Flashbacks race through my mind in intense detail as they violate her corpse, making my heart pound in my chest, cold sweat slicking my skin.
I close my eyes, letting tears streak down my cheeks, and try to turn my head, to look away. But the man holding my hair crouches beside me, yanking my head back, and forces me to watch.
“You don’t get to look away, brave bitch,” he bites viciously against my ear. “Watch what you’ve done to her. Watch what you will become. Dead or alive, warm orcold, you’re nothing more than three filthy fuck holes to someone.”
My mind spins, stomach twisting horribly, and I start to hyperventilate, chest panting uncontrollably.
“You like it, don’t you?” he whispers, followed by a cruel snicker, cold and evil, his disgusting gaze lowering to my breasts as he licks his lips. “Whoever fucked you up, didn’t fuck you up as good as I could.”
“What the fuck is going on here?” Another man’s voice barks through the room from the doorway.
As soon as the guy releases me, I can’t hold it in anymore.
I dive forward, hands sinking into the muddy puddles, dry gagging, the taste of puke filling in my mouth.
“I was just…” The man above me starts.
“Not ‘you weren’t just’! Why the fuck is one dead?” he shouts in a rage, cutting him off.
“I was teaching this one a lesson, and she’s next. Her body’s fucking disgusting and butchered anyway. I’ll take care of her.”
I feel the cold press of his gun against the back of my head, and I close my eyes, bracing myself as if ready to finally take the bullet and be at peace.
“I don’t think so!” The other man snaps, footsteps heavy on the floor, drawing closer. “We’ve already lost one! Butchered or not, it doesn’t matter with where these lot are going!”
The gun eases away from my skull, just slightly. Then I hear the others drop the dead girl to the floor, leaving her still and silent as if she was nothing. As if she wasn’t someone’s daughter or loved one.
“Hose them the fuck down! They’re being taken to Dr Rot in thirty minutes!”
My stomach pulls like my insides are being ripped out while the men leave the room, their footsteps fading.
Suddenly, a woman crouches beside me, her soft hand brushing my upper arm, and I jerk back.
“Leave me alone,” I growl through shallow breaths, a string of spit hanging from my lips.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” she whispers back, voice quiet over the panicked murmurs of the other women.
I turn my head, giving her a reluctant glance, my body trembling despite myself. Blonde, wavy hair frames her face, and she has big blue irises with a sprinkle of freckles across the nose.
She watches me with pleading eyes, and I pause, overthinking every movement she makes.
“Aren’t we already dead, anyway?” I mutter in defeat, lowering my gaze again, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Not yet we’re not,” she says softly, the tiniest thread of hope lingering in her voice.
If I had the energy, I’d probably let out a bitter laugh at her innocence. It’s obvious why we’re here. But there’s still one question that’s haunted me since I've been on this endless, torturous journey to this dump.
Who sent me here?
Before I passed out in the park, I vaguely remember that familiar voice against my ear calling meFlower.
Graham was the only person to ever call me that.
It can’t possibly be him, can it?
It’s been almost six fucking years, and I’m about to face this all over again because of the same damn people.
Or maybe it’s Law. But regardless of him hating me with every ounce of his being, I don’t know if he would truly go this far.
