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"Helping people," she said, soft yet unwavering. "Making a difference. What about you?"
"Understanding minds," I admitted, suddenly laughing. It seemed ridiculous now. How could I have ever thought I could understand the human mind, when I could hardly understand what the hell was happening here. "I wanted to be a psychologist. To bring light to the darkest corners."
"Still can," Belle insisted, even as our reality loomed over us. "This isn't the end, Ella. We're more than what they want us to be. More than pretty dolls in a fucked-up collection," I murmured, drawing strength from her resolve.
"Exactly." Her chuckle was a small spark in an endless night. "And when we're out, we'll chase those dreams down and make them beg for mercy."
"Mercy," I echoed, letting the word roll around my tongue. It felt right. "Yeah. Mercy."
Our whispers wove together, a silent pact that bound us. In the pitch-black void, Belle and I clung to the one thing that couldn't be taken from us—not by force nor fear.
Hope.
Five: Chris
I leaned back in the creaky chair, a smoke dangling from my lips. Inhaling deeply, I watched as she paced the cell. My job was to make sure the products didn't damage themselves, but right now, I had... ulterior motives.
"Jesus," I muttered under my breath, flicking ashes into the tray. I ruminated on a different time. I saw her through a different lens back then—just another piece of ass to be shipped and delivered. Nothing personal, right? That's what I kept telling myself every damn time I stalked her.
The guilt gnawed at me. I'd been so fucking sure of myself, so certain that people were just meat with different price tags. And she was a goldmine.
Inhale. A deeper drag, the embers glowing angry red. Exhale. Men in suits entered her cell. Today was temporary sterilization day. They’d implant some shit in her arm and then Gustov can’t get her pregnant. Or me, for that matter.
She struggled, kicking and screaming as they grabbed her arms and legs, holding her in place while her chest heaved. A pang ran through me, but I stuffed it down just as quickly. No way I was going to interfere. Procedures were in place for a reason.
A small slice, no numbing of course, and they pushed something into her arm before doing a crude stitch and dumping her on the ground. She looked up at their retreating bodies, clutching her arm as her hand came away red. Screaming obscenities at them, she tried to rush forward, but they hurried and slammed the door shut with a loud clank.
Fuck. But wouldn’t she look pretty all swollen with my kid? Reality hit. There was no way that was ever happening. Not now, not in a million years. Tearing my mind from the thought, I went back in time to the moment I knew she should never have been a target.
There was this one day—shit, it had torn a hole right through my gut. I was tailing her when she stopped by this alley. There was this homeless guy, slumped against the wall, dirty as sin and twice as smelly.
"Please, just leave me alone," he'd mumbled, voice hoarse, as some punk kids tossed half-empty beer cans his way. One smashed him in the face, laughing and cussing, and he'd whimpered.
"Hey!" Her voice sliced through the laughter. "Back off!"
"Look at her," I had snorted to myself, ready to roll my eyes at whatever pathetic scene would unfold. But hell, it hadn't gone down like I expected.
"Here, take this." She'd handed the man her scarf, draping it around his neck with care. "And this should buy you a warm meal."
"Miss, I... Thank you." His hands shook, holding the bill like it was a fucking lifeline.
"Stay safe," she'd said, tone gentle, touching his shoulder with a grace that didn't belong in that shit-stained alley.
"Christ..." The word slithered out of me in disbelief.
Watching her now, it clawed at something deep inside, something I thought I'd strangled and buried long ago. She was the peace in the eye of a fucking hurricane.
I pressed a button, the screen zooming in on her face. Even now, locked in a cell, she was all defiance and fire. Not merchandise. Not anymore. The image of her kindness seared into my brain, branding me with doubt. And there she was, still giving a damn about someone else even when the world had screwed her over. She tended to Belle and made sure she ate. Listened to her fears, attempting to make her smile. Neither knew the fate that waited for them. Fuck.
Sunshine doesn't belong in the dark. A twisted laugh escaped my throat, but fuck if I didn't want to keep that light all for myself. Swallow it whole.
My gaze traced the line of Ella's jaw, the slope of her neck. She was all soft curves and hard resilience. Something knotted inside my chest. A desire to possess her.
"Fuck..." I pushed back from the desk, my boots thudding against the floor. The air was heavy, thick with my own anger. "You're gonna ruin me, Ella Trevaine."
And there it was—the wretched truth. The only beam of light in my shitty existence, she didn't deserve the fate we'd spun for her. And goddamn me for wanting to unravel it all just to see her shine.
The idea of taking her from Priscilla? It was a joke—a death wish. Yet here I was, thinking I could do it.
