I was lost. The plan had been simple: a quick good deed, donating blood while my husband was stuck in meetings downtown. But the building was a labyrinth, and my maps app kept leading me in circles, finally dumping me at a service entrance around the back. I was about to give up, the disappointment a sour taste in my mouth, when a heavy unmarked door swung open and a maintenance worker stepped out.

”Hi, excuse me,” I said, hurrying over. “Could you point me to the blood donation clinic? Am I even in the right building?”

He turned, and his eyes did a slow, deliberate sweep from my heels up to my face and back down again. A faint smile touched his lips. I’d dressed for lunch with my husband—a pretty summer dress that cinched at the waist before flaring out. Modest, but flattering and even a little flirty. I felt cute this morning, but under his gaze, it felt flimsy, transparent.

“Oh, yeah. It’s this way.” He said, his voice a low rumble. He beckoned with a wave of his hand. “Faster if I take you through here.”

I expected a shortcut, a direct route to the main hallways, or the lobby. Instead, he led me into a loading bay where the air was thick with the smell of exhaust and cigarettes. A couple of other workers and a security guard lounged against the wall, smoking. My guide gave them a nod, and out of sheer habit, I offered a polite, fleeting smile and a quick hello as I followed him through another door.

It was only then, as the door clicked shut behind us, that I heard it. The heavy thud of footsteps behind us. Not one. Three.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled. The hallway was narrow, the row of fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed above us. Every turn we took seemed to lead deeper into the building’s guts, past doors labeled for various storage and machinery. “It’s close, just through here,” he’d say or “almost there, ma’am.” The footsteps behind us kept pace, never catching up, but never falling away. Their conversations were low, but unassuming. I tried to tell myself they were just heading the same way, but after the fifth turn, I had no idea where we were anymore.

Finally, he stopped at a plain metal door. The nameplate gone, leaving only a pale, rectangular shadow on the surface.

”Right through here, ma’am.” He pushed it open and held it, gesturing me to go through first.

I stepped through, my polite smile still glued to my face and froze. This wasn’t a hallway. It was some mechanical room. The sharp, pungent scent of grease and metal hit me instantly. The loud hum of machinery blocked out all outside noise. A row of metal lockers lined a portion of a wall and a workbench and heavy duty tool box were tucked in a corner. Pipes ran along the walls and across the ceiling. And, before I could process it; before I could turn to ask what was going on; before I could leave, I heard the door shut behind me. The heavy thunk of a lock sliding home echoed in the sudden silence.

The three men who had been following us now stood with my guide, a wall of bodies blocking the only, now locked, exit.

”What’s going on?” My voice was thin, barely above a whisper. I bumped into a solid body behind me as I took a step back. Arms, like steel bands, clamped around mine, pinning them to my sides.

”We’re just going to have a little fun,” the guard said, his smile no longer friendly, but predatory. The others prowled in, their shadows swallowing the light.

Hands reached for me, rough fingers on my soft skin as they hooked the straps of my dress and slid them down my shoulders. I heard the rasp of my zipper, then the whisper of fabric as they pulled my dress away. I hadn’t worn a bra; the dress didn’t need one. One of them stepped back and, with strange delicacy, hung my dress on a hook next to the door, as if to preserve it. The air was cold on my bare skin and all that separated me from their gazes were my panties, flimsy and useless. Four strangers stared at me, their eyes full of hunger, ready to devour me whole.

”Stop,” I begged, the words slipping from my lips. “Please, I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go.” The words every victim in every story says. They laughed, a low, ugly sound that echoed in the small space.

”Oh, you won’t want to tell anyone,” one of them said, his voice a promise I didn’t understand. Not then.

The man who hung up my dress returned, his eyes roaming over my nearly naked body. “See, ma’am. We’re not all bad. Look, I hung up your dress all nicely for when we’re done with you.”

They closed in on me, my guide’s grip pulled my arms back, not only exposing my body to their gaze but it caused my back to arch and thrust my breasts out, much to their delight.

“Please, don’t. Please, stop.” I whispered, a tear escaping from the corner of my eye. “My husband…”

“Blood donation takes about an hour. We’ve got plenty of time before he comes looking.” The leader, the guard, laughed, his breath hot in my ear as his hands reached around and cupped my breasts. “Look how hard your nipples are. You want this too, don’t you?”

I shook my head, and struggled in his arms but the other men, as if permission granted with that first touch, reached out.