Chapter 5
LAYLA
Five months. That is how long you can live inside a nightmare before your mind starts believing the world beyond these walls is only something you dreamed.
Or I’ve inhaled so much damn Euphoria I don’t know what day it is.
Then again, two things can be true at the same time.
I let out an exhale that catches the eye of a girl across from me at another table. She smiles, but there’s no life behind her eyes.
She’s counting wads of money and winding rubber bands around the stacks and what she has in her hands is the sole reason any of us are in this hellhole.
Greed.
A swirling whoosh, whoosh, whoosh punctures the air as the blades of a fan try to cut through the thick humidity.
It’s not helping. I flick my gaze to the single door leading into the prison cell of a room they have me stuffed in. It’s not in the basement like the last places, I’ll give them that, but there’s still no way out.
The lab is suffocating in the worst ways.
The dead heat of a Louisiana spring covers my skin in a slick sweat.
It slides into the scrapes along my hips and elbows, causing them to sting.
I wouldn’t have the scrapes if the Vultures didn’t find it fun to push me around when I don't produce at the speed they need.
There’s a haze that hangs over the place, a mix of chemicals and bayou humidity, the faint hint of soap and shampoo from a dozen women who were someone before they were the Vultures’ prisoners.
The light above my station is a dim white, flickering like it wants to give out, casting my world in watery shadows.
I would do almost anything right now to have the sun on my face and this place be a distant nightmare. If I ever make it out of here, I know a good chunk of my paycheck will go toward therapy and I almost look forward to it. It means I survived.
I stand at my work table in nothing but my bra and underwear.
My wrists are raw from rope burns. There’s one particular Vulture who likes to tie my hands up when we move locations.
If I ever get a chance to shoot him, I hope I have the balls to put one right between his bushy black eyebrows.
I would at least drive a foot into his nutsack.
I gather my long hair into a messy bun and let the stragglers hang where they want to fall.
I’m not here to win any beauty contests.
Sweat makes my glasses slide down the bridge of my nose.
I push them back in place for the hundredth time today and start to unpack all the materials I need to get the lab up and running again.
Yay, me.
Sometimes I stare at my reflection in the glass beaker and imagine I am a scientist again, not a captive forced to brew poison for men with dead eyes and greed in their hearts.
Around me, the other women move like they’ve let these douchebag men break them.
Some are in threadbare tank tops, others in bras, all of us exposed in ways that go far deeper than skin.
I can smell the fear radiating off them, blending with the sour, sickly sweet scent of older batches of Euphoria pills being packaged to the far right of me.
Every batch I cook, beaker I set to boil, and pill I help package into those black baggies with the garish pink E chips away at a part of my soul. I catch a glimpse of a shadow moving past the door.
I grab a small crate from the floor and set it on the table. I have thirty minutes to have this place up and running again or these fuckers will start getting handsy.
I reach for a dropper, my hands shaking, and I force myself to steady my breathing.
In. Out. In. Out.
If I lose control here, if I mess up a step, the punishment will be brutal. I’ve learned that much the hard way. The back of my thigh still burns where the Vulture’s VP put out a cigarette last week for ruining a batch.
A shadow falls across my table. Razor moves closer, his boots scuffing the dirty hardwood flooring. He’s the only Vulture who I’ve been able to turn to my side, but not until we both witnessed his twisted brothers kill his sister for stealing a stack of bills.
It was brutal and there will never be a day I won’t see her limp body when I close my eyes at night.
“You have to stop staring at the doors, Professor,” he murmurs, glancing away from me like even kindness could get us both killed. Which is true.
The young man’s voice comes out rough as sandpaper.
His brown eyes turn a molten hue I recognize as buried pain.
There’s a tinge of a smile on his thin lips.
“You can try it. I ain’t gonna stop ya, but I gotta warn ya.
The VP’s got someone on the other side and they like shooting people. Just sayin’.”
Ugh.
I rub my cheek where a deep bruise blooms purple along my jaw. Another gift from the VP when I dared question authority.
“Thanks for the heads up. Did you send the envelope?” I whisper under my breath barely audible to him and definitely not to anyone else.
“Yeah, last night,” he mutters, voice thick with nerves. “But I can’t keep risking it. I get caught, that’s it for me. I ain’t goin’ out like my sis.”
