Chapter 21
Jenny
I worked the lock pick Silent Guy had slipped me, freezing at every sound outside my prison door. My fingers felt clumsy and too big for the tiny metal tool. Three days left. Three days until whatever terrible deadline British-not-British had mentioned.
“Try to jimmy the lock and escape,” Silent Guy had whispered earlier, pressing the real lock pick into my palm when he’d brought me water. “It’s not as complicated as it might seem, just wiggle it around and feel for the pins. I don’t know that this will help you but I don’t know what else I can do right now.”
But he was wrong. It was complicated—impossibly so. I had no idea what I was doing. In movies, people just stuck things in locks and they magically opened. Real life wasn’t like that. My hands shook from hunger and fear, making the delicate work even harder.
My stomach cramped painfully, a hollow ache that never went away now. I glanced at the thin mattress where I’d hidden the granola bar Silent Guy had given me yesterday. I’d been saving it. My mouth watered at the thought of it, but I needed to stay focused on the lock.
The metal scraped against metal, making a scratching sound that seemed as loud as a scream to my terrified ears. I froze, heart pounding in my throat, listening for footsteps. Sweat trickled down my back despite the cold, soaking through my t-shirt that hadn’t been changed in days. It smelled sour and wrong, like fear made solid.
The bruise on my face throbbed where British-not-British had hit me. The purple mark felt hot and tight, pulling my skin whenever I changed expressions. I touched it gently, wincing at the tenderness. I’d never been hit by an adult before. Not like that. The shock of it had been almost worse than the pain.
“Come on, stupid lock,” I whispered, frustration burning behind my eyes. “Please open.”
The sound of voices outside made me yank the pick from the lock, shoving it into my sock and pulling the scratchy blanket over myself. I curled up tight, trying to look small and afraid. That part wasn’t hard.
“The girl’s been refusing food again,” I heard Phone Guy say, his voice muffled through the door but still recognizable. “Boss isn’t going to be happy if she passes out during transport.”
“Not our problem if she starves herself,” British-not-British replied. “Long as she’s alive for the trade, that’s all that matters.”
Trade. They were going to trade me for something. Or someone. The thought made my empty stomach twist even worse, a cold knot of fear forming beneath my ribs.
Their voices faded as they moved away, and I pulled the lock pick from my sock, staring at it. This tiny piece of metal was supposed to be my way out? It seemed impossible. I was just a kid, just a girl from an MMA class who liked to throw punches and kicks with Bella. I wasn’t some spy or superhero who knew how to escape from locked rooms. Tears welled up in my eyes and wet the pillow.
I thought of Bella, of how brave she was after everything that happened to her. I remember that night the mean lady attacked her and someone broke into her home. She wouldn’t give up. She’d try the lock again and again until her fingers bled if she had to.
Hunger made my head swim as I kneeled by the door again. Little black dots floated at the edges of my vision, like tiny bugs that disappeared when I tried to look at them directly. My tongue felt too big for my dry mouth. The last time I’d drunk water was hours ago. I should have saved some from the glass Silent Guy brought, but I was so thirsty.
The lock pick slid into the keyhole, and I wiggled it around aimlessly, having no clue what I was supposed to be feeling for. The metal was slippery in my sweaty grasp. I tried to remember anything I’d ever seen about locks in movies or books. Something about pins? I pushed the pick upward, feeling resistance, then a tiny give. Something inside the lock mechanism shifted.
Hope flared in my chest, bright and painful. I kept wiggling, trying different angles, pressing up and in, then down and out. My wrist ached from the awkward position, but I couldn’t stop now. This was my only chance.
The lock suddenly clicked, so softly I almost missed it. I held my breath, disbelieving. Had I actually done it? Or had I just imagined the sound because I wanted it so badly?
I carefully withdrew the pick and pushed against the door with trembling fingers. It gave slightly—not fully open, but definitely unlocked. Tears sprang to my eyes, blurring my vision. I’d done it. Somehow, I’d actually done it.
My empty stomach gave a violent growl, reminding me of my weakness. I needed food if I was going to have any chance of escaping. I crawled back to the bed, digging in the torn mattress seam for the granola bar. The thought of the sweet, oaty snack made my mouth flood with saliva.
