Page 133 of Drowning in Darkness

“Hope you enjoyed your little taste of freedom, Stephanie, because what you experienced for that one night is a drop in the ocean compared to what I have in store for you.”

With a final burst of energy, I spit in his face, earning myself a slap. But the resulting sting reminds me of the most important thing—pain means you’re alive.

The thumping in my skull feels like my head has been used as a soccer ball during a game that went into overtime. I don’t move right away, choosing to lie still and absorb every detail before I make my consciousness known.

My stomach gurgles. Is it empty because it’s been hours since I’ve eaten, or did I vomit from the drugs? I sweep my tongue over my lips, which taste horrible. Shit, I hope I didn’t throw up the tracker. I didn’t think that through. Maybe I should have shoved it up my butt instead. But knowing Christopher, he’d probably find that one too.

There aren’t any bindings around my limbs, but I’m curled on my side against a cold metal floor. There’s a hum, like air conditioning, and beneath it the faint copper tang of spilled blood. I still have the dress on, but my shoes are missing. A small sob breaks the otherwise silent space I’m in. It’s not mine. I stopped crying a long time ago. It doesn’t help.

But it’s a fucking relief to know I must be the other girls. If Christopher had taken me somewhere else… No, it’s good. At least one thing is going according to my last-minute plan.

Now it’s time to face the consequences of my actions and figure out how much shit I’ve gotten myself into. Blinking my eyes open slowly, I look around.

Whatever horrors I had imagined were severely lacking.

I don’t know why I assumed this place would be low rent, considering who’s behind this. The prison-like environment isn’t cushy, but it’s fortified and terrifyingly impressive. There are six glass cells, glorified boxes, three on each side of a central walkway. In the cells across from me are three other women.

Looking at them breaks my heart. I can tell Christopher has had his fun with them. One looks a tiny bit better than the others, and I assume she’s the most recent one to arrive, after me, that is.

The one farthest from me in my corner cell is doing the worst. Her face is so swollen and bruised that she’s barely recognizable as human, and I’m pretty sure some of her bones are broken. Her wrist dangles from her arm at an unnatural angle. But she’s not the one sobbing—that’s the girl in the cell directly across from mine, the newest-looking one. The other two have learned I did—crying doesn’t help, and it gets him off.

“Hey,” I whisper across the distance, trying to get her attention. “What’s your name?”

She looks up at me with wide eyes. “Abby. God, he took you too? I don’t know how long I’ve been here. The others…”

We both turn to them, the two other girls in the next cells. The one in the middle looks like she’s sleeping, or more likely unconscious. But the one on the end is alert, the eye that isn’t swollen shut glaring across the distance at me.

“What’s your name?”

“What’s it matter? You gonna pretend we’re buddies?”

“I have people coming after me. We’ll all get out of here.”

The woman scoffs. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

“I’m trying to help.” I do my best to scoot across the floor toward the glass, laying my hand on it. “How long have you been here?”

“Last I remember, it was summer. So…”

God, that means it’s been months. Fuck. “I have people coming, the FBI. Don’t quit on me yet.”

The mention of the Feds seems to grab her attention, the flicker of hope inside her finding something new to cling to. Hope is dangerous when you’re in a place like this, but it’s also necessary.

“I… alright.” She glances away, curling into herself again. “It’s Nancy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Nancy.” I try to offer a smile, but it drops quickly.

The next thing I know, the door to the room slides open, and I jump to my feet and lift my chin as I face the demon featured in so many nightmares.

He’s removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt as if he’s getting ready to do the dirty work. My stomach twists, and I clench my jaw against the need to gag.

“I see you’ve met your new family,” Christopher says with a tilt of his head.

Nancy shuffles to the back of the box on her butt and casts her eyes down. I hate him and what he’s done all the more, and that familiar deadly urge rises. I thought it was a onetime thing, but maybe it’s a permanent part of me, forever etched in my soul, and now I need to embrace it. I’ll do whatever it takes to survive and free these women, and keep it from happening ever again. If I need to get blood on my hands, so be it.

“Get on your knees,” he demands.

Not fucking likely. I stare, unblinking, shoulders squared.