2. His Sinner
Chapter two
His Sinner
When I wake, I’m on something cold and hard, the roughness digging into my skin. The air is thick, stale, and every breath feels like swallowing dust. My head throbs, the ache pulsing and when I blink, my vision swims as I try to take in my surroundings.
I’m in an open cell similar to a police holding cell. There’s no bed, but there’s a toilet in the far corner. It’s dark, but I can just make out a single metal door apart from the cell. There’s a tiny grate at the top of the door, just big enough to let in a sliver of light.
Panic claws at my chest as I push myself up, every muscle in my body screaming in protest.
I’ve been taken.
My hand goes instinctively to my pocket, but it’s empty—my phone, my mace, my taser… all gone. They took everything. I squeeze my hands into fists, feeling my nails bite into my palms. My heart pounds, a heavy, frantic beat that drowns out everything else.
I peer into the dim light, squinting at the darkness until I see a row of bars separating my cell from another.
“Hey… are you… are you okay?”
For a second, I don’t respond, the sound so surreal I wonder if I’m imagining it. But then he asks me again, louder this time, and I realize there’s someone else here.
“I… I don’t know.” My voice shakes, a faint quiver I can’t quite suppress. “Where are we?”
He lets out a bitter laugh, the kind that holds no humor. “Hell, if I had to guess. Not exactly the place you book for a vacation.”
I push myself closer to the bars, peering until I can just make out a figure slumped against the wall of his cell, his face obscured by shadows. There’s something about his voice that cuts through the fog in my mind.
“Do you know… why we’re here?” I ask, forcing myself to sound braver than I feel.
He’s silent for a moment, a pause that stretches, heavy and tense. “No. But it doesn’t matter. These people… they don’t care about ‘why.’ They just… take. And they don’t let go.”
The chill in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. I don’t know him, don’t know what he’s been through, but I feel an odd connection to him, a strange comfort in the knowledge that I’m not alone in this nightmare.
“What’s your name?” I ask, trying to focus on anything other than the fear clawing at my throat.
He hesitates, like he’s weighing whether to answer, but then he sighs; a soft, resigned sound. “Dominic.”
“Aria.” I don’t know why I offer it, but somehow, saying my name makes me feel… real, like I’m holding onto a piece of myself they haven’t stolen yet.
The cold concrete presses into my palms as I try to steady myself, my mind still swimming with the aftershocks of whatever just happened. My whole body feels heavy, but I force myself to breathe, to keep control. I need to keep it together. I’m trapped, locked in a cell, but at least I’m not alone.
“How long have you been here?” My voice wavers, even though I hate the way it sounds so fragile. I want strength and control, but neither feels within reach.
I watch as he moves forward, sliding closer to the bars that separate us. The scent of pine needles and motor oil envelops me and I turn to finally look at him properly. The light catches his face now, bringing him into focus. He’s young, maybe my age, with dark hair that’s a little too long, a hint of scruff along his jaw, and eyes that glint green in the darkness.
Strong, too, by the looks of him. Muscular. Dressed in a black hoodie and black jeans, there’s something almost haunting in his gaze, like he’s seen too much already.
“A week, give or take,” he says, voice flat, matter-of-fact. “It’s hard to keep track in here. I don’t see the sun, don’t know if it’s day or night half the time. Just snippets of conversations, the masked guys talking about… deliveries. That’s all I know.” He leans his back against the bars, head tilted toward me, studying me like he’s trying to gauge if I can handle what he’s about to say next.
“Deliveries?” I echo, the word slipping out before I can stop it. It sits wrong in my head, twisting into something ugly. “What… what does that mean?”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands. “It means they’re waiting for someone to come for us,” he says. “Three girls were in here before you—your age, from what I could tell. They were here one day, gone the next. Just like that. Then you showed up.”
A cold, sick feeling settles in my stomach, twisting tighter with each word he says. Three girls in one week, give or take. I can feel the blood draining from my face, my vision starting to blur as panic surges up, hard and fast. My hand slips around the cross dangling from around my neck and the walls around me seem to close in, squeezing the air from my lungs.
“So… they’re going to…?”
“Hey.” His voice cuts through the spiral. “Look at me.”
I force myself to lift my gaze, finding his eyes through the bars. He’s calm, steady, like he’s done this before, like he knows exactly what to say to keep me from falling apart.
“Breathe,” he says calmly. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slow it down.”
I try, but my lungs are barely cooperating, my breaths coming in short, jagged gasps. “I… I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he says. He shifts even closer, until he’s almost pressed against the bars, his fingers wrapping around the metal as he leans in. “Listen to me. Just focus on breathing. In, out. Nothing else.”
I follow his lead, closing my eyes for a second, forcing myself to match his steady breathing while my hand tightens around the pendant. In… out. In… out. The panic doesn’t vanish, but it loosens, just enough that I don’t feel like I’m drowning anymore.
I cling to the rhythm of it, grounding myself in the way his voice guides me, anchoring me in a way I can’t explain. After a few more breaths, I feel like I can speak again.
“What… what do they want?” My voice is barely more than a whisper, but I force the words out, needing some kind of answer, even if it’s one I don’t want to hear.
He sighs, his gaze shifting away for a moment. “Honestly? I don’t know for sure. Just bits and pieces, but it sounds like… trafficking. It’s a business to them, people moving in and out like products.” His jaw clenches, a flicker of anger passing over his face, but he shoves it down, meeting my gaze again. “You didn’t hear that from me, okay? Don’t let them know what you know. It’s safer that way.”
