Page 11 of Chained

Bitch. That's all she is. I've met girls like her before—ones who think because they're confident or mean, they can push people around. I try to tune her out. If she doesn't want to help, she can stay here. But we're leaving regardless.

"We can do this, we have to try," I say, keeping my gaze on Annabelle even though I can feel the way her eyes shoot daggers digging into my back.

"How?" Annabelle's lips barely move, her eyes searching mine for something steady.

Up front, the fat man shifts, reaching for the passenger seat. My heart stutters when I see the gun. Black metal, dull in the morning light, his fingers tapping the barrel.

"Amora, he has a gun," Annabelle whispers, her whole body going tense.

The moment shrivels away with Annabelle's words. The other girls shrink back, hope draining from their faces. I keep her hand in mine, my mind running blank. I can't think. I can't think of a way out where we don't die.

"We'll think of something," I promise, though the words taste bitter.

We don't speak for the rest of the drive, cautious in case he overheard and uses the gun that sits on the passenger seat. I keep my hand in Annabelle's—fingers slowly rubbing over her soft skin just like I had with Rosa so many times growing up. She was always so...scared. My mother used to laugh, call me the fearless one, the reckless twin, whilst Rosa was more sensible. God, I miss them both so much it hurts to breathe.

Quiet settles around us as we're taken to the next location with no clue what's waiting for us. But that's all we can do, isn't it? Sit here in deathly silence and wait for this nightmare to truly begin.

The van begins to come to a crawl, gravel crunching beneath the tyres until it finally comes to a stop. We look at each other, all four of us. Our haunted expressions mirror each other. You can do this. I breathe, trying to psyche myself up and failing miserably.

The doors open and light explodes inside, making us all blink and cover our eyes. The fat man grabs my arm, his grip pinching my skin, and hauls me out. The other girls stumble out after. I feel naked, and looking down, I basically am. I tug at the hem of the sheer dress like it does anything to change how exposed I feel. It doesn't. If anything, it just reminds me more. Every instinct screams to run, to bolt for it. My eyes fan around the area, searching for a gap in a fence or maybe a house with cars, but there's nothing. Just emptiness and a warehouse that looks as empty as I feel.

Every part of me feels heavy and numb. My feet stay rooted to the spot, maybe in an act of defiance or just because I'm too tired to move. The fat guy doesn't care, though. His rough calloused hands grip around my upper arm, fingers pinching as he drags me from my spot, pushing me into the warehouse. I dig my heels into the ground, the sting hitting immediately against my skin as he continues to drag me.

"No," I whisper, but he ignores me, or maybe he didn't hear me. Maybe I didn't say it out loud at all.

The sound of feet padding behind him drags my attention just enough for me to realise the sound is the girls walking willingly. Like lambs being delivered to slaughter.

If I had the energy to scream, I would. I'd tell them how utterly fucking useless they are for following him like the pied piper whilst I was being dragged against my will.

My eyes drop to the chains that are lined up in the centre of the warehouse. A cold chill blows through the doors almost on cue, sending a shiver down my spine. Not again. I won't be chained again.

Shoving me to the ground, the stone floor scrapes the skin off my knee. I pull my ankle away on instinct. He can kill me, beat me, do whatever the hell he wants—but that chain is going nowhere near my skin.

"Don't be stupid." It's like he has a connection to my mind, reading every thought before I've even had a chance to say it. His hands grip the cold metal loop, shaking it in front of me in a way to get me to comply.

"Please." I sound pathetic. Desperate. It makes me sick that I'm on the verge of begging him again.

"You're gonna make your new master very happy with those pleas, girl." His dirty fingers grip against my dark skin, pressing hard as he drags me across the floor. I fight, kicking and bucking, but he's holding on for dear life.

The cold metal wraps around my ankle, which may as well be my heart. Not again. I can't do this again. It was different, standing beside him. Even being in the car, I could move. I had the smallest piece of autonomy left. Now bolted to the floor, I'm nothing but an ornament within these warehouse walls.

He moves behind me as the girls continue to stare, their faces flushed with fear. I almost tell them to look away, that this shame is the only thing that belongs to me now and I don't want to taint them with it, but his fingers glide across my sheer dress, crossing over my nipples that are erect from the cold—not his touch. Never his touch.

"You're so delicious. You're going to make the perfect little cum dump. I almost wish I'd have kept you for myself."

I want to be sick—worse than that. I want to die. His fingers pinch against my nipples, my hand flinging to his wrist to stop him, nails digging in deep, but it only spurs him on to pinch harder.

I cry out in pain.

He closes his eyes, inhaling every ounce of my fear. "Delicious." He shoves me back onto the stone. "Your turn, sluts, line up," he announces to the other girls.

I sit in silence, wrapping my arms across my chest like it can protect me. Like a shield in battle, but it doesn't stop the pain. My nipple throbs from his pinch, my heart aching at the remnants of his filthy touch.

He has Rosa.

It's a thought that's consuming me, but one I try desperately to put in the back of my mind. I want to save her, I do. More than anything in this world I want to, but I have to survive. And the more I let the guilt creep in and take control, the more I want to crawl into myself on this very floor and wait for death to take me.

I'm so tired. My eyes ache. Body, too. I wish this would just be over.