CHAPTER EIGHT
The van doors opened behind me, bringing with it the scent of exhaust, sweat and dread.
We were lined up again—each of us dressed, painted and silent like dolls on display.
I didn’t even bother to ask why anymore.
I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. Not while Mr. Hirsh still had a pulse.
Not after the deal he made with the Warden.
Tomas had made a show of pushing me into the vehicle, like he owned me. Like I wasn’t already spoken for. But Montgomery’s hands—steady and familiar—had caught me before I could fall. Again.
"Watch it, man. No dents or scratches on the product,” Montgomery had said coolly, loud enough for Tomas to hear.
It was stupid. Bold, too—bordering on reckless in a way that should’ve scared me more than it did.
But then again, Montgomery always was when it came to me.
Tomas had rounded on him with that stupid half-drunk swagger. “Who gives a fuck about your damn vehicle, asshat?”
Montgomery didn’t even blink. “I wasn’t talking about the van, dimwit. I was talking about Starling here.”
The name made Tomas grin. That lazy, greasy grin that always made my skin crawl. “Such a pretty name she has, huh? Starling. I didn’t realize the other staff knew her by name but you, you must be really into her. I wonder what Mr. Hirsh will think of all this.”
He turned and walked away, as if that was some kind of mic drop.
“Really, Tomas?” Montgomery muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he climbed into the driver seat.
I sat in the back, fists clenched in my lap, and fought the wave of nausea that always followed Tomas’s voice. The engine rumbled to life.
Starling didn’t feel like mine anymore.
Not after Tomas.
Not after everything he’d taken and twisted.
Slowly, I loosened my grip on my own hands.
Montgomery glanced at me through the rearview mirror—brief, controlled, nothing that could be noticed if someone wasn’t looking for it. “Starling, you all right?”
“Don’t call me that,” I said quietly. There wasn’t any bite behind it. Just weariness. “I changed my name. I don’t like Starling anymore.”
“Noted,” he said evenly. “What would you like me to call you now?”
His hand adjusted on the wheel like nothing had shifted at all.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted. My voice came out softer than I meant it to. Honest in a way that made my chest ache. “Just… not that.”
He continued to drive until we arrived at another manor. The Warden stood on the porch, a cracked white porcelain mask hiding his face, watching as if he’d been waiting for us all along—eager for us to start piling out of the van.
I looked up after the last girl filed out. Our eyes met in the mirror.
“If I go in there, I may never come out,” I said. “How much longer until you get me out of here?”
He hesitated.
The silence between us wasn’t just heavy—it was loaded.
“I don’t have clearance,” he said finally. “Not yet, at least.”
My lips tightened. “Then can you just stop acting like you give a damn and treat me like the others do?”
His jaw clenched. “Don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”
“Why not? You work for Mr. Hirsh. You load girls into vans and stand by while they’re paraded in front of monsters with money. Don’t pretend this is something else.”
“I’m trying to stop it.”
“Then try harder.”
It settled heavy in the back of my throat, thick enough to taste.
My arms folded across my chest before I even realized I was moving. A shield more than a gesture. Something to keep myself contained when everything inside me felt too loose, too exposed.
Montgomery stepped out of the van, the door shutting with a dull thunk behind him.
He stood there, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes scanned the lot like a soldier waiting for a signal—for someone to come storming out, shouting, demanding answers. Or worse: for The Warden’s voice to call him in.
But nothing happened.
The silence stretched.
No alarms. No orders. No scene.
Just the heavy air of anticipation that never broke.
When the Warden finally turned his back, Montgomery moved—quick, efficient—rounding the front of the van and climbed back into the driver’s seat without a word.
“Get back in there and get down. Crawl under the back bench,” he whispered.
I blinked. “What?”
“Now, Starling. Go.”
Confused, I hesitated—until I caught the glint in his eyes. He was serious. Yet very dangerous. Without another word, I scrambled into the back of the van and squeezed beneath the bench seat, where discarded wrappers and broken zip ties scattered like bones
Montgomery pulled out his phone.
“This is Agent Montgomery. Badge 4-2-9. I need an emergency extraction request. One subject—Starling Pierce. The situation is escalating.”
Silence as he was listening.
“She’s not safe,” he said. “Not with Hirsh. Not with this deal with the Warden.”
There was another pause.
Montgomery snapped. “She won’t survive long enough to debrief if the Warden gets her alone.”
He stared at the windshield, jaw tight, the shadows from the compound stretched across the lot like reaching hands.
“Hold your position,” came the final order aloud over the other end. “We'll advise when it's time to pull her. Until then...she stays.”
Montgomery lowered the phone slowly, and placed it on the console like it might break if he dropped it.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t curse.
Didn’t speak.
Just stared straight ahead, the muscle in his jaw ticked, his breath shallow.
From the back of the van, I stayed silent.
Then he picked up the phone again. The phone rang only once.
“Mr. Hirsh, all the girls arrived,” he said, voice low. “I noticed Starling didn’t make it, though. Maybe Tomas knows where she is.”
