Chapter 10
Brooke
Ifeel cold at first. Then pain—deep, slicing, pulsing in three places along my spine.
Then the feeling of fabric sticking to my skin.
I blink slowly and realize I’m lying face-down on a cot in the physician’s quarters, cheek pressed to a thin pillow already smeared with my blood.
Something tugs at the puncture near my shoulder blade. I jerk instinctively.
“Don’t move,” the physician says dryly. “Unless you’d like permanent nerve damage.”
My breath shakes out in short, panicked bursts. “Stop—stop, please—”
“Hysteria won’t speed anything up.”
His tone doesn’t change at all. He keeps working.
My fingers curl into the pillow, nails scraping fabric as he prods the wound. Pain tears down my back like lightning.
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. “It—hurts—”
“Of course it does. It’s been in there long enough to swell around it.”
His hand presses harder. I cry out, body arching despite myself. Every movement makes fire shoot up my spine. My legs tremble uncontrollably. I can’t breathe. For one heart-stopping moment, panic threatens to swallow me whole. And then a memory slides in. Soft, warm, nothing like this place.
Seth behind me in bed, his breath on my neck, his hand covering mine.
Baby, you’re okay. Breathe with me.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.
I repeat it until my lungs obey.
The physician grunts. “Good. Stay still. Almost there.”
He twists the dart once. White-hot agony spikes through me. My scream tears through the room, muffled only when I bite down on the pillow until fabric fills my teeth.
Then a sickening wet pop as the metal slips free. Warm blood flows instantly.
“One down,” he says.
I am shaking so hard the cot rattles.
He doesn’t wait. The second dart tears even deeper when he probes for it. His fingers press directly into the torn muscle, searching for the barbed edge.
A thin, broken sound escapes me. “Please—”
“Quiet.”
He finds the dart and pulls.
My vision blacks out for a second. My body arches off the cot, nerves screaming. My tears soak the pillow. My breath stutters.
Seth’s voice echoes again in my mind:
Focus on one point. Block everything else out. I’ve got you.
I stare at a crack in the wall.
Breathe.
Hold.
Exhale.
The physician moves to the third wound.
“That one is deep,” he murmurs. “Don’t move unless you want me to rupture something important.”
I dig my nails into the cot frame and brace myself. When he pulls the final dart free, I nearly black out again. Heat flushes through my body, followed by cold, followed by a hollow dizziness like I am not fully in my skin anymore.
By the time he finishes cleaning the wounds and stitching them closed, sweat soaks my hairline and the cot sheet beneath me.
He straightens with a sigh. “You’ll live.”
I can’t answer. My throat won’t work.
“But,” he adds, gathering his tools, “Elliot has asked for you to attend dinner.”
My head lifts weakly. “Dinner?”
He gives a thin smile. “This house has… routines.”
The intercom crackles.
“Everyone to the dining room. Now.”
The physician wipes his hands and steps aside. “Up you go.”
I push myself upright. Pain shoots down my back with every twitch of muscle. My broken wrist throbs mercilessly. My vision swims. But I stand.
Asher appears in the doorway. “Let’s go.”
He grabs my upper arm, dragging me through the hallway. Every step sends a shock through the stitches. I clench my jaw and keep moving. Because stopping isn’t an option.
The dining room is too warm. Too elegant. Too civilized for a place built on torture. A crystal chandelier glows above a long polished table set with silverware and linen napkins, like a family dinner scene from a magazine, except everyone here looks starved and hunted.
Elliot sits at the head, calm and composed, like a man presiding over a celebration.
Sophie lounges beside him, one leg crossed over the other, sipping red wine like it is the easiest night of her life.
Knox leans against the doorway, arms folded, bored.
Asher circles the room slowly, smiling like he is waiting for someone to slip up so he can enjoy it.
Next to me sits Miles, Sarah, Jared, and Emma. Every one of them looks like they have been drained hollow. Their cheeks have sunk inward, their hands tremble against the table, and their eyes carry the dull, exhausted glaze of people who have gone too long without real food.
Two servers enter the room carrying silver platters.
The smell reaches me before I even see the food.
It is hot and greasy, thick with rendered fat and something sweet that has burned too long under heat.
Beneath it lingers another note that makes my stomach twist. The scent carries the faint copper tang of blood mixed with the heavy odor of cooked skin and marrow.
There is something unmistakably wrong about it.
My stomach clenches violently.
