Chapter 1 #6
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into the night, though I didn’t know if it was for her—or for myself.
I staggered forward, one arm pressed tight to my chest, the other reaching blindly toward the approaching lights. Each step felt unreal, disconnected, like I was watching myself from far away.
Please, I thought, focusing on the headlights, on their growing brightness. Just reach me.
The lights loomed closer.
Every step felt like wading through broken glass.
The dirt road stretched ahead in a cruel ribbon of moonlight, pale and unforgiving, its gravel surface biting mercilessly into the soles of my bare feet.
I could feel the skin tearing with every step, raw and exposed, but pain had become background noise—another thing to endure.
I kept my right hand clamped tightly over the gash across my chest, fingers slick and warm, trying to slow the steady drip that marked my passage in dark, glistening spots along the road.
Blood pulsed beneath my palm in time with my heartbeat.
The wound burned with a deep, relentless fire—hot, swollen.
Don’t stop.
Don’t slow down.
My vision doubled, then blurred, then snapped back into focus only to split again.
The white car ahead wavered like a mirage, its shape swimming in the darkness as if the night itself were trying to swallow it.
The headlights were off now. The vehicle sat crookedly beside what looked like an abandoned roadside structure—low and squat, its windows dark, walls barely visible against the stone.
I locked my gaze on it.
That pale shape became everything. Not safety. Not rescue. Just something solid to walk toward.
One foot in front of the other.
Drag.
Step.
Drag.
My left arm hung useless at my side, numb and heavy, refusing to cooperate when I tried to use it for balance. More than once I lurched sideways, shoulder scraping hard against a roadside boulder.
I swallowed the scream that rose instinctively in my throat.
Screaming wasted air I didn’t have.
The road dipped suddenly, carved into a shallow rut by old rainwater. I didn’t see it in time. My foot slid, ankle buckling, and I went down hard on one knee.
A sob tore out of me before I could stop it. My free hand shot out blindly, fingers slamming against jagged rock.
Skin split across my knuckles.
More blood. Always more blood.
I hissed through clenched teeth and forced myself upright, teeth chattering now—not from cold, but from shock.
The car was closer. Maybe thirty yards. Maybe less. The distance distorted, stretching and shrinking as my head swam.
My legs felt detached, like they no longer belonged to me. Heavy. Sluggish. Every step required conscious effort, a command screamed internally at muscles that wanted to quit.
Dizziness rolled over me in waves so strong I had to stop twice just to keep the world upright.
The stars above spun lazily, blurred pinpricks in a black sky that didn’t care whether I lived or died.
Please, I begged silently, to no one and everyone. Just let me reach it.
I reached the vehicle at last.
The relief was so sudden it nearly buckled me again.
I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against the cool metal of the doorframe, eyes squeezing shut as I fought to stay upright.
The chill of the steel seeped into my skin, grounding me for a heartbeat. I breathed—shallow, ragged gasps that sent bolts of pain screaming through my chest.
I peered through the rear window.
Empty.
Dark interior. No movement. No silhouette in the driver’s seat.
My heart dropped straight into my stomach.
“No,” I whispered hoarsely. “No, no...”
Panic clawed at me, sharp and sudden.
I forced myself to look around, vision jerking wildly.
The only other structure nearby was the low building I’d noticed earlier—twenty feet away, maybe less. Crumbling plaster walls, stained by years of neglect. A single dim bulb flickered weakly above a wooden door, its light sputtering like it might die at any moment.
Someone had to be inside.
Someone had parked the car.
My knees gave out without warning.
I pitched forward, barely catching myself on the door handle. My fingers curled around it on instinct. I twisted—
It clicked.
Unlocked.
A small, stupid mercy.
I sagged against the open door, breath shuddering, tears finally burning at the backs of my eyes—not from fear now, but from the sheer effort of still being alive.
I half-fell, half-crawled into the backseat, my body moving on instinct alone, muscles obeying out of stubborn habit rather than strength.