Another sound from the hallway made me freeze—footsteps approaching. I scrambled back to my usual spot, arranging the blanket over myself and trying to slow my panicked breathing.
The footsteps stopped right outside. A key rattled in the already-unlocked door. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying whoever it was wouldn’t notice.
“Dinner time, princess.” British-not-British’s voice sent ice through my veins. The door swung open, and he stepped inside with a tray. “Though I hear you’re not much of an eater lately.”
I didn’t respond, just watched him with what I hoped was a defiant glare instead of the terror I actually felt. His cologne was too strong, making my empty stomach roll with nausea. The smell of food from the tray—some kind of soup and bread—made my mouth water despite my suspicion that it was drugged.
“Silent type today, huh?” He moved closer, and I had to fight the urge to pee myself from fear. My bladder felt tight and uncomfortable—another constant discomfort in this place. “That’s probably smart. Though I’m curious—how much do you think your friend Scar… ahem, Bella cares about you? Enough to trade herself? Or will she leave you to rot?” His face twisted into a sneer as he lifted his chin in question and it made me shudder.
At the sound of Bella’s name, I couldn’t help the small intake of breath. The air felt like it was sticking in my throat, refusing to go all the way down to my lungs. He caught my reaction and smiled, his teeth looking too white and sharp in the dim light.
“Oh yes, we know all about your special friendship.” He leaned against the wall, studying me like I was a bug under glass. “How you dragged her into that gym, how you helped her get over her little…trauma.” He made air quotes around the word, like her pain was a joke.
Anger flared hot in my chest, momentarily stronger than my fear. “She’s going to find me,” I said, the words escaping before I could stop them. “And when she does, you’re going to be sorry.” But something was wrong and even I could tell. How did he know about that first day at the gym? Is that what they meant by inside guy? Was there a bad guy close to Bella?
Instead of getting mad, he laughed. The sound bounced off the concrete walls, making me flinch. It reminded me of the mean kids at school, the ones who laughed when they pushed smaller kids down.
“That’s exactly what we’re counting on, princess.” He pushed off from the wall, heading for the door. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow. Moving day.”
The door closed behind him, and I heard the locks click into place. My brief flare of courage ebbed away, leaving me cold and shaking. He’d relocked the door and I wasn’t even sure how I’d done it the first time.
Moving day. Tomorrow. Whatever plan I had, I needed to act tonight.
I stared at the tray he’d left. The soup smelled like tomatoes and something else I couldn’t identify. Steam rose from it in curling tendrils. The bread looked crusty and soft inside. My stomach cramped painfully, demanding food. But I knew better now. Knew what the sweet chemical smell meant, knew how fuzzy and confused I felt after eating their food.
But I was so hungry. So empty it hurt. Maybe just a bite of bread. Just enough to give me strength.
I dipped my finger in the soup, bringing it to my lips. The taste exploded on my tongue—salty, rich, with hints of something sharp underneath. My head swam with desire to gulp it all down, to fill the gnawing emptiness inside me.
“No,” I whispered, forcing myself to back away from the tray. “You can’t trick me.”
I had to stay alert. Had to be ready. Getting the door unlocked was my only chance, and I couldn’t risk being drugged when the moment came to run.
The hours crawled by with excruciating slowness as I worked to recreate the movements that had unlocked the door the first time. Push, pull, lift, twist… I kept trying and by some miracle it happened.
I slipped back into my bed, grasping the granola bar like a lifeline while I waited. Through the high window, I could see darkness falling, the small patch of sky changing from blue to purple to black. The building grew quieter as night settled in, the sounds changing to the creaks and groans of an old structure cooling down. I counted footsteps in the hall, tracking the changing of guards. Phone Guy to British-not-British to Limping Guy and finally Silent Guy. The rhythm was familiar after all these days of captivity.
When I was certain Silent Guy was on duty, I carefully rose from the bed. My legs felt like wobbly spaghetti beneath me, and I had to hold onto the wall to stay upright. Black dots swam in my vision again, more of them this time, and I waited for them to clear before moving toward the door.
