Chapter 18
Brooke
Ican’t sleep.
The light buzzes overhead. The concrete stays cold. The air feels heavy and stale, and every sound comes from someone else struggling to keep breathing.
My stomach cramps again.
I press a hand low over my abdomen, fingers trembling against the thin fabric of my dress.
I don’t know how far along I am. Weeks maybe.
Barely anything. Just a cluster of cells fighting to become something more.
Every cramp feels worse. The nausea comes in heavier waves.
Every hollow twist of hunger feels louder than the last.
What if they are starving me on purpose? What if they already know this is killing it?
I swallow hard and keep my palm where it is. I try to breathe evenly, try to imagine something small and stubborn hanging on inside me.
Across the room, Miles lies on his side, arms wrapped around his ribs. The others are sprawled where the guards left them. No one has the strength to talk. No one has the strength to cry.
They only give us protein shakes. No real food, just enough to keep our hearts beating.
Then I remember. Sophie on the pool table with Elliot, Knox, and Asher.
The three of them using her, and her letting them.
Sophie uses sex as currency. That is how she climbs into their circle.
She lets Elliot, Knox, and Asher do whatever they want with her.
In return, she gets a room upstairs, clothes that aren’t stained, food, hot water, knives. Access.
If I pretend I will do the same, then maybe I will get close enough to find a way out. Or close enough to kill as many of them as I can before they kill me.
I push myself up until I can stand. My back pulls tight where the physician restitches it. Sweat slides down my spine even in the cold air.
“Enzo.”
The guard sits at the bottom of the stairs, bored, massive, his hands resting on his knees. He looks over at me without interest.
“I need to speak to Elliot.”
He snorts. “Do you?”
“Tell him I want to cooperate,” I murmur. “He'll understand.”
Enzo stares at me for a long second, then taps the earpiece at his collar and speaks quietly. I can’t hear the words. I only hear the short reply on the other end.
Enzo stands. He grabs my arm and drags me up the stairs. Every step makes the sutures pull. By the time we reach the main floor, my breath comes out in tight, careful bursts.
The hallway outside Elliot’s study is elegant and warm. The walls hold expensive art.
Enzo knocks once.
“Send her in,” Elliot calls.
Enzo shoves the door open and pushes me inside.
The study smells like whiskey and polished wood. Shelves line the walls. A decanter and two glasses sit on a side table. The desk in the center of the room is large and solid, edges neat, papers stacked in clean piles.
Elliot sits behind it, shirt sleeves rolled up, collar open.
Sophie’s head moves under the desk. Her shoulders stay visible, her hands braced on his thighs. Her head lifts and lowers in a steady rhythm. She is sucking him off and doesn'teven slow down when I walk in.
Disgust crawls up my spine.
“Brooke,” Elliot says, voice smooth. “Sit.”
He gestures to the chair in front of the desk.
Sophie pulls back and rises from the floor in one quick motion. Her lipstick is smudged. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes flicking over me once, assessing. Then she moves to the side of the desk, close to him but out of the way.
“I’m here to take you up on your offer.”
Elliot tilts his head, amused. “What offer?”
My throat tightens.
“When we were in the game room,” I force the words out. “When I saw you with Sophie, Knox and Asher on the pool table. I’m here to take you up on that offer.”
A small laugh escapes him. He glances at Sophie, then back at me.
“You said I wouldn’t like the alternative,” I repeat, “and you were right.”
His eyes brighten, pleased. “I need to hear that again.”
“What?”
“That I was right.”
I swallow. My face feels hot. My hand twitches in my lap.
“You were right.”
His smile widens. “What else should you say?”
My stomach turns.
“I’m sorry.”
His eyebrows lift slightly. “Sorry for what?”
I force myself not to look away. I feel every word scrape through my chest.
“I’m sorry for pointing a gun at you,” I say. “I’m sorry for refusing you. I’m sorry I tried to escape.”
He watches my face the entire time.
“Better,” he smirks. “Now, what are the magic words?”
My nails dig into my palms. I know what he wants.
I swallow the last of my pride.
“Please.”
His eyes narrow. “Please what?”
The humiliation tastes sour in my mouth.
“Please let me make myself useful,” I say. “Please let me please you.”
Sophie gives a short laugh. Elliot joins her.
“That’s not very specific,” he raises a brow. “I want to hear you say ‘Please Elliot, give me your big cock.’”
Heat crawls up my neck. He wants to hear me beg in detail. He wants the words themselves to stain.
I meet his eyes anyway.
“Please, Elliot… give me your big cock.”
Sophie watches me closely. There is no pity in her face. Only a quiet, interested focus. She is measuring how far I will go.
Elliot walks around the desk and leans against the front edge, inches away from my knees. His hands rest on the wood. He looks relaxed. His eyes don’t. He pauses, then smirks.
“You must think I’m fucking stupid, Brooke.”
He pushes off the desk and steps in closer. His gaze drags over my face like he knows exactly where it hurts.
“If I put my dick in front of you, you would most likely bite it off.”
I keep still. I don’t give him anything.
“And your back is a mess now. Darts, restitching. Scars don’t turn me on.”
His eyes drop to my stomach.
“And if we kept you long enough, you’d start showing,” he adds. “That ruins the entertainment value.”
He straightens and slides his hand through Sophie’s hair. She leans into it like this is normal.
“You should’ve kept yourself useful,” he gesture to Sophie. “Like Sophie here.”
His tone shifts again.
“Sophie wasn’t born into this. Her father owed The Collective. He refused to pay. He thought he could disappear.”
His grip in her hair tightens for a beat.
“We took his daughter instead. She came here as collateral.”
Sophie’s jaw tightens, then smooths out.
“She had the same choice you had,” Elliot says. “Fight the system or learn it.”
He smiles as he says it, like it amuses him.
“She learned it. She listened. She followed every rule. She did what we wanted. She made herself very useful to me, to Knox, to Asher.”
His attention flicks back to me.
“Now she has a room upstairs. Freedom to move. She kills well. She entertains well.”
He steps toward me again.
“You had the same opportunity. You chose to fight. You chose to be difficult.”
His eyes harden.
“You could have been upstairs. You could have been like Sophie. Instead, you pointed a gun at me, you ran, and you made yourself a problem.”
He gives a short, dismissive nod, already bored.
“So you’ll go back to the basement. You’ll sit in the dark. You’ll get bigger and more tired and more desperate. You’ll stay there until we decide we are ready to play with you again.”
He looks at Enzo.
“Take her back.”
Elliot picks up a pen from the desk, already done with me.
The study door closes behind us. The warmth of the room vanishes into the colder hallway.
Enzo drags me back down the stairs. Each step sends a line of fire through my back. By the time he shoves me onto the concrete, my vision has started to blur.
The light buzzes overhead again.
Miles lifts his head. “Brooke?”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
I shift onto my side, drawing my knees up as I wrap my arms around my stomach. My face burns from what I just said upstairs. My chest aches from how much I hate myself for saying it.
I begged, and he still sends me back to the basement like I am nothing.
Something inside me sags under the weight of it. The humiliation. The hunger. The dull ache in my stomach that I can’t stop thinking about.
Maybe Seth will find me. Maybe he won’t.
Either way, I am not going to end this place on my knees.
I am not going to become Sophie. I am not going to learn their rules or play their game.
I press my forehead to the concrete and try to breathe through the pain twisting in my stomach.
Seth has to find me.
If he doesn’t, I'm not going to survive much longer.