Chapter 14
Inez
I wake up to noise.
Not soft noise. Not distant.
Loud. Sharp. Chaotic.
My eyes snap open, but everything feels… wrong. Heavy. Like my body isn’t fully mine yet. My head pounds, thick and slow, like I’m trying to push through water just to think.
Voices echo somewhere outside the room.
Running. Shouting.
“The auction was hit—move, move!”
“We don’t have time—get them out now!”
My chest tightens instantly.
What the hell is happening?
I try to sit up, but the second I move, everything spins. My arm tugs—something’s connected to it. I look down, blinking hard until it comes into focus.
An IV.
Tape wrapped tight around my skin.
My heart starts racing.
“No… no, no—”
I push myself up more, ignoring the dizziness, scanning the room. It’s not a hospital. Too bare. Too cold. Equipment shoved in corners like it doesn’t belong there.
“Becca?” My voice cracks, weak at first. “Becca!”
Nothing.
Just more shouting outside.
Door’s slamming.
Feet running past.
“Round them up! Now!”
Panic slams into me full force.
“Becca!” I yell louder this time, my voice breaking as I try to swing my legs off the bed.
The door bursts open.
I freeze.
Men flood in.
Suits.
Masks.
Masquerade-style—like something out of a nightmare.
And guns.
Real guns.
My breath catches in my throat.
A doctor stumbles in behind them, his hands already shaking. He won’t even look at me.
“Unhook her,” one of the men snaps. “Now. She’s being moved.”
“What—what’s going on?” I choke out, trying to pull away as the doctor rushes toward me. “Where am I? Where’s Becca?!”
No one answers me.
The doctor’s hands fumble with the IV, his fingers trembling so badly it takes him a second to even find the tape.
“Stop—wait—what are you doing?” I push against him, panic rising higher. “You need to tell me what’s happening—”
Cold metal presses against my temple.
I freeze instantly.
“Chill the fuck out,” one of the men growls, his voice low and dangerous. “Or you’re not gonna like what happens next.”
My breath stutters.
I go still.
Completely still.
Tears burn my eyes, spilling over before I can stop them as I sit there, shaking, letting the doctor rip the IV out of my arm.
“Please…” I whisper. “Please just tell me what’s happening…”
No one answers.
Outside, the chaos gets louder.
Girls screaming.
Crying.
Begging.
The sound of bodies being dragged.
My stomach drops.
“No… no, no—”
A hand grabs me suddenly, rough and unrelenting. Before I can react, I’m lifted off the bed like I weigh nothing.
“Wait—!” I scream, struggling instinctively. “Put me down—where are you taking me?!”
No response.
Just movement.
Fast.
The hallway blurs past me as I’m thrown over a shoulder, my head spinning from the motion. I catch glimpses as we move—doors open, girls being dragged out, some barely conscious, others fighting and crying.
Black SUVs lined up outside.
Engines running.
Doors open.
“Get them in! Now!”
I’m carried out into the cold night air, the shock of it hitting my skin hard. I’m still in the same clothes. No coat. No shoes. Nothing.
They don’t care.
I’m shoved into the back of a van, landing hard against the floor before being pushed upright. Other girls are already inside curled into themselves, crying, shaking.
One of them looks at me, eyes wide and glassy.
“What’s happening?” I ask, my voice shaking. “Do you know where we’re going?”
She just shakes her head, crying harder.
“I don’t know—I don’t know—”
I look around, searching frantically.
“Becca?” I call out, louder now. “Becca!”
Nothing.
She’s not here.
She’s not here.
My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
“Shut the fuck up,” one of the men snaps from inside the van, gun in hand. “All of you. Sit down and relax.”
Relax.
I almost laugh.
The doors slam shut.
The van jerks forward hard, speeding off.
The girls around me are shaking, crying, some barely conscious. Dresses torn, makeup smeared, skin bruised. A few look like they’re completely out of it—drugged, slumped against the sides.
It’s freezing.
None of us have anything.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say, even though my voice shakes. “We’re… we’re going to be okay, alright? Just—just stay calm.”
I don’t even believe it.
But they need something.
The ride feels like it goes on forever.
Too fast. Too quiet except for the crying.
Then—
We slow.
The van turns sharply, gravel crunching under the tires before it finally stops.
