Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
Layla
M y eyes fluttered open, my vision blurry. Strands of my hair clung to my sweat-dampened forehead. I tried to move, but my wrists were raw. I could feel the metal of the handcuffs before I saw them. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, details of my surroundings slowly came into focus.
I found myself in what appeared to be a basement type room, the air thick with the musty scent of mildew. Rough concrete walls loomed on all sides, their surface pitted and scarred. There were no windows, no glimpse of the outside world to hint at how much time had passed. The ground was surprisingly soft though, thank fuck , covered in some kind of industrial carpeting that wasn’t even stained.
The only illumination came from a single red heat lamp suspended from the low ceiling. Its eerie glow bathed everything in a hellish crimson hue, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to writhe and dance with each flicker.
The heat from the lamp was fucking oppressive, making the air feel thick and suffocating. Stacks of cardboard boxes lined the walls, their contents a mystery. Some were labeled with faded markers, cryptic codes and dates scrawled across their surfaces.
That’s when I noticed him. River sat perfectly still, his hands cuffed together just like mine as he leaned against the far wall. A nasty-looking gash above his eyebrow had crusted over, adding another scar to his already impressive collection.
I searched the room frantically for any sign of Alex, my heart rate spiking when I realized he wasn’t there. "Where's Alex?" I rasped, my throat raw and parched.
"They took him. Woke up a few hours ago to the sound of them dragging him out."
Shit…
"Did you see who they were?" I asked, cracking my neck from side to side. My ass was numb and I needed water badly.
"Pretty sure they're feds," he said, his brow furrowing. "But why bring us to this shit hole instead of a proper detention center?"
He was right. The feds wouldn't have gone off the books. The basement seemed to close in around us, the shadows cast by the heat lamp growing longer and more menacing. Sweat trickled down my spine, my tank top clinging uncomfortably to my skin.
"Did you get a good look at any of them?" I pressed, hoping for any detail that might help us figure out what the hell was going on.
River's eye narrowed as he recalled the details. "There were four of them from what I saw, but there could be more upstairs. Their faces were unfamiliar though.”
“You don’t think they’re Carlos’s guys?”
He shook his head. “No. I’ve done my research on those assholes, and most are low tier junkies who have already found a new prick to follow. We took out his main guys thoroughly. Plus, these guys were too clean. Cop types.”
“So what you’re saying is we’re fucked.”
So far beyond fucked, actually.
“Pretty much.”
Time seemed to crawl in that oppressive basement, each minute stretching into an eternity. The heat lamp buzzed incessantly, an electronic mosquito that grated on my already frayed nerves. Sweat beaded on my skin, trickling down my neck and between my breasts. The handcuffs chafed against my wrists.
River and I spoke in low voices, our words barely audible over the hum of the lamp and the occasional creak of the building above us. We went over various scenarios, planning for every possible outcome when our captors inevitably returned.
"If they come for you next," I murmured, "try to get a layout of the place. Count the steps, note any turns or doors. Anything that might help us figure out where we are."
"And if they come for you?"
"I can always piss and shit myself. Make them work for it.”
A reluctant grin twitched the edges of his lips.
A long stretch of silence filled the room. There were no noises from above. No footsteps creaking floorboards, no voices. It told me we were deeper underground than just a normal basement. Probably a large building then. Somewhere made of concrete.
After about a half an hour of silence River said, "I was ten when they took me. Snatched right off the street in broad daylight. No one even noticed."
I met his eye, something ugly curling in my stomach as I pictured it. I didn’t want to say anything. Didn’t want him to clam up and stop talking. Mostly because I was a nosy bitch, but also because… I cared.
I fucking cared .
Damnit, when the hell did that happen?
"They kept us in cages at first. Like animals. I remember the smell—sweat and fear and desperation. The older kids tried to comfort the younger ones, but we all knew what was coming."
He paused, swallowing hard. "The first time they sold me, I fought. Kicked and screamed and bit. Didn't do any good. They just drugged me, kept me docile."
I felt sick, imagining River—fierce, protective River—reduced to a sex toy for old pricks. But I kept silent, not wanting to interrupt.
"After a while, you learn to disconnect. To go somewhere else in your head while they use your body. But sometimes they'd bring in other captives and force us to..." His voice cut off. "Those were the worst fucking nights."
River's hands clenched into fists, the muscles in his arms straining against the cuffs. "I lost track of how many times I was sold. How many 'masters' I had. Politicians, celebrities, wealthy businessmen. Doesn't matter how respectable they seem in public. Behind closed doors, they're all monsters."
"When I hit my teens, they started ordering me to work out. Wanted to keep the merchandise in top shape. Make sure the buyers got their money's worth." He shifted slightly, the muscles in his arms rippling beneath his shirt. "At first, I hated it. Felt like I was just making myself more appealing for those sick fucks. But then I realized that this was my chance. My opportunity to get strong, to prepare myself for the day I'd finally leave."
River's lips curled into a grim smile. "I threw myself into it. The guards thought I was just being obedient, trying to increase my value. They had no idea I was turning myself into a weapon." He paused, his eye meeting mine. "There was this one guard—Marcos. He was different from the others. Didn't look at us like we were less than human. He'd slip us extra food sometimes, or painkillers after a rough night. We started talking during his night shifts, and I guess he saw something in me."
"Marcos had been a boxer before he got mixed up with the wrong crowd. He started training me in secret—teaching me how to throw a proper punch.” River's voice grew softer, almost wistful. "He taught me more than just how to fight. He showed me what it meant to be a man. We'd talk for hours during those night shifts, about life, philosophy, the world, politics and how to play the game. He became the closest thing to a father I'd ever known."
"Over time, I got stronger, faster. Marcos pushed me hard, but always with a purpose. He'd say, 'One day, kid, you'll have your chance. And when that day comes, make em squeal.’ "
"Eventually, my 'master' started noticing the change in me. He saw potential, not just as a plaything, but as a weapon. That's when the real training began."
"They brought in ex-military guys, mercenaries. Taught me how to kill with my bare hands, how to use any object as a weapon. I learned to shoot, to fight with knives, to move silently in the dark. They turned me into a living, breathing instrument of death."
"The first time they sent me out on a job, I was nineteen. Some rival of my 'master' needed to be dealt with. That's when I saw him for the first time. Alex. He was younger then, of course. All lean muscle and cocky fucking swagger. I watched him from the shadows for hours, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Carlos had pissed off the wrong people, and my master wanted it paid in his son’s blood."
He paused, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "When I finally made my move, it was like a dance. We were evenly matched. Sarge taught him to fight like a monster, and he was almost a better shot than I was. His fighting style was wild, unpredictable. It was the first time I ever felt like I was matched.”
I smiled, imagining it as I said, “You let him go, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question, because I already knew the answer.
He nodded. “It’s how I lost sight in my eye. The master found out and I was punished for days, beaten until I thought I was going to die. I prayed for it, actually. They carved me up and bled me nearly dry. Took my sight and made sure I’d never disobey orders again.”
Fuck.