43. Hannah

Hannah

W hat do you think the governor’s daughter would fetch?”

I can’t open my eyes. I can’t move my body. The only thing I can do is listen as I float along. My head is throbbing, pounding with the vibration of whoever is speaking.

“Pretty penny. You think the carpet matches the drapes?”

“Only one way to find out.” A sinister chuckle shakes me to my core and I will myself to wake up. Force myself to open my eyes, but nothing happens. I’m trapped in my own body as a slimy hand slides up my stomach under my t-shirt, groping my breast through my bra with a rough hand. Bile climbs in my throat, but I can’t push him away.

Wake the fuck up, Hannah!

“What do you think you’re doing?” a sharp voice snaps from nearby, followed by the loud crash of a door slamming. “You were explicitly told this one is off limits.”

I know that voice.

“We were just looking.”

“Well look elsewhere. There are special plans for this one.”

Special plans? As in pump me full of whatever drug they choose and post me for sale for all their “buyers” to ogle and rape?

Wonderful.

I focus on my fingers, begging them to move even just a millimeter. Just so I know I’m not paralyzed from the accident.

Fuck. The accident. I forgot.

Visions of the missing part of Ian’s head flash through my mind, my stomach turning and saliva pooling in my mouth.

Blood, Jenna, more blood, the sound of glass shattering.

“Jesus Christ,” someone groans when I lurch to life, vomiting over the side of whatever operating table I’m on. My vision swims, my head spinning as I wretch the empty contents of my stomach. “Well, she’s awake.”

“It’s about time.”

“Lay back,” the voice of a woman snaps and someone shoves me down until my head hits the table below. Bright lights sit above me, nearly blinding me, but a face looms over me, blocking it out.

“Hannah, I’m Doctor Pat. I’ve been treating your wounds.”

“Where . . . where am I?” I’m surprised at the croakiness of my own voice.

“You’re where you’re supposed to be,” she answers, pushing the horn-rimmed glasses back up her nose. “You had a nasty accident. Don’t you think it would have been better if you would have just complied?”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Well, I’m not. I don’t know what their plan is for you, yet, but I do know . . . you’re special .” She says that last part like she can’t for the life of her figure out why.

Tears burn in my eyes as she dabs alcohol on a cut on my arm. I don’t care. I barely feel it. It’s what’s inside that’s ripping me to shreds.

Mason. He probably knows I’m gone by now. God only knows what happened when I didn’t show up. Tears burn in my eyes and a rush of agony courses through me.

“I don’t want to die.”

“Well, we all die eventually,” Nurse Ratched says as matter of fact as she would speak about the weather. “We all have sins to pay for. Just sometimes, we end up paying for the sins of others, too.”

“Why are you doing this? My mother?”

“Your mother will pay for her sins, too. As did your sister. My only concern is getting your arm bandaged so I can go home. I’m going to miss my show because of you.”

In another world, she could be someone’s mother or grandmother. She could be sweet and bake cookies and do other fun shit old people like to do. Not in this universe, though.

“Listen,” I whisper because the two assholes that tried to grope me are across the room, chatting about a football team. “They’re going to come after you. No one here is safe.”

She fixes me with a sardonic look.

“My, you Gaines’ are really all the same, aren’t you?”

My heart drops.

“You know why I do this, Hannah?”

Somehow, I have the grace to shake my head.

“Because they allow me to do whatever I want. They pay far better than anything you’ll be able to scrounge together and this isn’t a regulated facility. If you die, well, then you die.”

She finishes the bandage on my arm and sits back to admire her handiwork. Ironically, my bandage has princesses on it.

I don’t feel like a fucking princess.

“A word of advice,” she clucks, cleaning up the mess she left from working on me. “Don’t fight them. It’ll only make it worse.”

And then, as if I’m a piece of trash, she claps her hands.

“She’s done. Take her away.”

“Wait!” I rush, but they’re already coming for me. I try to scramble from the table, but my head spins and I wobble the moment my feet touch the floor, nearly passing out.

Nurse Ratched has the audacity to hand me a pack of crackers and a single bottle of water.

“So you don’t die before they’re ready for you.”

Tweedledee and Tweedledum grab me under the arms and practically drag me through the small surgical room. I struggle against their hold, but I’m too weak and they’re much bigger than me. I can’t fight them.

“Let’s go, princess,” one mocks, and the other laughs.

I’m really regretting not shooting Ian sooner now.

They haul me through a narrow corridor straight out of a horror film. Complete with busted wiring and small puddles of standing water, which they have no care to avoid. By the time they reach the end, there’s an open door, the blackness beyond looming out at me.

“Please, no,” I beg, my heart lurching in my chest when I realize their intentions. “Please don’t put me in there. Chain me to the wall out here or something.”

“ Explicit orders,” the second guy says cheerfully. “This is where we were told to put you, so this is where you’re going.”

“Wait!” I screech when I’m thrust forward, stumbling into the darkness and falling to my hands and knees. I wince at the stinging cuts in my palms. The accident wasn’t kind to me and I’m sore and bruised. I might have a broken rib or two from the lance of pain in my side.

Still . . . none of that compares to the heart-stopping, all-consuming fear that takes hold of me when they start to shut the door on me.

“Sleep tight, Hannah Banana.”

And then it’s dark. The only light comes from the small crack at the bottom, but it’s not enough.

“Wait!” I screech, pounding my fist on the door, but it does nothing. No one comes to my rescue. No sounds can be heard in the hallway beyond my own personal hell.

I’m alone in the darkness.

You’ve broken the rules, so you must be punished.

“Go away,” I murmur, clenching my eyes shut and wrapping my arms around myself.

You can come out once you’ve learned your lesson. Repeat after me. We don’t tell strangers about Mommy’s work.

I fall to the ground, skittering back against the wall, sucking in shallow, painful breaths as the voices grow louder, echoing around the room.

This is it , I think, clutching a hand over my pounding heart.

There’s no one coming to save me. Not my mother. Not Missy.

Not Mason.

I’m well and truly alone.

You’re a whore.

No one will ever want you .

—I’m far scarier than anything lurking in the dark.

I slump to the floor, pressing my cheek against the cool, battered concrete. They even took his hoodie from me.

My last piece of him.

Mason’s gone now. Home’s gone, too. I guess, my consolation prize is that he won’t be hounded by the cartel anymore. At least, I hope. Maybe if I’m not in the world he’ll be able to live the peaceful life he always dreamed about. He and his family can relax. Be happy, for once.

God, I miss him.

Tears burn in my eyes, and since I’m alone, I let them fall. My brain is foggy, covered in a haze as unconsciousness threatens to pull me under. I welcome it.

All I want to do is fade away.

Would Mason think I was a coward? Would he be disappointed that I wasn’t up trying to foolishly pick a lock on a door we both know isn’t going to open? Would he be angry with me for falling back asleep?

I hope so. I always secretly loved those hurricane eyes when he was pissed off.

“I love you,” I whisper to the darkness because there’s no way I’ll ever get to say it to him again. I just hope he realizes, one day, I didn’t want to leave him.

Because it’s time to face facts.

I’m going to die here.