My chest tightens. I want to scream, to tear the ropes apart with my bare hands.
But I don’t. I can’t. I have to stay steady—for her.
“No,” I say, firm but shaking. “You’re going to tell them yourself. I swear, Lea. Once I’m free, I’ll find a way out. I’ll get you home. I will.”
She closes her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek.
I watch her breathing—shallow, uneven—and something inside me twists.
I can’t let her die here.
Not like this.
Not in this place, in this pain, with her last words meant for someone else.
The sound of footsteps echoes down the corridor—slow, deliberate, and heavy enough to make my heart slam against my ribs. I scramble, fingers raw and frantic as I claw at the knot that feels welded shut. It won’t budge. Panic starts to claw at my throat.
Two men step into the room. One I recognise—the one in the balaclava. The other is new, and worse. There’s something in his eyes that’s venomous.
Lea doesn’t move. She just lies there, still and silent, like she’s already surrendered to whatever comes next. But I haven’t.I won’t.
“This one’s a fighter,” Balaclava says, nodding toward me. “I think you’ll find her to your taste.”
The stranger’s lip curls—not into a smile, but something closer to a snarl. My stomach drops.
I have no weapons. No drugs. No way out.
Just me. And him. And if it means keeping him away from Lea, then I’ll take whatever comes.
“What about that one?” he asks, nodding toward Lea.
Panic flares white-hot in my chest.
“Oi! Over here, dickhead,” I snap, spitting the words like a blade. “You want a fight? I’m right here.”
His eyes flick back to me, amused. Intrigued. He raises an eyebrow, then glances at Balaclava with a grin that makes my skin crawl.
“I see what you mean.”
Balaclava turns and leaves, the door creaking shut behind him—but not all the way. It stays ajar. Just enough.
Just enough for a chance.
When I’m done with him—if I survive—I’ll take it.
He’s already palming himself through his dress trousers, eyes dragging over me like I’m something laid out for sale in a butcher’s window.
Revulsion coils in my gut. Just looking at him makes my blood run cold.
“Give it your best shot,” he sneers, voice thick with cruelty.
Then his hand is on me—twisting, pulling at my nipple—vicious and deliberate.
Pain flares white-hot, and I bite down on a scream, tasting blood.
He’s not like the others, he likes to know he’s raping us. He enjoys the struggle.
With my legs bound to either corner of the bed, I’m exposed—no way to shield myself, no way to hide. I’m laid bare, defenceless, with nothing between me and him.
