I sit back, heart pounding, the glow of the screen casting shadows across the room. The Broker’s auction is real. It’s happening soon. And Nell might be there. The chances are she’s hasn’t been transported too far yet, and if he’s in the area hunting girls, she may well have been picked up by him or someone attending the auction.
I close the laptop, wipe the session, and stash the drive in the lining of my jacket. My hands are shaking, but not from fear. From fury. From the knowledge that I’m close—so close I can taste it.
Three days.
That’s all I’ve got.
41
Nell
“Swallow it.”
The command lands like a stone in my chest. The little white tablet in his hand isn’t medicine—it’s a weapon. A promise of what’s to come. A threat wrapped in chalky bitterness.
He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. The memory of last night does the work for him.
The girl I share the room with watches from her bed, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. He’s not making her take anything—just me. And that says enough.
I clamp my mouth shut, shaking my head slowly, defiantly. I stare at him, trying to find something—anything—human in his eyes.
There’s nothing.
Just vacancy.
Just rot.
“Stupid fucking bitch,” he mutters, and then he’s on me—rough hands pinching my cheeks until my jaw cracks open. I claw at his arms, but it’s useless. The tablet is shoved past my tongue, followed by a splash of water that floods my throat and nose. I choke, sputter, but I swallow. I always do. That’s the point.
He steps back, wiping his hands like I’m something dirty he touched by accident.
“The clients will be up soon,” he says, already turning away. “So be ready.”
The door slams.
And the spinning starts.
It’s slow at first—a gentle tilt of the floor, a soft blur at the edges of my vision. But it builds fast. My limbs go loose, my thoughts scatter like leaves in wind. I’m sinking, and there’s no bottom.
The girl is beside me now, guiding me to the bed with hands that tremble just like mine. She doesn’t say much. She doesn’t have to. The look in her eyes tells me everything.
She’s just as trapped.
Just as broken.
Just as disposable.
“Just stay still,” she whispers, her voice barely reaching me. “And don’t speak.”
Her lips move slower than her words. Her face is already slipping out of focus, like a dream I’m forgetting in real time.
I’m naked.
Exposed.
My skin prickles against the cold air, but I can’t move to cover myself. My muscles have turned to liquid, useless and unresponsive—like my body’s no longer mine. All I can do is lie here, waiting. Dreading. Hating the fact that my body has betrayed me.
The silence stretches until low, male voices drift in from the hallway.
