Page 89 of Finn

I shivered.

“You’re Una.”

I narrowed my eyes, shifting away. “How did you know that?”

“I was here. In the corner where I like to sit. I don’t think they can see me there, but even if they can, it’s as far as my chain stretches.”

“Oh.”

She met my eyes, hers glazed with tears. “I heard what he said. That younger, dark-haired one. I thought I was scared before, but now that I know what’s happening, I’m more terrified than I’ve ever been in my life.”

I studied her in the dimness. I could see she was about my age. Long blond hair that I was sure at one point was lovely and wavy. Now, it was a dirty, ratty mess. Her skin was grubby, her cheeks raw from wiping them when she cried, no doubt. She was thin and looked exhausted.

“The same way you’ll look soon,” a little voice in my head whispered.

My chest ached with repressed tears, but I refused to let them out.

“Are there others?” I asked, wondering if we could work together and somehow surprise whatever guards they had checking on us.

“Yes. But they’re down that way. And if we try to talk, they come in and hurt us.” She turned her face, and I saw how swollen her cheek was. I could make out the bruises, even in the dull light. “I think there are six of us being held.”

“How many men are there?”

“I’m not sure.” She shuddered. “The one who wears the red sneakers is the worst.”

“Do you know where we are?”

She shook her head. “No.”

I tugged on the iron bar around my ankle, feeling along the chain to the end. It was screwed into the cement of the wall, and the only way I could loosen it was with a tool.

“There is nothing,” she whispered. “I looked. I tried.”

“Finn will find me,” I stated firmly. “He’ll rescue me and you. The other girls too.”

“I hope he gets here soon. I heard them say we’re gone next week.”

“How long was I out?” I asked, wondering how much time had elapsed.

“He gave you a heavy dose. I’d say a day.”

A week. Finn could find me in a week. Right?

“It was supposed to be sooner,” she confided. “But I heard them say the Russians were delaying things.”

I frowned and she shrugged. “I pretend to be asleep a lot if I hear someone coming. He, the younger one with the ugly shoes, is always staring at me, and I hate it.”

“Juan,” I told her.

“Well, Juan talks a lot. He and the other redhead just stand there and try to outdo each other. They forget I’m there at times.”

“The other redhead is my brother.”

She gaped at me. “And he’s part of this?” She grabbed my hand. “Oh, Una. I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“He—Juan—keeps telling me I’ll be his. I hate him.”