The doors open.
Cold air rushes in again.
“Out,” one of the men orders.
We’re pulled out one by one.
I look up.
A warehouse.
Dark. Isolated.
No signs. No lights except the ones they control.
My stomach drops.
“No…” I whisper.
Hands grab me again, lifting me before my legs can even try to work. I’m carried inside, the smell hitting me first—metal, damp concrete, something stale.
Voices echo through the space.
“Lost a few—”
“Doesn’t matter, move the rest—”
“Lionetti’s not going to be fucking happy—”
That name.
My heart stutters.
Lionetti.
“And Jenna—”
I stop breathing.
What the hell did we get into?
I’m carried into a smaller room and dropped onto another bed. The same doctor rushes in again, pale, sweating, clearly just as trapped in this as I am.
“Set her back up,” one of the men orders.
“I—I need a minute—” the doctor stammers.
“You’ve got ten seconds.”
He moves fast after that.
Too fast.
His hands shake as he starts hooking me back up, not even meeting my eyes.
I notice it then.
Really notice it.
He’s scared.
Not nervous.
Terrified.
Just like me.
I file it away.
Later.
If I get a chance.
If there even is a later.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my heart still racing, my body weak, my mind spinning.
I should run.
I should try something.
But I can’t.
Not like this.
Not without knowing where Becca is.
What if she’s here?
What if she’s in one of these rooms?
I swallow hard, blinking back tears.
“I’m not leaving without her,” I whisper to myself.
Even if it kills me.
I don't know how long I've been lying here.
Could be hours.
Could be days.
Time doesn't fucking work anymore.
My body feels like it's been through hell and dragged back just to do it again.
Every breath burns—sharp, like someone's pressing broken glass into my ribs.
My ankle throbs with every tiny shift, swollen and hot, and whatever they pumped into me earlier hasn't fully worn off.
My head is still foggy, thick, like I'm trying to think through smoke that won't clear.
But I force myself to stay awake.
Stay sharp.
Stay the fuck alive.
The room smells wrong. Metallic. Like old blood and bleach trying to cover something worse. The air is stale, too warm, pressing down on me like it's got weight. I can taste it in the back of my throat—copper and chemicals and fear-sweat. My own, probably. Maybe someone else's.
I don't want to think about that.
My eyes move slowly around the room again, pretending I'm out of it—but I'm not. Not anymore.
Door.
Corners.
Walls—
There.
Camera.
High up in the corner. Red light blinking. Watching everything.
Shit.
I barely move my lips when I whisper it, just a breath of sound.
So, I can't act stupid.
Can't ask too much.
Can't make it obvious I'm trying to figure anything out.
My hands are shaking.
I press them flat against the mattress, trying to stop it, but they won't listen. My breath is coming too fast, too shallow, and I have to force myself to slow down before I hyperventilate.
Think, Inez. Fucking think.
I need the doctor.
He's the only one who looked human in all of this.
The only one who looked like he didn't belong.
I shift slightly, just enough to make it real, and a sharp breath tears out of me before I can stop it.
"Fuck…" I mutter, louder this time, curling slightly. "It hurts—shit—"
The pain isn't fake.
That part's easy.
Footsteps outside the door.
I freeze for half a second, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard I think it might crack them the rest of the way. Then I let another strained sound slip out.
"Please—"
The door opens.
The doctor comes in first, just like before—pale, shaking, eyes darting everywhere except at me. His hands are trembling. He looks like he hasn't slept in days.
The guard stands behind him, gun in hand, watching.
Always watching.
"Check her," the guard says flatly.
The doctor moves fast, too fast, like if he doesn't hurry, he's the one who's going to get hurt. His hands hover over my side, my ribs, my ankle. He's not even really touching me—just going through the motions.
"They—fuck—it hurts," I whisper, grabbing lightly at his sleeve. My voice cracks. "Please… help me…"
His hand stills.
Just for a second.
Then his eyes flick up to mine.
And I see it again.
Fear.
Not for me.
For himself.
"I can't," he breathes, so low I almost don't hear it. "Just don't fight them… please. It'll be worse if you do."
My throat tightens.
"What the fuck is going on?" I whisper, panic rising again, my voice shaking. "Where are we? Who are these people?"
