Chapter Seventeen #2
The door they shove me through groans open—and the sight waiting inside rips me hollow.
Kimber sits in the center of the room beneath a single flickering bulb.
The dim yellow light catches in her hair, turning the blonde strands into a tangled halo that does nothing to soften the bruising beneath her eyes or the dried tear streaks on her cheeks.
She’s tied to a chair, ankles bound to the legs, wrists pulled tight behind her back.
A guard—thick neck, dead eyes—stands by the window, one hand resting on his holstered gun like he’s waiting for any excuse to use it.
The second she sees me, her breath stutters.
“Berk!” she cries out, voice scraping raw.
My chest fractures. It physically hurts to hear her say my name like that—like I’m some kind of lifeline.
“Kimber.” Her name leaves me softer than I ever allow myself to be in front of villains. Too exposed. Too dangerous. But I can’t filter it. “Are you okay?”
She nods too fast. “Yes. I—”
I catch her eyes and shake my head, the slightest, sharpest warning.
This room has ears.
And eyes.
And guns.
She swallows whatever she was going to say, lips snapping shut. Even terrified, she’s smart. Smarter than she should have to be at her age. Smarter than Dean deserves.
There’s another chair in the corner—metal, with bolted legs, deliberately placed beside Kimber like some twisted reunion gift. I know immediately it’s meant for me.
And sure enough, the guards haul me toward it.
My boots scrape uselessly across the concrete until one of them kicks my legs out from under me, slamming me down hard enough to send sparks up my spine and bursting behind my eyes.
My hands are freed for half a breath—then yanked behind my back again.
Zip ties bite down, too tight, chewing into skin until warmth slips free, tracking down my wrists and into my palms.
I don’t flinch.
Pain is information.
Pain is focus.
One of them crams a folded rag between my lips before I can snap my teeth shut, jerking it back so viciously the corners of my mouth split. I taste copper. Fabric. Rage. The gag ties off behind my head, yanking my hair at the roots until tears prick, hot and involuntary.
I inhale through my nose. Slow. Quiet. Controlled.
They can bind my body.
But they will never bind my mind.
When the guard steps back, satisfied with his handiwork, I lift my eyes.
Kimber stares at me, panic quivering at the edges of her composure. Her breathing is too quick, too shallow. She’s holding herself together with pure willpower and fear.
I let my gaze soften, just for her. A quiet promise behind the gag.
I’m here.
I found you.
You’re not alone anymore.
Her chin trembles—but she nods. A small, brave motion that sends a dark, ancient force surging through my chest.
Because in the middle of this filthy, stinking warehouse, surrounded by monsters… I’m the most dangerous creature in the room.
Slowly, the guards file out one by one, boots scraping against the concrete as they clear the room, until only the original one remains stationed inside with us.
Their footsteps echo down the hall, fading with distance, and the warehouse settles into a heavy, vibrating silence that presses in from all sides.
The kind of quiet that only exists when people think the threat has passed.
Morons.
They took me at my word when I said I’d removed my weapons.
No pat-down. No hesitation. No curious hands checking beneath my clothes or along my spine.
They saw what they wanted to see—a compliant exchange, a woman walking in to be owned.
If I weren’t gagged, I’d laugh in their faces for the mistake.
Good for me.
Very bad for them.
Dean doesn’t linger to gloat. He seems too busy, too focused on whatever pathetic empire he thinks he still runs. He steps through the adjoining door into the next room, and the second it closes behind him, the walls betray him. Warehouses always echo. Every sound bounces, every voice carries.
His does too.
Bits of conversation slip through the thin panels separating us, muffled but clear enough to piece together.
Two products. One young and untouched. The other mouthy and in need of discipline.
My stomach twists, not out of fear, but fury.
He’s negotiating a sale. For both of us.
The knowledge sinks its claws into me and tightens the timeline in my head until it’s nothing but a fuse burning fast.
I angle my head toward Kimber. Her eyes sharpen as if she’s listening too. She knows. She feels the urgency humming between us.
Dean’s chuckle filters through the wall, smug and careless. “Sounds good. Talk soon.”
The door swings open again, and he reenters with that same rotted smirk he’s worn since the moment he laid eyes on me.
“Good news, ladies,” he purrs. “Looks like we’ve got a buyer for both of you.” His gaze drags down my body with a hunger that hasn’t changed since I was a teenager. “But I’m thinking my guys have had a rough month. They deserve a reward.”
