Page 6

Amora

Time stands still—not the kind they talk about in films, but the kind where every minute is dragged out just to breed more fear. My eyes stay fixed on the handle, waiting for it to finally turn. I try not to move, but my gaze darts to Rosa every time her chains scrape against the stone, forcing me to bite down a hiss and tell her to be quiet. We've watched survival films before—she knows as much as I do about how to survive. Still, her body trembles in a way mine doesn't. Maybe it's adrenaline. Or maybe it's that I'm using every ounce of strength I have to cling to some steadiness, so I can protect her.

A key scrapes in the lock. This is it. No going back now. They're coming in. Breathe. Just breathe.

"Whatever you do, Rosa, don't speak. Don't cry. Don't show them you're scared, okay?" I try to make it sound like a command, even though my voice shakes uncontrollably—which annoys me to my core. For fuck's sake, get it together.

She nods, eyes wide, tears glinting on her lashes as the door swings open.

The man who enters is huge, belly hanging over stained trousers, shirt stretched and filthy. If I wasn't being held against my will, I'd laugh at the fact that he's a walking stereotype. His gaze crawls over us, lingering on our legs. I try to pull my dress down to cover my exposed skin from him. Why did I wear this? It's so fucking short. Oh, wait—I know why. Because I wanted men to look at me. And now look where we are. Because of that, that's why we're here. Fucking idiot.

I don't have time to dwell—his voice croons through the air, the sound jarring.

"I hope you two have been behaving." He turns from us for a second, whistling at the door like he's calling for dogs, but instead a line of young women file in behind him. Their faces are veiled, bodies nearly naked under sheer fabric—enough to see the bruises and old scars on their arms and thighs. They move in silence, eyes fixed to the stone floor.

I try to lock my own with theirs, but they never look up. They move around the room like ghosts, clearly conditioned by whatever depravity this sick bastard's done to them. The voice in my head creeps from the darkest corners. This will be you soon if you don't do something. I push back. Like what? What could I possibly do that they haven't tried?

One kneels in front of me. Her dark stare rises above the veil, filled with pain and warning. As if she's trying to secretly tell me that this is the end, that life is over now.

I swallow, forcing the words out. "What do you want from us?"

The man laughs, loud and ugly. "I don't want anything from you, lass. I've got my wives." He turns, face greedy as his hand connects with one of the girls' backsides, the slap heavy and loud. She flinches under his touch but doesn't make a sound. "But that doesn't mean others won't. I reckon we'll make a pretty penny off you both."

Air gets trapped in my throat as I try to breathe. He's going to sell us. He's going to fucking sell us to whatever sick perv he can find. Stay calm. Think.

He moves over to the door now, his fat stomach still hanging disgustingly over his filthy trousers, his body filling the doorway and blocking any hope of escape. One of the young women moves quietly to my side and crouches at my ankle. Her hands are small and trembling as she fumbles with the lock. My whole body tenses as she tries to unlock the chain, every muscle straining. I keep my eyes fixed on the fat man at the door. He's disgusting. That stained shirt, that overhanging stomach. It leaves a rotten taste on my tongue just by looking at him.

My eyes flicker between him and the empty space, occasionally darting to the woman fumbling at my ankle. I have to get out. Think. Think. If I could just…I let my eyes close for a fraction of a second, trying to plan. I'll shove her. I'm a fast runner. I spent my whole teenage years training for the cross-country team. Granted, I didn't get picked, but still—I'm fast. I can outrun him. I just need a head start. My fingernails scrape against the floor as I try to find something to cling to, but there's only stone beneath the palms, my breathing picks up pace. My legs itch to sprint. I watch the door, listening hard for anyone waiting on the other side.

That's when I hear her. Rosa. Her small sobs fill the room as she cradles her knees tightly to her chest. I turn slowly, her eyes peeking over her legs, burning into me. Don't cry, Rosa. Please. I can't lose it, too.

Every part of my plan sinks like an anchor in the ocean.

"Why aren't you unchaining her?" I don't know who I'm speaking to—not that it matters. His wives are like ghosts. They don't speak. I'm starting to think they're not even breathing. He continues to stand in the doorway like an immovable boulder.

"I said, why is no one unchaining her?" I try to snatch my ankle away, but he bounds over fast. His chubby legs move quicker than I'd expected, his boot stamping hard on my ankle.

"Quiet, bitch." His breathing is heavy, chesty. "Stay still."

I groan in pain, my hands flying to my leg as he twists his boot harder into my skin, just as the woman finally releases me from the chain. I can feel Rosa watching. I don't want to look at her. I don't want her to watch me break.

"Right, let's go," the man says as he yanks me to my feet; his grip pinching hard into my arm, his dirty nails pressing in deep. I twist, refusing to just let him take me, my body writhing in his grip.

"Get the fuck off me!"

"Ohhh, steady." His laugh slithers under my skin, igniting something inside me. He's enjoying this. Sick fuck.

"Get off me, you fucking pig!" I scream. I don't expect the feel of his hand to connect so fast or the way my head jolts to the side. My cheek burns instantly as the slap rings through my ears, pain searing through my face, but he doesn't stop there. His hands worm into my hair, fisting and gripping hard as he pulls me to face him.

"Try that again, you little slut," he spits through a ragged breath. I try to avoid his gaze that devours me whole, my eyes searching for my sister as her sobs fill my ears, each one digging deeper into my soul.

"Please." My voice is a whisper. "Please let us go." The time for begging is probably long gone, but I have to try. He pulls me closer to his face, his body odour so strong I'm almost sick. The smell of beer and ash is heavy on his breath.

"You know, the fiery ones always break first. I'm almost jealous of the prick who gets to fuck it out of you."

His words wind me like a punch to the gut. No. No. No. He pushes me into his wives, their hands gentle as they hold onto me for dear life.

"Don't bother trying to fight them, girl. I've got lads all round this house, and they're all starving for a bit of fresh meat." He sniggers, walking closer to Rosa.