Trigger Warning: This chapter includes scenes of verbal threats, physical intimidation and psychological distress.

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Blake Hart

It was the fourth day.

Or maybe the fifth. I wasn’t sure anymore. Time had become useless here, just a blur of lightless hours and whispered threats. The bulb above my head flickered like it might finally burn out and part of me hoped it would. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to look at the cracked ceiling anymore. Maybe then I could pretend this wasn’t real.

Before all this, my biggest concern was telling my dad I wasn’t going to work for the company. My life was a quiet routine. I had my own plans. My own dreams. I wanted a life where I decided which stage I danced on.

Now?

Now I was just trying to survive.

They only let me out of this room to use the bathroom and even then, always with two men watching, guarding, like I might explode at any second. I stopped looking them in the eye after the second day. They stood by the door every time, silent, tense, ready. I wasn’t stupid. I knew why they watched.

They never touched me.

Not until G left. He didn’t say anything, just vanished like he’d finished whatever twisted part of the plan involved me. I hadn’t felt relief. Not even confusion. Just...a sick knowing in my stomach that things were about to get worse.

First, I overheard someone grumbling to the other guy, “He ain’t comin’ back. He’s done his part. We’re stuck with her now.”

“She’s gonna be a fucking problem,” the other one said. “We should’ve taken care of it day one.”

They didn’t know I was awake when they said that. I kept my breathing steady, barely blinking in the dark.

That’s when the threats began. Quiet ones at first. Whispers, looks.

Frankie was the first to show his teeth.

He came in the night after G left.

I was curled in the corner of the mattress they’d thrown on the floor. Still cuffed, still trying to ignore the ache in my shoulders and the bruises blooming on my arms. He crouched beside me and looked at me like I was something breakable he was tired of pretending to be careful with. His breath stank of sour coffee and smoke. He grabbed my jaw like he owned it, like I wasn’t even human.

“You think you’re special?” he said, voice low and sour. “Wait until we stop playin’ nice.”

Then his hand slid too close. “Think someone’s gonna come save you? No one even knows you’re here.” he muttered.

He reached for my shirt.

I bit him.

Hard.

He screamed, yanked his hand back and slapped me hard across the face. The sound cracked through the room and pain bloomed across my cheek. I tasted blood but didn’t flinch. My ears rang but I didn’t cry. I wouldn’t give him that. I curled tighter, back to the wall, heart pounding so loud I could barely hear him cursing.

“You little bitch,” he hissed. “Try that again and I’ll knock your teeth out.”

He stormed out, spitting curses. I didn’t sleep after that.

The next day, the other one, Mark, I think his name was, tried to “check on me.” Said it like I was sick and he was some concerned neighbor. He sat on the edge of the mattress and leaned in too close, fingers brushing my wrist like he was testing how far he could go.

“Bet you were a pretty little thing before this, huh?” he muttered, eyes dark and hungry.

I pulled away, staring straight ahead, heart slamming against my ribs.  

He laughed, low and mean.

“G should’ve taken care of you himself. Always had a soft spot for broken girls.”

I didn’t answer or move. If I reacted, he’d feed on it.

Eventually, he stood and walked out like it was just another boring shift.

But everything shifted tonight.

Something changed.

I heard it before I saw it. The tension in their voices. Raised tones. Fast footsteps outside the door. Frankie yelling.

“What the fuck are they doing here?!”

“This wasn’t part of the deal, nobody’s supposed to know about this land.”

“I told you we should’ve moved her sooner.”

“We don’t even know if this is about her!”

A door slammed. 

Silence.

Then Frankie burst into the room, face pale and eyes wide with something I’d never seen before.

Fear.

He didn’t say a word. Just stomped over, checked the cuffs on my wrist and dragged me to my feet.

“Don’t think this is over,” he snarled. “We’re not done yet.”

But his voice was shaking and as he turned and left, slamming the door behind him, I stood there, frozen. Whatever had spooked them… it was big.

I didn’t know who had come. Maybe it was worse. Maybe it wasn’t help at all. But maybe, just maybe, it was my chance.

Maybe while they were busy panicking, I could run.

I wasn’t waiting for a savior. I’d stopped believing in that the moment the first lock clicked shut.

No. 

If I was getting out of here… I’d do it myself.