I lean in, letting the sour, oily scent of his skin crowd out the stench of the lab. “They killed your sister, Razor. Don’t you want to take them down?”
His lips compress into a flat line. There is a storm in his eyes, one I recognize in myself every time I glimpse my reflection in a flask. “I know what these bastards do. Doesn’t change that they’ll do it to me. Or you. Get back to work. And don’t try to be a damn hero or some shit.”
He turns, leaving me with my thoughts and a bitterness that curdles in my chest. I try to swallow, but my throat turns dry.
There's a tension buzzing through the lab, an unspoken panic that ripples out from the smallest gestures.
Women glance at me, hope and warning warring in their eyes, but none of us dare say a word.
The glass wall rattles as the VP enters with Veles at his side. Veles glides across the lab with that glacial, quiet menace. The heat of his gaze feels like a physical touch when his eyes land on me, making my skin crawl.
He wears a suit so sharp it looks painted on, his shirt open at the collar to show off a gold chain. The biker beside him is broader, all thick arms and a face that could break rocks. Jeans, boots, and a plain T-shirt with his biker cut. There could be no bigger difference between the two.
I hold my breath as they circle the room, pausing to inspect the rows of baggies and the stacks of cash piled on the other side of the glass.
I tuck my head down and place the beakers in a row on the table in front of me mindlessly as I listen. Whatever I can pick up is all the more information I'll have to pass on to the Fed I’ve been in contact with.
“This is our last move,” Veles says, his accent thick and heavy.
“We’ve paid the Vipers, all the badges from here to the city, and judges. This place is untouchable. Your country is no different from mine, da.”
The VP laughs, the sound cruel and low. “Right. This is it. No one will come lookin’ out here.”
I pull the needed chemicals out and the powder that makes up the Euphoria.
Keep your head down. Keep your head down.
I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself not to do what my gut says and tell these fuckers to get screwed. The guns they have are a powerful deterrent, but so is the real possibility of getting killed. I’m nothing against their firepower. It’s just smarter to bide my time.
I didn’t grow up in a violent world. My parents were doctors for Christ’s sake. They healed people. Okay, granted, they didn’t have much time for me, but they were good people. I didn’t know about the darker side of life past what I saw in movies or read in books until… this.
I get to work setting up the lab and start the first batch while they watch.
I keep my head down, my vision narrowing to the swirl of pink liquid in the beaker, the rhythmic clink of glass, the warm pulse of adrenaline fluttering in my veins.
Satisfied that I’m being a good little bitch, the assholes leave as quickly as they entered, the door swinging closed behind them, the snap of the lock a jolt down my spine.
The quiet after is a living thing. For a heartbeat, all I hear is the whoosh of the fan and the slow, thunderous pound of my own heart.
Then, everything shatters.
An alarm howls through the mansion, making my eardrums ache. Shouts echo from the hall. Heavy footfalls thud of boots from the same direction, directly in front of the door I want to run out of.
And then there’s a sudden burst of gunfire. Some of the other women scatter, ducking behind whatever they can flip over while others stay frozen in place.
A guard bursts through the door. He looks around and then he rushes off.
My heart nearly tumbles to the floor. The door. It’s wide freaking open.
A shadow passes beyond the yawning open and then Razor steps through.
“If you’re gonna do anything, Professor, now’s the time.”
I do not have to be told twice.
A surge of courage that feels as wild and reckless as it does electric takes hold of me. I snatch Razor’s gun when he holds it out to me. My sweaty palm slips on the grip. The metal is cold, impossibly heavy. I’ve never held a weapon in my life that can end another person’s life.
“What the heck do I do with this?” I wave it in the air causing Razor to dodge the dangerous end.
“Not shoot me, for starters. Damn woman.” He grabs the gun and checks something on the side. “I’m gonna give this back to you only if you promise to run as far and fast as you can in the opposite direction as me.”
I nod profusely and scootch my glasses back into place. “Deal.”
He mumbles something under his breath that sounds like I’m a walking hazard to humans.
My forehead creases at his remark, but I don’t say anything because frankly he’s right.
“The safety is off. Keep the nose down and your finger off the trigger unless you wanna actually use it. And don’t shoot your foot.”