He shakes his head quickly, eyes flicking toward the camera.
"I can't say anything," he mutters, voice tight. "You have fractured ribs… sprained ankle… you'll heal if you stay still."
That's not what I asked.
"You need to—"
A scream cuts through the wall.
Sharp.
Desperate.
My entire body locks up.
A girl.
Right next door.
"No—please—stop—!"
The sound rips through me so fast it feels like my chest caves in. My vision narrows. My stomach twists so hard I think I'm going to be sick.
Oh God.
Oh fuck.
No no no no—
I can hear it.
I can hear everything.
The sound of fabric tearing.
A slap.
Her choking on a sob.
"Please—I'll do anything—please don't—"
Another scream.
Muffled this time.
Like someone's covering her mouth.
My hand flies to my own mouth, trying to hold it together, trying not to lose it right here. Tears hit before I can stop them, hot and fast, blurring everything.
She's being raped.
Right next door.
And I can hear it.
I can hear it.
The wet sound of skin on skin. The creak of a bed frame. Her muffled cries turning into broken, choking sounds that don't even sound human anymore.
My stomach lurches.
I gag, bending forward, my hand clamped over my mouth as bile rises in my throat. I swallow it down, shaking so hard my teeth are chattering.
Fuck fuck fuck—
The doctor goes rigid.
His jaw tightens like he's trying not to hear it. Like if he doesn't acknowledge it, it's not happening.
Another cry.
Choking.
Pleading.
"Stop—please—"
I can't breathe.
I can't fucking breathe.
My chest is heaving, my ribs screaming in protest, but I can't get air in. My vision is tunneling, black creeping in at the edges.
She's right there.
Right fucking there.
And I can't do anything.
I press my hands over my ears, trying to block it out, but it doesn't work. I can still hear her. I can still hear the sound of her breaking.
"Please…" I whisper again, looking back at the doctor, my voice shaking so hard I can barely get the words out. "You can't just—listen to that—you can't just let—"
"I don't have a choice," he snaps under his breath, panic slipping through. His eyes are wild now, darting between me and the guard. "You think I want to be here?"
That stops me.
His hands are shaking worse than mine.
His eyes flick to the guard.
Then back to me.
"Stay quiet," he says, lower now, almost pleading. "Stay compliant. That's how you survive."
Survive.
Not escape.
Not fight.
Survive.
The word sits in my chest like a stone.
Another sound from next door.
A low, broken sob.
Then silence.
The kind of silence that's worse than the screaming.
My stomach twists again, and this time I can't stop it. I lean over the side of the bed and retch, nothing coming up but bile and spit. My ribs scream in protest, and I gasp, tears streaming down my face.
The doctor steps back, his face pale.
The guard doesn't move.
Doesn't react.
Like this is normal.
Like this is just another fucking day.
Footsteps hit the door again.
Heavy.
The guard steps in further, irritation written all over his face. The gun lifts slightly as he looks between us.
"Hurry the fuck up," he snaps. "We're not running a hospital here."
"I'm done," the doctor says quickly, stepping back.
"Then move."
The gun shifts toward him.
And he flinches.
Not subtle.
Not controlled.
Real fear.
He backs up fast, heading for the door without another word. He doesn't look at me again.
The guard lingers for a second, eyes dragging over me like I'm nothing.
I go still.
Completely still.
No reaction.
No sound.
Nothing.
My heart is slamming so hard I think he can hear it, but I don't move. I don't even breathe.
After a second, he steps out.
The door slams shut.
But the silence doesn't come.
Because I can still hear her.
Crying.
Soft, broken sounds that make my chest ache.
She's still alive.
But she's not okay.
She's never going to be okay.
And neither am I.
My chest rises unevenly as I stare at the ceiling, tears slipping into my hair. My hands are still shaking. My breath is still too fast.
Okay.
Okay.
Think.
The doctor.
He's scared.
He didn't want to be here.
That means something.
That means he could break.
And if he breaks—
That's my way out.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe through the pain, through the nausea, through the sound of that girl's broken sobs still echoing in my head.
"I'm getting out of here," I whisper to myself, my voice shaking.
"And I'm not leaving without Becca."
Not a fucking chance.
I don't care what it takes.
I don't care what I have to do.
I'm getting us both out.
Or I'm dying trying.