10. Jasmine #2
I waited, counting the seconds, willing myself to shrink down and dissolve into the ground.
It didn’t work. His steps were careful, even.
I saw the tips of his shoes first—old Adidas, gray, the mesh fabric torn at the toe.
He stopped right behind the boulder I’d wedged myself against and leaned over, looking down.
“Found you,” he said, but there was no triumph in it, just a kind of resigned affection. Like he was disappointed in the universe, not me.
He crouched, hands on his knees, and I saw his eyes in the star wash. They were bright, not even angry. He just waited.
“I wondered if you’d be the one to actually make it out the door,” he said. “You made it further than any of them.”
I didn’t answer. I stared at the ground, my throat too dry for even a curse.
He reached out a hand, but not close enough to touch. “I’ll help you up,” he said.
I spat at his shoe. Missed.
He waited another few seconds, then stood up and circled behind.
His arms were like bands of steel—not in the comic book way, but in the “fuck, I forgot men like this existed” way.
He lifted me under the arms, not gentle but not rough, and set me on my feet.
I tried to twist away, but his grip was absolute.
Not punishing, just total. He held me in front of him, checked my face for signs of concussion or collapse, then turned me toward the car.
I kicked at his shin, tried to drive my heel into his instep, but he was ready for it. He just let it ride out, like a teacher letting a toddler throw a tantrum.
We walked back to the car, him guiding, me resisting, but it didn’t matter. Every angle had already been closed off. He put me in the passenger seat, buckled the belt with a practiced hand, then started the engine. The heater was on, and the blast of warm air hit me in the face like a slap.
He drove for a full minute before speaking.
“The desert at night kills a person in three hours. Dehydration, hypothermia, or just panic. You did better than most.”
I stared out the window, the stars and brush running past in a blur.
He looked over, smile soft. “I’m not angry, Jasmine.”
I didn’t answer. I thought of Sniper. I thought of his hands on my shoulders, the smell of oil and steel, and the way his breath always caught when he was about to say my name. I thought of every minute spent learning to read escape routes and improvise weapons out of boredom and spite.
The man—Adam, or whatever he really called himself—kept talking, but his words bounced off me like rain.
“You’re extraordinary,” he said, “and I mean that. The others broke much sooner. Most never tried. You, though—you’re different.”
He said it like a compliment, but it tasted like poison in my mouth.
I looked at my hands, split and raw, the underwire still curled into my palm. I let it go, let it fall to the floor of the car. I would make another.
We drove in silence, the bunker looming up out of the black.
He parked, turned off the engine, and waited. For a second, I thought he might say something kind.
But I beat him to it. “Fuck you,” I said. My voice was wrecked but steady.
He laughed. “That’s more like it.” He helped me out of the car.
His hand was warm, steady, the grip of someone who’d already calculated every outcome.
He led me back to the stairwell, down the twelve steps at a time, into the cold, bright hallway.
He opened my cell, waited for me to step in, then closed the door with a soft, final click.
I sat down on the cot, every muscle shaking, but not from fear. Just exhaustion.
He looked at me through the bars. “You’ll try again,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
I didn’t say anything.
He nodded, turned, and walked away.
I looked at my hands, then at the wall, then at the black rectangle of the camera eye.
I thought of Sniper. The word lived in my chest like a compass needle.
And I started counting the hours again, not for sleep, but for the next window.
The desert could have me if it wanted. But so long as I was alive, the story wasn’t over.
I wouldn’t stop. Not now, not ever.
On his way back down the hall between cells, he stopped at Ashley’s cell. I watched in disbelief as she opened her cell door, Adam refusing to take his eyes off me.
He removed his shirt, revealing skin that was both taut and covered in ink. Ashley raised her tee over her head, showing him her bare breasts. I watched Adam fondle her, noticing the way her head slowly tilted back, how she moaned when he sucked at her nipples.
I watched him gently move her jeans down her legs, fingers rising back up when she stepped out of the jeans. He hooked his thumbs around her panties, still watching me, waiting for a reaction, and slid the panties off.
He backed her against the bars, and she raised her hands above her head, grabbing the bars before spreading her legs.
They’d practiced this scene before. Adam went to his knees in front of her, and I thought this was her chance.
Send a knee upward into his nose, killing him instantly.
But she didn’t. She fucking whispered his name as if he’d been sent from Heaven.
Adam spread her hairy cunt apart and began licking, his hands pressing her legs against the bars. She moaned louder with each lick, and I felt my stomach roll. She could have ended this misery for all of us.
Adam turned to watch me, his tongue never missing a stroke.
As Ashley began to shake, Adam shoved two fingers into her glistening pussy, fucking her with them while his tongue worked her clit.
She dropped her hands from the bars and ran her fingers through his hair, urging him, insisting that he finish her off. She could have fucking knocked his ass out.
I stood as Ashley moaned louder and came with his mouth buried deep in her cunt, thick pubic hair brushing his cheeks. I should have turned away, but I slid a step closer, where my cell ended. Adam stood, and his cock appeared, rock-hard and ready for action.
He turned her to face the bars, and her hands rose again, grabbing the cool steel. He entered her cunt from behind, and they both moaned. I hated myself for what happened next, what I felt. Did the growing wetness between my legs mean I was actually fucking enjoying this?
Adam turned his head toward me and smiled, his face tightening with each thrust, pushing Ashley harder and harder against the bars. When he came, it was like a fucking animal in the wild, all loud grunts and growls.
I staggered backward toward the cot, embarrassed at myself, ashamed of myself. I looked at the other girls, and they watched Adam fucking Ashley with a great amount of admiration. What the fuck had I walked into?
I reached for my cot and sat, still watching Adam and Ashley. When he pulled from her, a big glop of come splashed on the floor.
“See what you’re missing,” he said and walked out.
Ashley returned to her cell and closed the door, leaving her clothes in the aisle.