He snaps his fingers once.
Four men step into the room.
They spill in like rats following the scent of rot. Their faces tell me everything I need to know. One of them stares at Kimber with unhinged interest. Pure. Untouched. Marketable. Dean won’t let him touch her yet, but his greed is naked in his eyes.
The other three?
Their gazes latch onto me like I’m already stripped bare.
Licking their lips.
Adjusting themselves.
Panting through their teeth.
I feel Kimber go still beside me. I feel her terror. And that alone makes something ancient and vicious uncoil in my chest.
Before any of them can take a step closer, I let out a laugh through my gag. High pitched. Sharp. Completely unhinged. The sound slices the tension like a razor, echoing around the room. Kimber jerks at the noise, surprised, but I keep my gaze fixed on the four pathetic men circling like predators.
The motion loosens my gag enough to speak. “These small-dicked motherfuckers?” I tilt my head, letting a bit of wildness bleed into my eyes. “Please. They couldn’t handle a dog, let alone a real woman.”
That gets their attention.
All four faces snarl toward me.
Their eyes narrow.
Pride pricks.
Their egos bruise.
Good.
Rage makes men stupid.
Stupid makes them sloppy.
“I guess we’re about to find out.” One of Dean’s grunts steps forward, shoulders squared like he’s trying to impress someone, and grabs the back of my chair. He twists it roughly, jerking me sideways as his fingers claw at my restraints.
He smells like old sweat and cheap cologne, a cocktail that screams insecurity. The moment I’m pulled to my feet, my head snaps toward Kimber.
She’s already shaking her head at me, eyes wide, but then her fear bursts into a scream. “Stop! Leave her alone!” Her voice fractures on the last word, splintering a fragile place in my chest.
The guard who’d been watching her—an older man with a pockmarked face and eyes that are permanently bloodshot—moves faster than the others.
He lunges at her, fisting a thick hand in her hair and wrenching her head back so hard her scream cuts into a strangled cry.
The chair skids across the cement floor with a screech.
He leans in, lips brushing her ear, and his voice is pure venom. “You’ll be next, sweetheart. Very soon.”
A roaring heat surges through me, blinding and white. I don’t think. I react. “If you want to keep breathing,” I say, voice low and lethal enough to still the air between us, “you will take your filthy fucking hands off her and keep your sewer-pipe mouth away from her.”
Every guard freezes for a fraction of a second—because predators recognize a greater one when they hear it. But the bastard gripping Kimber only smirks. His tongue slides up the side of her cheek in one slow, slimy drag.
Kimber goes rigid, every muscle locking in place, but she doesn’t pull away.
No scream follows. Her lips press together until they bleach pale.
Terror shakes her, running beneath the surface, but she’s smart enough to know better.
She won’t draw more attention to herself or make herself a larger target.
I force myself not to move, not to scream, not to tear the skin from his face with my teeth.
Because one wrong sound from me could trigger the worst.
“Finish untying the bitch,” another man orders, stepping forward. He puffs out his chest like a rooster; all noise and no substance. They really believe they’re the apex predators here. They think the zip ties on my wrists make me prey.
Idiots.
Hands yank me backward as they finish cutting my restraints, giving up untying me. Impatient. “Come on,” one snaps, gripping my arm tight. “Boss wants you ready. After we have our fun, of course.”
They drag me toward the door. My boots scrape across the concrete floor, but I keep my head turned toward Kimber.
Her eyes meet mine—frantic, terrified, pleading.
She looks like she’s drowning.
I shake my head just slightly.
Trust me.
Stay alive.
I don’t speak, but she reads every silent word I send her.
Her chin wobbles. Tears roll freely now, streaking her face, but she doesn’t make another sound. She doesn’t fight. Doesn’t scream for them to stop.
She’s doing everything right.
I give her one last look, hoping it plants steel deep in her spine—a silent promise that I’m coming back for her, and when I do, we’ll burn whatever remains of this world to ash.
Then the door slams shut behind me with the finality of a coffin lid.
Hands shove me forward, deeper into the bowels of the warehouse. The hallway smells of mildew, metal, and old chemical stains. Every sound echoes—footsteps, heavy breathing, the distant roar of machinery outside—the pier whispering of escape I can’t yet take.
But this is exactly what I wanted.
To be inside the belly of the beast.
To stand where Kimber stands.
To see the walls that need breaking.
They think they’re dragging a helpless girl toward her doom.