I pressed my ear against it, holding my breath to listen. Soft footsteps moved toward what I’d determined was the security room. Now was my chance.
With trembling fingers, I eased the door open just a crack. The hallway was dimly lit, empty in both directions. My heart thundered so loudly I was sure someone would hear it. I slipped through the gap, the air outside my cell feeling different somehow—less stale, more real.
I pressed myself against the wall, moving slowly toward where I’d heard Silent Guy’s footsteps. If I could get past the security room to what sounded like an exit door, I might have a chance. The rough concrete scraped against my back as I slid along the wall, my breath coming in shallow pants that I tried desperately to quiet.
A door opened somewhere ahead. I froze, looking frantically for somewhere to hide. A recessed doorway a few feet away offered the only option. I darted into it, pressing myself into the shadows, praying whoever it was wouldn’t look my way.
It was British-not-British, his distinctive shuffle giving him away before I saw him. He passed my hiding spot without a glance, heading toward my cell. My time was running out—he’d discover I was gone any second. I had to move now.
I slipped from the doorway, moving as quickly as I dared in the opposite direction. The corridor ended in a T-junction. Left would take me toward the security room where Silent Guy was. Right led to darkness and uncertainty.
I turned right.
The new hallway was darker, lit only by emergency lights that cast long shadows. I moved faster now, desperate to put distance between me and my cell before the alarm was raised. Each doorway I passed was locked, each window too high to reach.
A crash echoed from behind me—British-not-British discovering my empty cell. Shouts followed, the words indistinct but the fury unmistakable. I broke into a run, no longer concerned with stealth. They knew I was gone. Now it was just a race.
The hallway opened into what must have once been a manufacturing floor. Huge, silent machines loomed like sleeping giants, conveyor belts frozen in time. The space was vast, with high windows letting in faint moonlight from above. I darted between the machines, looking for somewhere to hide, for an exit, for anything that might help me.
A small red exit sign glowed in the distance. I ran toward it, hope surging in my chest. But as I reached the door, my heart sank. A heavy chain was wrapped through the push bar, secured with a massive padlock. I rattled it uselessly, as if my desperation might somehow break the steel links.
Voices and footsteps grew louder behind me. They were spreading out, searching systematically. The thud of boots echoed off the concrete floor, coming closer with each passing second.
I looked around wildly, searching for another way out. A small staircase led up to what looked like an office area overlooking the factory floor. I scrambled up the metal steps, wincing at each clang of my feet against the grates. At the top, I found another corridor, this one lined with grimy windows showing the outside world—a world I hadn’t seen in weeks.
Through the dirt-streaked glass, I could make out chain-link fence topped with barbed wire surrounding the building. Beyond that, trees swayed in the night breeze. We were somewhere remote—no city lights visible, no signs of nearby help. But at least now I had some idea of where I was, if I could just find a way to leave a clue.
The sound of boots on metal told me someone was climbing the stairs I’d just used. I ducked into the nearest room—an ancient office with dusty furniture and yellowed papers scattered across the floor. As I eased the door closed, I caught sight of Phone Guy reaching the top of the stairs, gun drawn.
My breathing sounded impossibly loud in the confined space. I crouched behind a desk, making myself as small as possible, just like I used to do when the bullies at school would look for me. The irony wasn’t lost on me—back then, I’d hidden because I was scared. Now, I was still scared, but I was also determined. I wasn’t just a victim anymore. I was a fighter.
Footsteps approached my hiding place. A beam of light swept across the floor as Phone Guy checked each room with his flashlight. I curled tighter, pressing myself against the cold metal of the desk, willing myself to disappear.
The door to my hiding place creaked open. The light swept over the room, passing inches from my huddled form. I held my breath, my whole body trembling with the effort to remain motionless.
“Clear!” Phone Guy called out, pulling the door closed again.
I sagged with relief, gulping air as silently as I could. The footsteps moved away, continuing down the corridor to the next room. I had a few moments, at most.
Through the window, I could see more of the complex now—the building I was in appeared to be part of a larger abandoned factory. Signs of decay were everywhere: collapsing outbuildings, rusted equipment, nature slowly reclaiming what humans had left behind. In the distance, I could make out what might be a road, though no vehicles moved on it.
