I exhaled bitterly, tasting copper and fear on my tongue. “Fuck that,” I hissed. “I’m not waiting around to be gift wrapped for some perverted psychopath with more money than morals. Do any of the rooms have phones?”
“No. We’re not allowed contact with the outside world, but…”
“But what?” I prompted.
“The guards have radios and phones. They’re always on them. They take shifts monitoring us through cameras.”
Crap, for a minute, I’d forgotten I was being monitored.
My chest tightened, ribs constricting around my lungs. I pressed my palm on the side of the sink counter to steady myself, and my fingers snagged on something. A rough edge. I frowned and leaned closer, squinting through the darkness as my fingers traced the lines. Not lines.
Nail marks.
Several of them. Deep gouges carved into the wood. Desperate. Someone had clawed their fingers into the varnish until they broke through, leaving raw wounds in the surface. The scratches were frantic, overlapping, the work of hours or days.
Someone whose hand wasn’t much bigger than mine.
I pressed my fingers into them, tracing the shape of each mark. The wood was rough under my fingertips, splinters catching on my skin. I imagined the terror it took to try to dig your way through a solid piece of furniture. The pain. The hopelessness that still didn’t stop you from trying. Or had she been sitting here in sheer boredom, trying not to lose her mind?
“Hello? Are you still there?” Crystal whispered.
Swallowing, I replied, “I am.” Un-fucking-fortunately.
“I heard you crying earlier. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“Nothing that won’t heal.” And I couldn’t stop my mind from wondering if any of the girls who stayed before me hadn’t made it to the auction. Had any of them died here?
My heart cracked open, fissures spreading through my chest. “I’m going to get out of here,” I murmured before I could think better of it. The vow was more of a promise to myself.
“You can’t.” A terrible, long sigh breezed through the vent. “There are only two ways out of this place. You get bought or they bury you with the others.”
Her words verified the worst, what I already knew. Not every girl makes it out of this house alive.
I stared at the cabinet, at the violent proof of another girl’s terror, evidence of suffering, and my throat burned hot, fear rising like bile.
Because if I didn’t get out…
If I didn't find a way, then I’d end up leaving nail marks of my own.
And eventually, I’d stop screaming too.
The clickingof heels came first, sharp strikes against hardwood, announcing her presence like a countdown to execution.
I sat on the edge of the bed, legs curled beneath me, my fingernails digging crescents into my palms as I listened to each step grow closer, silently praying she would pick another room and hating myself for wishing it. My spine went rigid, shoulders drawing up toward my ears as the door handle turned.
Just my fucking luck.
Silvia stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind her with a quiet thud. She wasn’t making the same mistake twice by leaving it slightly cracked now that she knew she couldn’t trust me. The feeling was mutual.
Gone was the breakfast carnage from yesterday. She’d shed the stained silk and now wore a crisp ivory blouse. The fabric was expensive. I could tell by how it moved with her, never wrinkling, never betraying a single crease. Her tailored slacks hugged her legs, and her raven hair had been scraped back into a bun so severe it pulled the skin tight around her temples. She looked like a villain from an old noir film, all sharp angles and cold beauty.
Behind her, she pushed a rolling rack, its wheels squeaking softly with each rotation. Dresses swayed on black velvet hangers, and a full-length mirror caught fragments of light as she maneuvered it deeper into the room.
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” The words slid from her crimson lips without a trace of warmth. Her gaze swept over me. “Stand up.”
My muscles tensed, rebellion flaring hot in my chest, but I forced myself upright anyway. Not because I wanted to. God, every fiber of my being screamed against obeying her, but because the memory of yesterday’s heel-to-gut encounter still throbbed beneath my ribs, I did what I was told. Each breath pulled sharp and shallow, and I needed to stay coherent. Playing smart, not broken.
Silvia’s pointed fingernails danced over the garments, fabric rustling as she pushed hangers aside. She paused at a black dress, her lips curving into what might have been approval on anyone else’s face. She pulled the slinky thing free from the hanger. It looked more like expensive lingerie than anything I’d be caught dead wearing, all mesh panels and strategic cutouts designed to reveal more than they concealed.