A pause.
“Yes, sir. I logged the rest.”
The call ended.
The van started.
The day blurred into night behind us as he drove with one hand on the wheel, the other in a fist against his thigh. He didn’t speak for a long time. Neither did I. I felt the wheels turn beneath me, felt the road vibrating up my spine, but my mind was still at the compound.
When he finally pulled off, the gravel crunched beneath the tires.
We were somewhere far—nothing but thick woods and open sky.
Montgomery opened the door. “It’s safe.”
I slid out, blinked at the moonlight, and stretched my stiff legs. “Where are we?”
“Nowhere important.”
“Are you….letting me go?” My voice cracked.
He looked down, jaw tight. “I can’t, Starling. I will never let you go.”
I stepped closer, the desperation clawing up my throat. “Come with me then.”
He looked at me, finally—really looked. And I hated the way his eyes already looked like goodbye.
“I wish I could,” he whispered. “God, you don’t know how much I wish I could.”
“Then do it,” I begged. “We’ll disappear. We’ll run. You’ve seen what they’ll do to me—you know what I am to them.”
“I can’t,” Montgomery said. “If I leave now…if I disappear with you…they’ll come after me.”
“Your people?”
“My command,” he said. “They’ll label me a defector. They’ll hunt me. Disavow me.”
My breath caught. “So let them.”
A bitter smile touched the corner of his mouth. “It’s not just them, Starling…”
“Don’t…I told you that is no longer my name.”
“If I run, Hirsh will know.” He continued. “The Warden will get involved. And they won’t just come after me.”
He looked at me like the next words were made of glass and ash.
“They’ll come for you, too. You are too important to them. And they won’t play games next time.”
“I don’t care!” I screamed and grabbed his arm.
“I don’t care about whatever operation you’re part of, the sting or whatever you call it.
I can give two shits about the Warden and fuck Mr. Hirsh.
I care about being free. I care about not waking up every day wondering if I’ll be raped, tortured, or sold. ”
He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.
I turned and walked away from the van, my mind a storm of confusion and pain. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t care.
Then his boots pounded behind me—fast, heavy, relentless.
He turned me in one smooth motion and guided me back toward the van. My back met the cold metal as he settled me against it—gentle but firm, the strength in his touch both grounding and electrifying.
“Don’t run from me,” he growled, low and raw.
“I’m not!” I snapped, my breath shaky but fierce. “I’m running from everything else that can hurt me.”
His eyes burned into mine. “You think I don’t want to run too? You think I don’t lie awake every night wondering how the hell I’m supposed to watch this happen and not burn it all down?”
I stared up at him, my hands flat against the van behind me, chest rising and falling too fast.
“Then why don’t you?” I whispered. “Why not just…choose me?”
His expression cracked—just a flash of something devastating underneath all that control.
“Because if I choose you…” He leaned in, forehead nearly brushing mine, breath hot with restraint. “They’ll kill us both. And I won’t let them take you from me that way.”
We were so close that I felt the heat radiating off his body. His chest pressed against mine, solid and desperate. One hand stayed anchored on my waist, the other traced a shaky line near my jaw, fingers trembling as they hovered.
I lifted my eyes to his, his breath hitching.
Something cracked in his gaze—an ache I hadn’t dared hope for.
Then he kissed me.
Hard.
Fierce.
Like every moment we’d lost, every word we couldn’t say, poured into that one breathless connection.
His lips crushed mine with desperate hunger, fierce enough to drown out the fear, the chaos, the past.
I gasped into the kiss, my body ached to melt into his, to find refuge in the storm of him.
And I let him.
Because I wanted him.
Because, for once, I wasn’t alone.
But just as suddenly, he pulled back, his eyes wild, his chest heaved like a breaking wave.
His hand trembled as he stepped away, voice ragged, barely a whisper.
“I…I can’t do this,” he muttered. “You’re seventeen.”
The words hit the space between us like a door slamming shut.
I shook my head quickly, heart still racing, refusing to let the moment end there.
“It’s my birthday,” I said, quieter now—but steady. “I’m eighteen today.”
For a second, he just stared at me like he didn’t trust what he was hearing.
Something shifted in his expression—confusion, relief, restraint all colliding at once.
Then he exhaled like something inside him had finally snapped clean.
“Say that again,” he rasped, voice thick with something dark and starving.
“It’s my birthday,” I repeated, softer this time, trembling. “I’m not seventeen.”
That was all it took.
The last thread of his control snapped.
He lunged forward, crashing into me with bruising force, hands seizing my face with desperate, almost violent need. Fingers dug into my jaw and tangled in my hair as he yanked me against him, no mercy, no restraint left in his body.
And then he kissed me like a man possessed.
This wasn’t restraint breaking.
This was total, feral surrender—raw, hungry, and devastating.
His mouth devoured mine, teeth scraping my lip, tongue forcing its way in as a low, guttural groan tore from his throat.
He kissed me like he wanted to consume me whole, like he’d been dying for this, like nothing in the world could stop him now.