Chapter 25
CELINE
They keep us in a large stone room with a small room off to the side.
It’s been a few hours since they forced me down here, and Maria tells me in a low whisper that the side room is used for the pleasure of the kidnappers.
Every so often, they come by and drag some poor woman or girl in there, she says, and they…
I sit against the wall, my knees to my chest, trying not to succumb to sadness and not to feel sorry for myself.
Some of these women–like Maria, whose dislocated finger I set and bound with a strip of torn cloth from my shirt–have been here for months.
Others were only here for a couple of days before the men brought buyers down to purchase them.
The whole thing is an ugly, sickening mess.
I’ve done what I can with what little I have to help them. But most of them need more than physical help. They stare shellshocked into space, reliving whatever has happened to them, sinking into their personal hells.
The more time that passes, the more certain I am…
Damian isn’t a Beast. These men are–and they deserve everything Damian has planned for them.
We all cringe away when the door opens, the same man from before striding into the room, the one with the scar on his chin. Some scars make me want a man–well, Damian–make me obsess over him, make me want to care for him and be with him. This one floods me with terror.
He hefts a rifle, not a pistol this time, aiming it at us casually. From the way the women cringe and shift back, it seems like this is a regular occurrence. They’re scared, sure, but it’s not like this is new.
“There she is,” he barks, laughing harshly.
Two more men walk into the room, one wearing a leather jacket. For a chilling second, I think it’s Rico, he looks so familiar. Did Damian lie to me? Then he takes another step, passing his gun from one hand to the other, and I see he’s younger and has teardrop tattoos on his face.
“You sure they’re related?” the third man says, tall and lean with a faint Italian accent.
“The boss sent Rico after her. He showed us all her photos before he chose him for the job. I knew I recognized her. That’s Julian Moreau’s sister, no doubt about it. Just took me some time to place her.”
“So that’s why he’s suddenly interested?”
“Reckon so.”
The Italian makes a tsk noise. “Move those fucking panties.”
The scarred man sniggers. “Just a bit of fun.”
“Fucking move them. It’s stupid. Pathetic. This is business. Not a game. And hurry up… he’ll be here soon.”
“Walking into his grave,” the scarred man says with a throaty chuckle.
“Get her out of sight,” the Italian snarls.
I leap to my feet, ready to scream at them that they can’t hurt Julian, I won’t let them… but then he, the scarred man, stomps over, raises the rifle, aims the barrel right at my forehead.
People have ideas of what they’ll be like with a gun aimed at them. But in real life, any so-called bravery shatters and melts away. I take a trembling step back.
Please, I try to say, but I can’t speak.
He nods towards the side room. “Move. Now.”
He stands with his back to the door, rifle aimed at me, the light murky and dirty yellow. I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to. The second he dragged me in here, he wrapped a thick layer of duct tape around my mouth and head. It sticks to my hair, stinging.
“You’re lucky we got to be quiet,” he snarls, licking his lips.
I push myself against the wall as though I can sink into it.
My mind races to make sense of what I just heard. Julian is coming here… he’s ‘interested’, which means that he’s learned what’s going on here and is pretending to want to get involved. He must’ve somehow worked out this is where I came. He’s going to save me.
But he’s walking into a trap.
“I’ll bring his body in here when we’re done with him,” the man says. “Leave you in here for a while. Let you sit with him. I think that’ll settle you down. Empty you out. Make you good and hollow and waiting to be filled.”
He hasn’t tied me up, hasn’t bound me except for the tape at my mouth. He must not see me as a threat. It makes sense considering he’s got the gun and, no doubt, a history of violence.
Behind him, I hear voices raised. My hands curl into tight, desperate fists when Julian’s voice reaches me. “So, this is the stock, eh?”
“Rico didn’t tell you where he was going, exactly?”
“Nah, man. You know what he’s like.”
“Eh. Boss is waiting for him to check in.”
Julian grunts. “How the fuck is that my problem?”
I’ve never heard him like this—short and dismissive and cold. It’s odd, and I pray it’s an act… or is this just who he is when he’s in this world, his second life?
“Fair enough,” the one with the faint Italian accent says. “You like the look of any of these?”
There’s a long pause. I can only imagine what they’re doing: walking up and down the women, inspecting them like cattle. Sickness coils in my gut. I swallow hard, forcing the feeling down.
“Might need a closer look,” Julian says. “Some of them aren’t even looking at me.”
“Hey!” the Italian snarls. “Heads up. Now.”
There’s another long pause, during which the man opposite me keeps licking his lips and gesturing with the gun. I’d do anything to be able to do something. There’s nothing physically stopping me from tearing off the tape around my mouth and head, but the second I touch it, this man could shoot me.
“Not seeing the one you’re looking for, Julian?” the man asks him.
“Not looking for anyone in particular,” Julian grunts.
“You didn’t come here looking for your slut sister?”
The man opposite me sniggers. I can feel the tension in the room outside without even being there. My hands curl into tight, useless fists.
“How stupid do you think we ar—”
The man bellows. A gunshot goes off, and the women and girls scream. The man opposite glances over his shoulder as though he’ll be able to see through the closed door.
A lot happens in the time he takes to look at me again. Time moves impossibly slowly. I’ve heard of time perception changing as a trauma response during my work in the ER, but I’ve never felt it myself. Now, it hits me.
Sluggish, slow hundredth seconds peel by as something dangerous and reckless triggers deep inside me.
They’re going to kill my brother. Then they’ll kill me.
Don’t think, Celine.
Don’t you dare let yourself think.
I throw myself at the man, hands flying to his gun.