Chapter 21 Amanda
AMANDA
The sound of the lock turning felt like a gunshot.
I jerked upright so fast I nearly lost my balance. Hailey scrambled closer to me, the thud of her knees on concrete barely audible over the echo of heavy boots on metal stairs. We were both wide-eyed, breath held, bodies stiff with the kind of dread that made your teeth hurt.
The door clanged open.
They didn’t rush.
That was the first thing that set my teeth on edge.
Men who came to hurt you usually moved fast. Loud. Confident. These two lingered just inside the doorway, eyes adjusting, heads tilting like they were taking inventory instead of storming a cell.
Like this was a room they expected to control.
Two men stepped inside. Different ones this time.
Not the ones who’d grabbed me. These were younger.
Sloppier. One had a buzz cut and an oversized hoodie, the other wore a jacket with a faded military patch on the sleeve like he’d bought it off a thrift store mannequin.
The taller one let the door shut behind him, locking us back into stale air and fluorescent hum.
“Time for round two,” the buzz-cut one muttered, cracking his knuckles as he looked straight at Hailey.
Round two meant they’d already decided we were objects.
Not people.
Not problems.
Just something to be handled.
She stiffened next to me, breath stuttering out of her chest.
“No,” I said quickly, pushing her behind me. “You want someone? Take me.”
I didn’t think about myself.
Didn’t think about my ribs or my wrists or the way my head still swam when I moved too fast.
All I could see was how small Hailey looked pressed against the wall.
And how no one was taking her if I was still breathing.
He didn’t even hesitate.
Didn’t say a word.
He lunged.
I didn’t move fast enough. I wasn’t strong enough. His hand caught Hailey’s arm and yanked her forward with a snap that sent her skidding. She hit the wall hard and folded to the floor with a choked sound.
Something inside me went quiet.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Just a clean, dangerous stillness.
Rage tunneled my vision.
I didn’t think. Just moved.
I threw myself at him, fists swinging, body crashing into his side like I could somehow make him feel how wrong this was. He stumbled, cursing, and backhanded me hard enough to send stars exploding behind my eyes.
My head slammed the floor. My ears rang. But I didn’t stop.
Because she wasn’t moving.
Because I was done watching.
Buzz Cut shoved me back with a growl, but I rolled, got my knees under me, and lunged again. I didn’t have a plan. Just adrenaline and fury and the full-body knowledge that if I didn’t fight now, we might not get another chance.
I slammed into his midsection. We hit the ground, and I went for his face, his eyes, anything soft. His elbow caught my ribs. Pain exploded through my side, but I didn’t stop.
“Get the fuck off me!” he barked, but I was already twisting, biting, clawing.
The other man grabbed my arms and yanked me off him. I kicked out. I clocked the way his grip loosened when I kicked.
The way he hesitated before grabbing me again.
He wasn’t used to resistance. I kicked again and my heel landed somewhere between his legs. He swore and dropped me. I scrambled back, dragging Hailey toward the wall with one arm while bracing for another hit.
But it didn’t come.
Buzz Cut was bleeding. Just a little, from a scratch on his cheek. But he looked at me like I was something feral. Like I’d broken the rules.
“Stupid bitch,” he spat, wiping the blood with the back of his hand.
“Get out,” the other one muttered, voice low but urgent.
Buzz Cut hesitated, still glaring at me. Then he turned and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shuddered. The second man lingered a second longer, watching me with narrowed eyes, like I wasn’t what he expected.
Then he followed, and the lock slid into place behind them.
Silence again. But this time, it was charged.
They hadn’t won.
They’d retreated.
And men like that hated retreat more than blood.
I turned back to Hailey. Her head was still down, shoulders shaking.
“Hey,” I whispered, brushing the hair out of her face. “You okay? Talk to me.”
She blinked up at me, dazed. “I’m okay. I think. Just… dizzy.”
I helped her sit up slowly, my own ribs screaming in protest. Her cheek was already starting to swell.
“You did good,” I told her. “You stayed small. That’s what matters.”
She nodded weakly, still stunned.
I pulled her closer, cradling her with one arm while I scanned the room. My body was aching, brain foggy, but the burst of violence had given me something unexpected: information.
There were two of them. Only two.
One of them wasn’t in control.
There was hesitation in the second guy’s voice. Doubt.
Doubt was leverage.
Doubt meant cracks.
And cracks were where you pried things open.
And more importantly, there was a blind spot in the far left corner.
No camera. No reflection. Just shadows.
I had no idea what I was going to do with that yet.
But the room wasn’t theirs anymore.
Not completely.
But I filed it away.
Because we’d just drawn blood.
And that meant the next move was mine.
Hailey leaned into me, quiet now, but I could feel the tremble in her limbs. We were both still breathing hard. Still coming down from the adrenaline spike. My ribs throbbed. My knuckles were raw. My head felt like it was full of static.
But I was thinking again.
Focused.
They weren’t prepared for a fight. Not like that.
They didn’t expect us to push back.
And even more than that, they didn’t expect me.
That was the opening.
If I could stay one step ahead. If I could keep them off-balance long enough, I could figure out how to turn that to our advantage. Maybe not escape. Not yet. But information was power. Disruption was power.
Every second I stayed unpredictable was a second they weren’t in control.
“Hailey,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady. “Next time someone comes in here, I need you to stay close to the wall, okay? Don’t run. Don’t scream. Just watch.”
She nodded, lips pressed tight.
“I know it’s scary,” I added, softer. “But every time they underestimate us, we win a little.”
Her eyes met mine. “You think they’ll come back soon?”
“Yeah,” I said. “They won’t let that go.”
My eyes tracked the floor again, not looking for tools. Looking for damage.
The cot leg was bent where they had shoved me back onto it. Not snapped. Not loose. Just warped enough that the metal had split open at the seam.
A jagged edge caught the light.
I did not rush it. Rushing got people hurt.
I shifted my weight slowly, pressing my heel into the frame. The metal groaned under the pressure, a thin strip peeling away with a sharp, ugly sound that sent my pulse racing.
I froze.
Listened.
Nothing.
I leaned in again and snapped the strip free with a quick jerk. The sound was loud in the small room. Final. I wrapped the metal in the torn hem of my shirt without looking too closely at how it sliced my fingers in the process.
Pain was fine.
Pain meant I was still here.
I slid the shiv into the waistband of my pants, the metal cold and solid against my skin.
No victory. No relief.
Just leverage.
And sometimes, leverage was enough.