire escape of their third-floor apartment, her legs pulled up under her hoodie, watching the last blush of daylight slip behind the housing complex across the street. It was a Wednesday evening—ordinary, which meant hard. Rent was due in four days, and the weight of it settled heavily on her shoulders. Groceries were low, the fridge barely holding the remnants of last week’s meals. The electricity had flickered that morning, a warning that it might not come back.

She was sixteen and understood things no teenager should. Life had taught her lessons that were often too harsh, too real.

Inside, her mother was pacing—phone to ear, her voice sharp in that low, tired way she used when she was afraid. “No, I’m not asking for a handout. I’m just trying to understand why the bill is so high!” Nadia could hear the frustration lacing her mother’s words, the way they trembled with unspoken fears. The argument with a customer service rep was all too familiar, a ritual that played out every month.

In the living room, her younger brother, Malik, was sprawled on the floor, sketching something with a pencil too short to hold comfortably. His drawings were always full of color—places they’d never been. Mountains that kissed the sky, oceans that sparkled under sunlit skies, animals he’d only seen in books. He had an imagination that soared beyond the confines of their cramped apartment, a gift that Nadia both admired and envied.

Nadia hadn’t drawn in years. The colors of her dreams had faded, replaced by the gray monotony of survival.