The servers lift the lids. Steam rolls upward in dense waves. The platters hold roasted vegetables and thick slices of browned meat, the surface dark and glistening with juices that pool along the edges of the tray.
Miles leans slightly toward me and speaks barely moving his mouth.
“They never feed us like this,” he whispers. “It’s always shakes or soup. Never this.”
I shake my head once, hard.
Every instinct in my body screams at me not to touch it. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I know with absolute certainty that it is not food.
Sarah’s breathing hitches. She lunges forward first, grabbing at the meat with shaking fingers.
Miles blinks rapidly as if he is trying to hold back tears while reaching for his plate.
Emma doesn’t hesitate at all. She tears into the food with both hands.
Jared follows silently, chewing so fast that he nearly chokes.
None of them question it. None of them slow down.
I don’t move. I don’t touch the plate sitting in front of me.
The smell thickens in my throat, heavy with that same burned sweetness that makes bile rise in the back of my mouth. It doesn’t smell like beef or pork or anything that should have been served at a table.
I shake my head.
“Don’t eat it.”
Miles stares at the plate.
His hands hover above the meat, fingers twitching as steam curls upward. Hunger has hollowed him out so badly his body leans toward the food without him realizing it. His throat works as he swallows, eyes fixed on the glistening slices.
Around us, the room fills with the sound of chewing. Sarah tears through her portion with shaking hands. Emma eats with grease slick across her fingers. Jared stuffs pieces into his mouth so quickly he barely chews.
Miles’ hand starts to lower toward the plate.
Then his eyes flick to me.
I shake my head once.
“Don’t.”
He looks back at the food. His jaw tightens. His stomach growls loud enough for me to hear.
Miles drags in a breath and shoves the plate away.
He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes, fists tightening against his thighs like he needs them there to stop himself.
Elliot lifts his glass.
“To fun and games,” he then turns his eyes directly on me. “And Brooke… I’m so glad you could join us for dinner. You took those darts like a champ.”
The others barely react. They are too busy eating. Too hungry to notice the smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
I glare at him, silent.
My back still aches from where the darts hit. My wrist throbs like the bones are splintering all over again. Blood sticks to my skin under the dress. And now I’m supposed to sit here, like this is dinner. Like this is normal.
I don’t touch the food. I don’t speak. I just stare at Elliot and hold my glare, refusing to let him see what I am really feeling.
Elliot claps softly. “Is everyone enjoying their meal?”
He checks an imaginary watch. “And look at that—it’s Wednesday. You know what that means.”
Sophie grabs a remote and turns on the TV mounted on the wall. The news clicks on. A headline stretches across the bottom in bold white letters:
MISSING COLLEGE STUDENT BETH JENNER STILL UNACCOUNTED FOR.
“The search continues tonight for missing college student Beth Jenner,” the news anchor says, her voice calm as she looks into the camera. “Authorities say Jenner disappeared earlier last week under circumstances that remain unclear.”
I hear Sarah inhale sharply beside me.
A photograph of Beth appears on the television screen.
“Oh look, Sarah,” Elliot says pleasantly. “It’s Beth.”
The anchor continues, glancing briefly down at her notes. “Investigators say Jenner was last seen with her boyfriend, Chris, who has also not been located. Both individuals remain unaccounted for as the investigation continues.”
Sarah’s hand freezes halfway to her mouth.
Another photo appears beside Beth’s.
“Police are now confirming that Beth Jenner’s sister, Sarah Jenner, is also missing,” the anchor says. “Sarah was last spotted on Saturday. Authorities have not released additional details but say they are working to determine whether the disappearances may be connected.”
The words SARAH JENNER — ALSO MISSING appear across the bottom of the screen.
Sarah’s face crumples.
Elliot tilts his head as he watches her reaction.
“Look at you. Basically a celebrity, huh.”
My pulse drums inside my skull.
“And we have a surprise guest… your sister is here with us.”
Sarah blinks, confused, tears streaking her cheeks. “Beth—she’s here—where?”
Asher leans over her shoulder. “She’s right here, sweetheart.”
He taps the roast with the end of his knife.
A cold wave washes over me. The room seems to tilt sideways.
Emma shakes her head violently. “No—no, no—Oh my god—”
Jared stares at his plate. “No… What the fuck—no—”
Sarah looks from the TV to her plate, lost, trembling. “What—”
Elliot leans closer, his voice soft and cruel.
“You’re eating Beth.”
The moment the words settle…Everything shatters.