I needed to keep moving. Phone Guy would realize his mistake eventually, especially when they finished searching the rest of the building and didn’t find me. I eased the door open, checking the corridor before slipping out.
At the end of the hallway, another staircase led downward—not the same one I’d come up, but a different route that might take me to another part of the building. I descended as quietly as possible, grateful for my small size that let me move silently when I needed to.
These stairs opened onto a different area—what looked like a loading dock with huge bay doors, all securely locked. Chains similar to the ones on the exit door ensured no one could enter or leave without a key. But against one wall, a smaller personnel door stood partially ajar.
My heart leaped with hope. I darted across the open space, expecting at any moment to hear shouts or footsteps behind me. The door was indeed unlocked, opening onto a small vestibule with another door beyond—this one leading outside. It too was unlocked, as if someone had left it that way deliberately.
Silent Guy. It had to be. He’d “accidentally” left a path for me, just as he’d promised.
I pushed the outer door open just enough to slip through, the night air cool against my face after weeks in stale confinement. The sensation was so overwhelming I nearly cried, but there was no time for tears. I was outside, but far from safe.
The chain-link fence loomed twenty feet away, its barbed wire top gleaming in the moonlight. I’d need to find a gap or somehow climb it without shredding myself on the sharp metal coils. I hugged the building’s shadow, moving along the perimeter, searching for a weakness in the barrier.
Voices carried on the night air—they’d discovered the open door. My time was running out. I moved faster, less concerned with stealth than with speed now. The fence seemed endless, a prison with no gaps or holes.
Until, suddenly, there was one.
A section where something heavy had crashed into the chain-link, bending it outward and creating a space just barely big enough for a small person to squeeze through. For someone my size.
I dropped to my knees, working my way under the wire, feeling it catch and tear at my clothes and skin. A sharp edge scraped across my back, but I barely felt the pain through the surge of adrenaline. I was almost free.
Something grabbed my ankle just as I was about to clear the fence. I kicked wildly, terror giving me strength I didn’t know I had. My foot connected with something solid, and I heard a grunt of pain. The grip loosened just enough for me to yank free, scrambling the rest of the way under the fence.
I didn’t look back, just ran. The ground was uneven beneath my feet, fallen branches and rocks threatening to trip me with every step. Trees loomed ahead—if I could reach them, I might lose my pursuers in the darkness.
Shouts echoed behind me, flashlight beams cutting through the night. They were organizing a search, spreading out to try to cut me off. I changed direction, zigzagging to make myself a harder target. Every lesson from the gym, every tip from Brody and Sensei, came flooding back. Use your opponent’s expectations against them. Be unpredictable. Find the path of least resistance.
My lungs burned, my legs feeling like lead after the confinement. But fear and determination drove me forward. Trees closed around me, branches whipping at my face. I ducked and weaved, using my size to slip through spaces larger pursuers would have to go around.
Behind me, I heard crashing sounds as someone forced their way through the underbrush. They were gaining on me. My smaller size was an advantage in the dense forest, but my exhausted, hungry body couldn’t maintain this pace much longer.
I spotted a fallen tree ahead, its massive trunk creating a natural hiding place. I dove behind it, pressing myself into the dirt and debris, trying to quiet my ragged breathing. The footsteps came closer, twigs snapping under heavy boots.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” British-not-British sang, his voice carrying a dangerous edge I hadn’t heard before. “This little game is only making things worse for you, princess. Be a good girl and come back now, and maybe I won’t have to hurt you too badly.”
I curled tighter, making myself as small as possible. My own heartbeat seemed deafening in my ears. I was so focused on the sounds in front of me that I almost missed the soft footfalls approaching from behind.
A hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my scream. I thrashed, biting down hard, tasting blood.
“Shh! Jenny, it’s me,” Silent Guy whispered, his voice barely audible. “Stay still. He can’t see us.”
I froze, uncertain whether to trust him or not. But what choice did I have? British-not-British was coming closer, his flashlight beam sweeping back and forth across the forest floor.
