Page 135 of Hidden

They’re certain I will break.

And for the first time since they took me, I am no longer sure they’re wrong.

***

I have no idea what time it is.

It was in the early hours of the morning when they took me, more like three o’clock in the morning. Now there’s no window, no clock, and no way to measure how long I’ve been standing with my arms wrenched behind me. One thing I can say, with how much my muscles are hurting, it's been hours, maybe even half a day.

The cold has moved past my skin, it lives in my bones now, a deep, grinding ache that makes every breath feel sharper. My shoulders burn constantly. My fingers are numb, and when I shift even slightly, the rope bites deeper and sends fresh sparks of pain up my arms.

I try to hold on to memories of Miles. The quiet care in the way he made sure I ate, the way his voice dropped when he told me he would find me, no matter what. For a few seconds the memory is warm enough to push the cold back.

Then the lock turns with a loud sound. The woman from earlier steps into the room. She’s wearing the same expensive dress, and the same calm, empty smile. Her heels click once on the concrete as she stops in front of me.

“Time for some fun,” she says softly.

The words slide under my skin like ice. She clicks her fingers, and two men enter. I know I should fight. Every part of me screams to fight, but my body is already past its limit. The cold, the rope, and the earlier blows have drained the strength from my legs. When they untie me from the wall I almost collapse. They catch me by the arms and haul me forward.

We move into a long corridor. The air is even colder here. Every sound echoes: the men’s boots, the woman’s heels, and my own bare feet dragging against the concrete. The polished man from earlier joins us halfway down. He walks on my other side. I hear them speaking in low voices, Romanian mixed with English, too quiet for me to catch the words, but the tone is easy, almost casual.

My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. I know this isn’t going to be better than what came before. I know whatever waits at the end of this corridor is designed to break something in me.

We stop at a heavy door. The woman opens it and walks in first. The two men push me in after her. I dig my heels in at the last second and try to twist free, lunging back toward the corridor.

A large hand closes around my upper arm and yanks me hard against a solid chest. He’s so much bigger than me that my bare feet almost leave the floor. I thrash anyway, kicking, twisting, and driving my elbow back into him with everything I have left.

He doesn’t even rock.

“You’ll enjoy it,” he says, his voice low and almost gentle against my ear. “I promise.” I keep fighting. My shoulder screams. My wrists burn where the rope still hangs from them. I try to drop my weight, to make myself harder to hold, to buy even one second of space. He simply adjusts his grip and walks me farther into the room as if I weigh nothing.

The door closes behind us.

I’m still struggling in his hold when the single overhead light comes on, it’s harsh and white, and I see what is waiting for me inside.

A bed.

I freeze. My body simply stops.

The fight drains out of my arms and legs at once. My breathing turns shallow and distant, like it belongs to someone else. I feel the man's hands on me, but my body doesn't react.

I know, with perfect clarity, that I have no control left, whatever is about to happen, I can’t stop it. My mind narrows to a single white point of panic and then goes strangely quiet, as if it has stepped back from my own body to survive.

I’m still standing only because the man’s holding me up.

Another light switches on to the side. I turn my head slowly, my movements delayed and heavy. The woman is already seated on a low couch against the wall, her legs crossed, and a glass of dark wine in her hand. She watches me over the rim with that same calm, empty smile, completely at ease, as if she has all the time in the world.

The polished man releases me just enough to guide me forward.

My bare feet drag against the concrete. I can’t make them move any faster. I can’t make them stop.

He stops me by the bed, turns me to face him, and he slowly removes his jacket, then his tie. He pulls my hair tie out and moves his finger through my hair, and something in me snaps awake and I knee him as hard as I can.

They're not touching me. I won't let them fucking touch me.

He quickly stands straight and slaps me hard making me fall back onto the bed.

“It’s always so much more fun when they fight,” he laughs, and I hear the woman laughing to the side.