They crossed it.
And I’m going to make sure they regret it.
“It’s okay. You’re okay,” I whisper, brushing a damp strand of hair from Lea’s face.
She’s ghost-pale, her body trembling as she braces against the pain I know is devouring her from the inside out. Her hip is already swelling, the skin darkening with bruises that spread like ink beneath the surface. It’s broken—her pelvis, without a doubt. And without surgery, without real help, I don’t see how she’ll ever walk again.
“I need to find help,” I tell her, my voice shaking.
But she grabs my arm with surprising strength, her fingers digging in, eyes wide and wild with fear. Sweat beads on her forehead, sliding down her dirt-streaked cheeks, mixing with the tears she can’t stop.
“Please don’t leave me,” she gasps, her breath catching on a sob. She grits her teeth, trying to hold it in, but the pain is too much. It’s written all over her—etched into every line of her face.
“I have to, Lea. I can’t fix this. You need a hospital.”
Even as I say it, I know how ridiculous it sounds.
Like they would ever let us near a hospital.
But I have to try.
I slip my hand from beneath her head, careful not to jostle her broken body, and rise on unsteady legs. The hallway tilts as I step into it, my limbs heavy, my thoughts swimming. I grip the wall, the doorframe, anything to keep me upright.
There are men in the corridor—three of them, maybe four. Their faces blur until I’m nearly nose to nose with one. Only then do his features sharpen, his eyes narrowing as he takes me in.
“Help me,” I plead, reaching for him, trying to steady myself. “Please—she’s hurt. She needs help.”
He laughs.
Not just a chuckle—a full, cackling laugh that echoes down the hallway like something evil.
He shakes me off like I’m filth, sidestepping with a sneer, like I’m a beggar in the street asking for something I don’t deserve.
I stumble back, my heart pounding, rage and helplessness crashing over me in waves.
I need to find someone—anyone—who will help.
I don’t know how I make it to the grand staircase. My legs are barely functioning, my vision swimming, but I push forward on instinct alone. Then the world tilts.
My foot misses the first step.
And I fall.
I tumble down the stairs in a blur of limbs and pain, crashing against the polished wood like a rag doll. There’s no grace in it—just gravity and desperation. When I finally land, I lie there for a moment, dazed, unsure which way is up. My body hums with a dull ache, and right now I’m almost grateful for the numbness. It’s better than feeling everything.
I force myself up, staggering into the lounge.
“Help her!” I shout, weaving between the velvet couches where men lounge like kings—drinks in hand, laughter in their throats, not a care in the world for the girls locked in the rooms above.
One man startles, nearly spilling his drink. “What the fuck?” he snaps, jerking away from my outstretched hand like I’m diseased.
Why aren’t they moving?
Why won’t they dosomething?
“Please!” I drop to my knees, the room spinning, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “She’s hurt—she can’t move… please!”
But then I see him.
