A sharp ache down my jaw where Eric hit me, a deep throb in my shoulder from being dragged, and the hot sting of the zip ties cutting into my wrists.
But none of it matters.
Because when I open my eyes, when the world stops spinning and the shadows sharpen, I see her.
Tiffany.
Still tied to the steel support beam. Still bruised. Still furious.
Still here.
She lifts her head instantly. “Holley. Hey. Babe, look at me. You with me?”
I swallow a broken groan. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m okay.”
“Bullshit,” she mutters. “But we’ll work on that later.”
I try to sit up. Pain spikes through my ribs, but I push through it. We don’t have time for fragile.
We don’t have time for anything.
Voices echo outside the warehouse room—low, masculine, laughing like they’re already counting whatever money they’re planning to make off us.
I go cold.
Tiffany watches me, eyes steel. “We’re not waiting for them to sell us,” she says. “We’re getting the hell out of here.”
“How?” I whisper, gesturing to my restraints. “They tied us like?—”
“Like amateurs,” she cuts in. “Which works in our favor.”
She shifts her weight, lifting her leg awkwardly to show me her boot. The tip of a small metal multitool peeks out of the side seam.
“You keep that?” I breathe in sheer amazement.
“You think growing up with my dad, he didn’t teach me a thing or two?” she whispers. “This is my emergency baby blade.”
“You have an emergency blade?”
“Several. But right now we’re grateful for the small one.” She twists her ankle again, trying to maneuver it out far enough to grab.
Footsteps thud closer.
Tiffany freezes. Then drops her leg.
The door to the warehouse room opens.
Ericc strides in, adjusting his cuffs like he’s arriving at a brunch reservation instead of a human trafficking exchange. His men follow behind—one carrying duct tape, another holding a portable radio.
“Afternoon, ladies,” Eric sings.
I flinch.
Tiffany snarls under her breath.
Eric ignores her. He crouches in front of me, tipping my chin up with two fingers. “You’re looking better. I was worried the sedative hit you too hard.”
“Worried?” I spit. “You do this and worried is all you have to say?”