My fingers barely managed to hook the edge of the door before gravity pulled me sideways. I dragged it shut with a weak, scraping motion, the sound of the latch clicking into place echoing far too loudly in the small, enclosed space.
The leather was cold against my overheated skin—slick, too, as blood immediately began to soak into the upholstery beneath me. Dark blooms spread outward, staining the pale seat in uneven shapes.
I curled onto my side, knees drawing in toward my chest, trying to keep pressure on the wound, but my arm shook so violently I could barely hold it there.
The slash beneath my breast wept steadily, warm and relentless, a thin trickle joining the larger gash higher up.
The pain had changed—no longer sharp enough to scream over, but deeper, heavier. A dull, thunderous roar that filled my skull and drowned out thought.
Every pulse of my heart felt too strong, too insistent, as if my body was trying to force the blood out faster.
God, please.
The words barely formed in my mind, too exhausted to become prayer.
Please let the owner of this car be a savior—anything but another predator.
I was still deep in Albanian territory. I knew that much.
Not far enough from the caves, from the men who owned roads and silence and graves. Anyone could find me here. Anyone could open this door and decide I was worth dragging back—or finishing off where I lay.
My eyelids grew impossibly heavy, like weights pressing down from the inside.
I forced them open again and again, teeth grinding as I fought the pull of unconsciousness.
Sleep felt dangerous. Like surrender.
The other women drifted through my thoughts, faces blurred but familiar. Ana. Sofia. Christina. Simona. Carina. They had scattered into the night like frightened birds, barefoot and bleeding and terrified—but alive. I clung to that thought, repeating it like a mantra.
They’re running. They’re hiding. They’re free.
I prayed they’d found shelter. A farmhouse. A border crossing. A stranger who didn’t ask questions.
I imagined them surviving out of spite if nothing else—living just to deny the men who had owned them the satisfaction of their bodies breaking.
And then there was Bianca.
The memory hit hard and sudden, knocking the breath from me.
Pinned against the shed wall. The Kompania brother’s hand wrapped around her throat, fingers digging in as if he’d done it a thousand times before.
Her eyes hadn’t widened. She hadn’t struggled. There had been no panic—just a flat, empty resignation, as though hope had been beaten out of her long ago.
Ricci Ferrari’s stolen bride.
Passed from one monster to the next until she’d ended up in that cave, traded and discarded like spoiled meat.
The look she’d given me before I ran—resigned, almost forgiving—hurt more than any blade. Like she’d already accepted her fate and was simply glad someone else might escape it.
“If I survive,” I whispered aloud, the words barely more than breath, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven pulls, “I’ll come back.”
The vow felt heavy. Dangerous. Necessary.
I would come back for her. For all of them. For the unheard, the unseen, the ones still trapped in lightless caverns while governments pretended those places didn’t exist.
I would tear down every last warlord, trafficker, and fixer who profited from selling women like livestock.
I would burn their underworld to ash.
If I survived.
If.
My head lolled against the seat, cheek pressed to leather already slick with blood. The world narrowed to fragments—the slow, rhythmic drip hitting the floor mat.
The metallic tang filling the air. The distant throb of my pulse pounding in my ears, too loud, too fast.
Then—
Voices.
Outside. Close.
“Dad... there’s blood.”
A child’s voice. Small. Startled. Not cruel. Not curious in the wrong way.
My heart lurched weakly.
I tried to lift my head. Tried to speak. My mouth opened, but nothing came out except a faint, wet rasp that hurt too much to repeat.
Footsteps crunched on gravel—two sets. One heavy. One light. The driver’s door opened, hinges creaking softly. A man’s silhouette filled the opening, backlit by the weak, flickering bulb from the building nearby.
He froze.
Muttering something under his breath, words I couldn’t catch.
His voice was low, controlled, accented—but not Albanian. Something softer. Italian, maybe. Greek. I couldn’t tell anymore.
Relief and fear tangled painfully in my chest.
The last thing I registered was the soft thud of a door closing.
And then—
Darkness swallowed me whole.