Page 133 of Hidden

Whatever happens, I promise I will find you.

I found her. Now I have to get her back. The thought hits at the same time as another vicious wave of pain. It starts deep in the wound and explodes outward, stealing the air from my lungs. My vision tunnels hard. The edges of the room go dark first, then the center. I try to stay upright, try to keep my eyes on the address, but the black rushes in too fast.

I hear Doc shout my name as the chair tips.

Then there’s nothing.

Thirty-Three

Sadie

For a few seconds I don’t move after he leaves. My chin still burns where his fingers gripped it, my stomach is tight with nausea as I can still feel his fingers on my stomach.

I can feel the shake starting in my legs and force it still before it becomes visible.

Renee is watching me from the far wall. I’ll not give either of them the satisfaction of seeing me break.

I take a deep breath; the cold is getting worse now that the adrenaline is wearing off. It seeps up through the concrete into my bare feet and settles deep in my shoulders. The rope holds my arms tightly behind me, and every small shift makes the fibers dig deeper into the raw skin of my wrists.

Renee hasn’t said anything since they threw her in the room with me. They said maybe looking at her would make me not fight them, because all the girls break sooner or later.

I’m not sure if she’s not talking because she’s scared or just lost hope anyone will come for her. She sits with her knees pulled to her chest, her back is against the wall, and her eyes are dull but alert. When I look at her, she holds my gaze for a moment, then looks away.

“How long have you been here?” I ask quietly.

Her voice is rough from disuse. “Long enough.”

That’s all she gives me, maybe she’s used to not speaking, or she knows what happens when you talk too much.

I open my mouth to ask more, but the door opens again.

Two of the men from earlier step inside, they don’t speak to me. One of them grabs the rope between my wrists and yanks me forward. The sudden pull sends a sharp flare of pain through my shoulders. I stumble. When I try to dig my heels in, the second man backhands me hard across the already-bruised cheek.

What the fuck was that for?

The impact snaps my head to the side, white noise floods my ears, and the taste of blood fills my mouth again. My vision blurs at the edges.

They drag me out of the room and deeper into the warehouse. The air grows colder; there are fewer lights here. My bare feet scrape and slap against the concrete as they pull me along. I catch glimpses of stacked crates, dark corners, and a corridor that seems to go on forever.

They stop in a smaller, windowless room. The walls are closer; the single bulb overhead is dimmer. One of them forces my arms higher behind my back and re-ties the rope to a metal ring set higher on the wall. The new position stretches my shoulders until they burn constantly. This is going to be worse than before. I can’t lower my arms. I can’t sit. I can only stand half-turned, breathing through the strain.

They leave without a word. Silence settles like a weight. I test the rope. There’s no give, the metal ring doesn’t move. The cold climbs higher into my body. My cheek throbs in time with my pulse, and my blood trickles slowly from the corner of my mouth and cools on my chin.

I try to hold on to his words.

Whatever happens, I promise I will find you. Just have faith I will find you.

But the warehouse is too quiet, and too solid. The walls feel thicker here, and I’m sure I heard a vehicle leave earlier. The men’s voices when they pass the door sound too calm, it’s like they believe no one is coming. Even though I don’t understand what they’re saying, there the tone has no fear in it.

Doubt creeps in. What if he didn’t make it?

What if the gunshots I heard before they forced me into the van were the last ones?

My breathing turns shallow. I stare at the opposite wall and force air into my lungs the way I do before a difficult beam routine. In. Out. Stay present. Stay standing.

Time stretches. Every small sound makes my body tense, the distant drip of water, the creak of the building, and the faint buzz of the bulb above me.

Then I hear two voices speaking Romanian somewhere nearby. One of them laughs under his breath, like they’re sharing a private joke. The sound slides under my skin. They’re not worried, and they’re not preparing for anyone to come through the doors.