CHAPTER THREE
WINTER
Three years before the present day
Pain. It rushes through my body like water and fire.
Merciless and cold, yet the fire is what hurts me the most. It burns deep within my chest, scorching through my lungs with every brittle breath I take.
I press my cheek against the hardwood floor, afraid that if I move, the heavy chain tied around my core will rattle, and they’ll walk back in here and finish what they started.
Blood slicks my hands, coating the torn edges of my throbbing fingertips and pooling in the creases of my palms, and no matter what I do, I can’t stop them from shaking.
Slowly, I turn my wrist over, my eyes widening as I survey the damage.
My fingernails are gone. Ripped clean from their beds from when I tried to fight off those men earlier, leaving nothing left but red, raw, exposed skin, glistening with dirt and whatever else I clawed through to try to stop them from dragging me from my father’s town car and locking me away inside this cottage.
The screaming in my head, my screams, aren’t enough to block out the sinister male laughter on the other side of the door.
It seeps through the wood like cancer through bone, slow and certain, curling through the room and settling deep in my chest. The door is the only thing standing between me and the chaos, the vile hell waiting for me on the other side.
I am not safe here.
Time trickles slowly, like blood from a wound that refuses to clot and all I want to do is cry. I want to scream, to fight, to demand answers, but there are seven of them and only one of me, and I’ve never felt more sick.
Fear coils around my heart, squeezing it tighter with every shattered and exhausted beat.
I try to steady my breathing, dragging shallow breaths into my aching lungs, but I lose the battle with my tears, slipping down my swollen face and onto the dust-covered floorboards beneath me.
I tell myself that everything will be alright, over and over and over again, because it has to be.
But the words taste bitter, even though I don’t dare say them aloud.
I clamp my mouth shut, swallowing hard as bile crawls up my throat.
The last thing I need is to be sick. I don’t know what they’ll do to me if I am.
A distraction.
I need a distraction from this feeling because focusing on it would only give life to the fear and betrayal of what’s happening to me.
And I don’t think I can survive that right now.
Blinking to clear my eyes, I count the particles of dust that dance in the thin sunbeam slipping through the cracks of the boarded window.
One. Two. Three. Four.
I’m so tired, but my thoughts race in frantic circles, and my mind refuses to let me sleep. Every time my eyes begin to close, the laughter returns, echoing from somewhere beyond the door. I only hope that when I finally do sleep, I’ll wake to find today was just a dream. A nightmare.
Why am I here?
Why are they doing this to me?
What are they going to do to me?
I search the edges of my mind, foggy and bruised, trying to recall something, anything that I might have missed that would explain why I’ve been taken, but nothing makes sense.
Those men look nothing like the people my father does business with.
I know the chances of being kidnapped by one of his enemies were always high.
In our world, family is the perfect currency.
That was something my father tried to prepare me for.
But now that I’m here, now that being kidnapped is no longer some distant, theoretical warning meant to keep me safe and aware at all times, now that it’s real, I know that nothing could have prepared me for the horrible things those men said they’d do to me if I tried to run.
The floor beneath me is cold, rough, and uneven.
Splinters bite into my exposed flesh, and I wish I were wearing something other than the short summer dress I picked out for my flight.
My eyes are swollen, making it hard to see, but I must have fallen asleep without realizing it because everything is darker.
I try to move and immediately regret it.
My stomach lurches as my stiff, aching body twists, tangling with something heavy and rigid, coiling around my legs like a serpent.
Caught between sleep and consciousness, I shift the hand resting beneath my head and gingerly trace the cold chain wrapped around my middle.
The metal grazes the soreness of my skin, my body thick with cold sweat.
Reality crashes into me like a tidal wave, and with it comes the memory of what happened yesterday and how I got here.
Strong, merciless hands dug into my tender flesh, dragging me across the rough, gravelly earth as if I were nothing more than an object to be discarded.
Dark, familiar eyes stared back at me. Nico.
My bodyguard. The man who had sworn to keep me safe and out of harm’s way since I was a little girl. And he was part of this.
He stood by and watched as I was ripped from my life, carried away under the weight of his betrayal.
Like I was nothing more than filth beneath his shoe.
And if my father ever learned of it, of his involvement in this, he would burn Nico alive.
Nico knew it. I remember his cool, threatening smirk plastered across his face.
As if he didn’t expect me to live long enough to tell the story.
Why?!
Dread coils around my insides as my eyes dart frantically across the unfamiliar room, spinning in a dark blur around me.
I bite down hard on my tongue to choke back a cry and force myself to breathe through the panic.
My dry, swollen eyes sting with every blink, still raw from tears as they slowly adjust to the darkness, giving way to the muted morning light.
I must have slept through the night. Light filters through cracks and dust, brightening the bare, grimy walls, cold and unwelcoming, stripped of any decoration… or mercy. These walls will not save me.
My gaze darts to the door, locked from the outside, and I press my cheek to the floor, peering into the thin strip of darkness beneath it.
I search for shadows, for any signs that those monsters are near, but there is nothing.
Do they sleep here? Or is this cottage just a holding cell for all their victims?
My muscles burn, and my ribs scream in protest from the kick that sent me sprawling yesterday, but I force myself to push past the pain because what other choice do I have?
If I have any chance of surviving, I can’t just lie here and do nothing.
Bracing my hands against the floor for support, I lift.
Each movement is sluggish and sharp with agony.
Heavy breaths escape me, jagged as broken glass, and when the pain eases just enough, I look around the room.
A single bed sits in the corner, its mattress exposed, topped with a folded, scratchy blanket I hadn’t noticed yesterday.
Were they expecting me to make myself at home here?
I shiver, not from the cold, but from the thought of what they might do if I stay here.
The room presses in around me, every dusty corner a promise of sheer torture.
When I’m sure no one heard me wake, I wrap my wavering hands around the heavy chain and tug quietly, gathering it up into my arms. Resistance bites back immediately.
My eyes fall to the spot where the chain is shackled and bolted to the floor opposite the bed, and I curse under my breath as it scrapes against the floorboards.
I freeze. I have to find a way out of here.
I heard their threats, but I can’t bring myself to care about that right now.
The longer I stay in this room, the slimmer my chances get of escaping undetected.
If I have any chance at surviving, I cannot sit here and do nothing.
My body sways as I rise, legs trembling under the effort, but when I feel steady, I tiptoe toward the window.
Rusted nails are hammered haphazardly into the planks, concealing the frame.
Chipped paint flakes scatter across the floor beneath it, evidence of every hand that touches it. Whatever I do here will leave a trace.
I inhale, forcing the fear down. If they catch me, they catch me. Better than rotting away here, waiting for the day they decide to finish what they started.
I take another careful step forward, ignoring the way my shoulders burn from the weight in my arms, and I slowly lower the chain to the floor at my feet.
My fingertips sting, raw and still bleeding, but I push past it, brushing the pain aside.
I grip the board that seems the weakest and tug, jerking it ever so slightly.
When it shifts, a rush of excitement and adrenaline floods me, sending my pulse stuttering and my breath ragged.
The piece of wood loosens further, and a plan forms in my mind. It isn’t perfect, but it’s all I have.
If I can make it look like the boards are still intact, the minute one of those men removes this chain, assuming they’ll let me go to the bathroom at some point, I’ll make my move.
I’m not foolish enough to believe I can run in my current state.
My body is weak, and moving is borderline impossible.
So, if I’m going to get out of here, I’ll have to play the long game.
I’ll wait, and I will run when I’m able to.
That is, if they don’t kill me first.
No. Don’t think like that. I will get out of here.