The reality of it crashes down over me like a wave, and I grip the bars in front of me, fingers digging into the cold metal. “And… they’re going to sell me?”
He winces, like my question hurts him more than it should, but he doesn’t deny it. “I don’t know, Aria.”
His words settle over me, a strange mix of comfort and dread. I don’t know him, but there’s something about the way he speaks, the way he’s calm despite the situation, that makes me feel… safer. Like maybe he’s more than just some stranger trapped with me.
“So… what do we do?” I ask, my voice steadier now.
“We wait and we watch for an opening. People like this get cocky. And when they do, we’ll be ready.”
He sounds so sure, like he’s thought this through, like he’s spent every second of being taken planning for this. I feel a flicker of hope, just a tiny ember in the darkness, but it’s something.
“Why… why are you here? Do you know?” I ask, needing to know more, to understand him in whatever way I can.
His gaze shifts again, his eyes going darker for a moment before he answers. “Wrong place, wrong time. Guess I was unlucky enough to catch someone’s eye.” He pauses, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You learn real quick that people don’t need a reason to hurt you. Sometimes, they just… do.”
I swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. I’ve spent years believing in the justice system, in fairness, in the idea that people get what they deserve. But right now, all of that feels fragile and distant. I’m trapped in a world where none of those things matter, where survival is just a matter of who’s stronger and who can last longer.
“Do you think we’ll get out of here?” My voice is barely more than a whisper, but I can’t stop myself from asking as I sit with my knees against my chest.
He meets my gaze, holding it with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “Yes,” he says firmly. “I don’t know when, or how, but we’re getting out of here. And when we do, they’ll regret ever putting us in these cells.”
There’s a fire in his eyes, and it’s enough to keep me grounded, to keep me holding on to the sliver of hope he’s handed me. I lean back against the wall, feeling my body start to relax, if only a little. The fear’s still there, lurking beneath the surface, but it doesn’t feel as suffocating, not with him here.
“So… what did you do before this?” I ask, wanting to keep the conversation going, to focus on something other than the walls closing in around us.
“Nothing fancy,” he says, shrugging. “Me and my two older brothers work together, family business and all that.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it, just a hollow sound that echoes through the cell. “Life’s funny that way.”
I nod, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with him. We’re both just… people. Normal, everyday people who ended up in a nightmare through no fault of our own. And now, we’re here, clinging to whatever fragments of ourselves we can hold onto.
“What about you?” he asks, his eyes steady on mine. “What were you doing before this?”
“I’m a student,” I say, feeling a pang as I think of the life I left behind. “Studying law. Not exactly a thrilling life, but… it was mine. I had plans, you know? A whole future laid out in my head.”
He nods, a soft understanding in his gaze. “Guess we both lost something then. But don’t count yourself out yet, Aria. You’re here now, but that doesn’t mean you have to stay.”
Something in his words stirs a spark in me, a reminder that this doesn’t have to be the end. That I’m still here, still breathing, still fighting.
“Do you… do you believe in God?” The words slip out before I can second-guess them, and I wonder why I asked, why I need to know.
He tilts his head, his gaze flicking to the cold stone floor before looking back at me, a faint, humorless smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“God?” he echoes, his voice flat. “No. I’ve got no reason to. Not now, not ever, and especially not in here.”
I look away, the words sinking in, and reach for the cross around my neck, the familiar shape grounding me, offering comfort. The chain is worn, the pendant small and simple, but it’s been with me through everything, a reminder of faith, of something larger than this. I keep my fingers on it, running my thumb along its edges, letting the weight of it press against my skin.
“I believe,” I murmur, the words soft, like a confession. “It’s… it’s all I’ve got sometimes.”
He chuckles. “Lawyer in training, right? The only God you lawyers pray to is Greed. Or maybe Power.” He raises an eyebrow, an amused glint in his gaze. “Faith doesn’t really fit the image there, Little Sinner.”
I manage a faint smile at the random nickname, rolling my eyes at his comment, but there’s a warmth in his teasing. “Hey, some of us actually want to make a difference. I know, shocking.”
“Yeah, yeah, difference-makers,” he says, a hint of sarcasm coloring his tone. Then he shrugs, looking away, his gaze distant for a moment. “I guess we all have our crutches. Just never felt like I had a reason to lean on something that didn’t feel real.”
I nod slowly, still clutching the cross, understanding that faith isn’t for everyone. “Sometimes it’s all you’ve got, though. A little hope, something to believe in when nothing else makes sense.”
His eyes soften, and he meets my gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Guess that’s fair. Just don’t expect any holy miracles here. If we’re getting out, it’ll be because we’re willing to fight our way out.”
“Agreed,” I murmur.
He leans back, studying me for a moment longer before he nods. “Then here’s to fighting,” he says with a wan smile. “Get some rest, Aria. They’ll be back soon enough. And you’re going to need your strength.”
I want to argue, to stay awake, but exhaustion pulls at me, and I can feel my body starting to give in. “Thanks,” I murmur, feeling the words slip out before I can stop them.
He just nods, his gaze softening. “We’re getting out of here one way or another. Don’t forget that.”
I close my eyes, holding onto his words, letting them anchor me as I drift off. The fear is still there, lurking in the darkness, but it feels like something I can face. Because I’m not alone.
“I’m sorry you ended up here, Aria.”
There’s a rawness in his voice, a sadness that echoes in the empty space between us. And even though I don’t understand why he’s apologizing, I find myself whispering back, “Me too.”