Three
JENNA
The water in the base of the canister barely touches the sides. “Here.” I hold it out to Mila. “You need it more than me.” Her voice has almost disappeared due to how dry her throat is.
“Thanks.” She accepts the vessel with bony hands and tosses the water back.
It’s hardly enough for her to warrant swallowing.
“I want you to know,” she says with a shy smile. “I’m not proud of what I did to myself to end up like this.” She holds the vessel out with a shaking hand.
“I never assumed you were.” I accept the empty canister back and cap it.
“What’s your story?” Mila asks, tipping her chin toward me. “How did you end up here?”
I glance at Mary-Beth’s body, and swallow. “Much the same as all of you. Wrong place at the wrong time.”
She thankfully accepts my vague answer and settles down to rest again. The asshole upstairs took The Kid what feels like hours ago, Eleanor never returning either. It’s not the length of their absence that concerns me, more the lack of anything that followed.
No shouting.
No screams.
No crying.
Just long, awkward beats of silence broken by the occasional murmur.
I shuffle over to where Nandi sits beside Darla, arm linked through hers. “How do you feel?” Thankfully, Nandi didn’t take too long to wake up after the asshole hit her, but the ice-pick headache she struggles with now worries me.
“The same.” Eyes closed, head back against the wall, she sighs. “I keep thinking it all through, trying to remember what happened last night before I went to sleep, and I can’t recall anything that seems important.”
My pulse quickens. “Don’t stress yourself while you’ve got a headache. I’m sure it’ll all make sense soon.”
“Will it?” Darla asks. “Because I’ve been doing the same, and all I can come up with is that Mary-Beth did a good fucking job of making enemies out of all of us.”
“Who says anyone else was to blame?” I offer, testing the water. “Like I told fuckface upstairs, she could have done it accidentally in her delirium.”
Darla lifts an eyebrow while Nandi cracks an eye open a fraction.
No takers, then. “I’m more concerned about The Kid and Eleanor,” I redirect. “We can’t change what happened to Mary-Beth. But shouldn’t we do something to help them?”
“Like what?” Nandi murmurs. “Got any bright ideas, sparky?”
“Do you?”
Darla snorts.
Fuck it all. The more time that passes since shit went south with Mary-Beth, the bigger the web of lies I’m forced to weave. I drop back on my haunches and scrub both hands over my face. I’d kill for a cigarette about now—something to take the edge off.
This isn’t how things were supposed to go.
But I guess life really isn’t like the movies. There’s no conveniently unlocked door. No loose brick in the wall that leads to freedom. No plot twist that turns the captive sympathetic. And absolutely no reason for the assholes upstairs to have a come-to-Jesus moment.
Fuck! I slam both palms to the dirty floor at my sides and crane my neck back to stare up at the ceiling. “Hey!”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Darla hisses, grabbing for me.
I scurry sideways out of reach and yell again. “You up there! Where the fuck is The Kid? What have you done to Eleanor?”
“Shut up,” Darla hisses. “Are you trying to get us all killed?”
“What is she doing?” Mila murmurs, panicked eyes moving to Kathy.
The redhead abandons the mutilation of her cuticles and draws her knees up, glancing to the ceiling.
“Why can’t I hear anything?” I yell, frustration tightening my hands to fists.
“Fuck,” Darla whispers, hustling across the floor on her knees. “What the hell has gotten into you?” She attempts to clamp her hand over my mouth, but I dodge.
“Don’t you want to know?” I whisper-hiss at her. “They’ve been gone for ages, and neither of them has made a fucking sound. What if they’re dead now, too?”
“Then yelling won’t do anything but ensure you get a place beside them,” Nandi snipes.
“I’m nervous,” Mila whines. Is she ever anything but? The woman scratches at the scabs on her arms.
Darla opens her mouth to say something, yet freezes when Eleanor’s voice cuts through the timber overhead. “We’re fine.”
Sure. And they don’t have a gun to her head while she says that.
“Prove it,” I holler back.
There’s a murmur or two followed by heavy footsteps and the scratch of something dragging. The front door clicks open, this time the slam of feet on the grass audible as they approach the cellar.
“Now you’ve fucking done it,” Nandi murmurs, resting her head back again.
I shrug, earning a scowl from Darla.
The bolt slides free.
We all freeze, attention on the door as it opens swiftly and The Kid comes tumbling through the gap. She barely makes a grunt when she hits the floor, shoulder first.