Silent Guy pulled me deeper into the underbrush, his body shielding mine from view. We lay perfectly still as British-not-British passed just feet away from our hiding spot. The beam of his flashlight illuminated Silent Guy’s face for a split second—he looked terrified, but determined.
“Why are you helping me?” I breathed when the footsteps had receded.
“Because what they’re doing is wrong,” he whispered back. “I’m not who they think I am.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small object that gleamed in the faint moonlight. A badge. “FBI. I’ve been undercover, gathering evidence. But things have accelerated—they’re planning to move you tonight, not tomorrow. I couldn’t let that happen.”
My mind reeled with this new information. “You’ve been helping me all along,” I realized. “The food without drugs, the door…”
He nodded. “I need you to run that way,” he pointed deeper into the forest. “About half a mile, you’ll hit a road. Follow it east—that way—and you’ll eventually reach the main highway.” He pressed something into my hand—a small tracking device. “Keep this with you. My team will find you.”
“What about you?” I asked, suddenly fearful for him.
“I need to go back, make them think I’m still looking for you. I can’t blow my cover yet—there are bigger players involved than just these guys.” He gripped my shoulders. “Can you make it? It’s a long way in the dark.”
I thought of Bella, of my brothers, of everything these men had taken from me. “I can make it,” I said with more confidence than I felt.
Silent Guy nodded, relief washing over his features. “Good girl. Remember—leave signs if you can. Breadcrumbs.”
Shouts sounded in the distance—the others were calling to each other, coordinating their search. Silent Guy tensed. “Go now. Don’t stop for anything.”
I slipped away, moving as quietly as I could through the underbrush. Behind me, I heard Silent Guy deliberately making noise, moving in the opposite direction to draw the others away from me. My chest tightened with gratitude and fear for him.
The forest seemed endless, each tree indistinguishable from the last. I kept moving in the direction Silent Guy had indicated, using the moon to orient myself when I could see it through the canopy. My body ached, my muscles screaming in protest.
“I am a fighter,” I whispered to myself with each step. “Fighters don’t give up.”
The trees began to thin, and ahead I could make out the darker line of what had to be a road. Relief flooded through me, giving me a final burst of energy. I was almost there.
A scream cut through the night—human, male, filled with pain. It came from the direction where I’d left Silent Guy. My blood ran cold as I recognized the voice. Something had gone terribly wrong.
I froze, torn between running to safety and going back to help the man who’d risked everything to save me. The selfish part of me wanted to keep going, to not look back. But I couldn’t. Silent Guy—the FBI agent—had helped me when no one else would.
I crept back the way I’d come, moving as silently as possible. The sounds of struggle grew louder—grunts, the thud of fists on flesh, harsh words I couldn’t quite make out. I stayed low, using the underbrush for cover as I approached.
In a small clearing, illuminated by dropped flashlights, I saw them. Silent Guy on the ground, blood streaming from a wound in his side. Phone Guy standing over him, a knife gleaming red in his hand. British-not-British watching with cold amusement.
“I knew you were soft,” Phone Guy spat. “But a fed? That’s a disappointment.”
Silent Guy coughed, blood spattering his lips. “It’s over. My team knows everything. About the blackmail, the kidnapping, all of it.”
British-not-British laughed. “Your team doesn’t know shit. And they’re not going to find what’s left of you out here.” He nodded to Phone Guy. “Finish it. Then we find the girl.”
Phone Guy raised the knife again. Without thinking, I grabbed a rock and hurled it as hard as I could. It struck Phone Guy’s arm with a satisfying thunk, sending the knife spinning from his grip.
“Run, Jenny!” Silent Guy shouted, using the distraction to kick British-not-British’s legs out from under him.
I didn’t wait to see more. I turned and sprinted toward the road, tears streaming down my face. Behind me, I heard another scream, suddenly cut short. I ran faster, guilt and grief propelling me forward.
The road appeared before me, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through the wilderness. East, he’d said. Toward the highway. I turned in that direction and ran, the tracking device clutched tightly in my hand. Silent Guy had died to give me this chance. I wouldn’t waste it.
As I ran, I pulled out the paper clip I’d found earlier, using it to scratch marks into trees I passed. Jenny. This way. Help. Breadcrumbs for whoever came looking.