“The hell you doing?” Darla tugs free of Nandi and ushers the kid to safety, checking her over.
“Happy?” The greasy motherfucker from before leers at me from his position blocking the exit.
“No.” I rise to my feet. “Why didn’t you bring Eleanor back? What are you doing with her?”
He raises a brow at my move, gaze dragging down my body. I still wear the slim-fit jeans, oversized T-shirt, and worn sneakers I was in when they captured me, but I may as well be naked for how vile it feels. “Whatever we do with her,” he sneers, “it ain’t any of your business.”
“How much longer do you plan to keep us here?” It’s been a week. I think. We’re owed an explanation.
“You’re sure full of questions,” he muses, danger lurking in the elongated sounds. “Especially for somebody who still owes me answers.”
The door swings open wider, the younger guy from the van swiftly striding into the room. He crouches beside Mary-Beth’s body, a rusty machete hooked in the back of his belt.
We’ve all seen it, yet none of us dare move. Not when the greasy fucker watches us with twisted interest.
“What are you doing?” Darla asks quietly.
The younger man doesn’t answer. He tosses Mary-Beth’s boots aside, then loops a rope around her ankles in a figure-eight to bind them together.
I make the mistake of catching his eye when he stands, rope clutched in his fist. Mary-Beth’s body makes a horrid scratching sound as it pulls taut behind him. Yet he doesn’t flinch. He stares me down as though promising I’ll be next if I don’t fall into line.
What did she tell them? Is that why the kid’s back? Has Eleanor ratted me out?
Kathy looks away, Mila burying her head in her arms, and Darla staring at the floor before her while the drag/scratch of Mary-Beth’s body echoes in the small room as the guy removes her corpse.
I try not to vomit when her head bounces up the wooden stairs.
“What will you do with her?”
The fuck? I stare at Nandi like she’s lost her goddamn mind. Why does she want to know that?
“Fuck around again,” the greasy asshole promises, “and you can find out for yourself.”
“Wait.” I stall his exit, as much as I hate to do so. “Can we please have some more water? There’s none left.”
He scoffs at my simple request. “Then drink your fucking piss.” He reaches the door and turns to close it.
I notice the destitute look on Mila’s face. The frustration on Nandi’s.
“Bring us water.” I get to my feet.
The energy shifts in the air around us. Mila buries herself behind Kathy’s shoulder as best she can. Darla stiffens, sitting straighter with her lips parted.
Fear courses its toxic wake through my veins, yet I tighten my fists to divert the focus and lift my chin.
The greaser takes a slow, deep breath, hard stare fixed on me while he seemingly decides what to do with me.
He’s already lost one asset. He’d be a fool to kill me, too.
“So you’re the one who thinks you’re the boss, huh?” He takes lazy steps back into the room. “Think you can tell these whores what to do? Tell me what to do.”
“We need water to stay hydrated. Healthy. Alive.” I state the obvious. “Even farmers give their pigs water. Why deny us?”
A rare light enters his cruel eyes. I’d almost say I impressed him with that comeback.
“You can go three days without water,” he answers. “You don’t need it.”
Fucker. “Is that your way of saying we’re not going to be here much longer?”
“Jenna,” Darla hisses. “Sit down.”
“No.” I set my sights back on the man before us. He’s not superhuman. He’s no God. Why should he get to dictate our lives like this? “Give us water.”
Mila’s eyes grow impossibly wide. Kathy bites her bottom lip so hard blood blooms at the seam with her teeth.
The man steps forward, stale smoke wafting over me with the movement.
“How about you shut the fuck up?” He raises a hand and his thick fingers slide around my throat, squeezing.
It’s no use—I grip his wrist tight, but the man’s immovable.
Solid. The weight eases off the soles of my feet, toes of my sneakers scraping the dirty concrete as he walks me backward.
Everything swims around me, darkening when I lose focus, my sense of up or down going hazy as I register my center of balance tilting to the left.
This asshole sure has a problem with women.
Maybe Mommy didn’t love him enough. Spots mar my vision before he tosses me to the side, legs failing as I crash down.
Hard.
“Don’t ever think you have the right to look me in the eye like we’re equals again,” the asshole sneers before retreating from the room, the door slamming shut in his wake.
Joke’s on him.
I never assumed to be his equal.
I know I’m better.