CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MIRI

The clang of the door still echoes around me, and a hideous vibration shakes down my spine – like its closing signals something more than a temporary imprisonment. That's all this is, temporary. But I'm not stupid. It might be better than what's waiting for me.

"Shaw…" I turn to reason with him again, to work on that connection again, but he's already a shadow, fading into the darkness.

I'm alone here. Alone to wait for whatever they've decided to do with me, with only my thoughts and fears for company.

I thought the last time was horrific. We were in a room with a few others, but Naja kept me hidden as best she could. She was working every opportunity she had to keep me out of the line of sight. We would listen at night, or mostly, she would listen to me. I cried. I was scared. But not like now. This is different. Shaw was lying about what's going to happen next. He knows he just doesn't want to face up to the ugly truth by telling me.

Fuck.

My body shakes as I try to keep in the emotion. Fear isn't the overriding feeling because there are so many mixed up inside me right now. It's the not knowing, and the anticipation that what's to come might be the worst scenario you can imagine.

Is this what Naja went through after they got her back?

I slump down onto the ground and get acquainted with the sounds of women who are also locked up in here. They drift like the breeze to my ears, stopping me from falling asleep and forcing me to stay in the here and now.

Eventually, they quieten as they exhaust their grief and pain.

The stillness allows me to drift into my own nightmare of memory and wonder. Am I really that broken to want to sleep with Shaw? Was it an act of desperation? It might have started as a fight, full of anger and hate, but the aggression took over and turned into something basic and sinful. It felt good, and that realisation scares me more than what's in store for me. Because after everything he's done, every dirty, sick, and twisted game, a part of me wanted to fuck him. And a part of me still wants to hold on to the possibility that there was more than just deception on his side.

It doesn't matter now, anyway. I might never see him again. I might never see anything outside of this cage again. Sorrow descends on my heart, pulling me into a darkness that is all-encompassing, and shoves everything into perspective.

I'd like to know what happened to my sister. Despite what they have in store for me, knowing that she's okay, or even if she's dead, will settle something that's been gnawing at me. I let myself hope. I let myself believe that things would turn out for the best, and that hope has landed me back here. Back to where it began.

And to hell with the idea that this is all about profit. This is personal. What happened with Jackson and my sister meant everything went to shit for them. Big, powerful, untouchable families like Shaw's don't like it when it doesn't go according to their plan. This is all personal and all about getting payback. It started with Jackson, and it will end with me and Naja.

"Well, well, well. Look who's come back home."

I recognise her voice; how could I forget. That polished, I-own-your-ass confidence that just makes you want to rip her eyes out.

I open my eyes and look up through the bars. She stands in front of them, her impeccable outfit still in place. She looks like she should be set to make some big presentation at a fancy event. Not dish out commands and torture other women in this dingy place.

I sit up, pull my knees into my chest, and wait for her to say something. She just stares at me as if she's trying to size me up or, perhaps, just intimidate me. Well, I'm not the same girl she last saw, so she's going to have to do a damn sight better than that.

"The silent treatment, I see. We'll soon break that from you. You might have had that sister of yours to help you before, but you're here all alone now. All alone for us to break apart and mould into a suitable and worthy asset." I roll my eyes. "And if you think what happened to you last time was bad enough to make you run, then you might want to reconsider your attitude."

Her words slide off me. I doubt what she can dish out can be any worse than what I've endured at the hands of Shaw. After all, he took something from me that is never going to be repaired, and that's my fragile trust.

Her three-inch stiletto heel begins to tap on the rough ground, giving way to her impatience. She doesn't like that I'm not a cowering wreck for her to scare.

"You don't have any control over me here. You've come to gloat, and it doesn't look good on you. Now, am I fed in here, or is one of your intentions to starve me to death?" I hiss at her, drawing all of my courage.

"Why, you little brat." She pulls out a long, thin crop from her side and smacks it against the iron bars, making me jump.

My reaction gives her the satisfaction she was looking for, casting a smug smile over her perfectly cruel red lips.

She leaves, sauntering off into the gloom, and I go back to resting, conserving my strength and waiting. Will Shaw come back? Do I even want him to? My mind is awake even if I lie still and quiet. It won't be fooled into peace.

More questions run unchecked as the time passes. Will Landon be looking? What would Willow think if I told her all the details between Shaw and me? Would she be as repulsed as I feel?

I curl in and squeeze myself tightly, looking for any ounce of comfort, and, for a moment, I pretend that none of this happened. Not just meeting Shaw and being tricked, but being taken in the first place. It might be torture, but I let my mind make up the life I'd have back home with Naja. If I"d be visiting her on holidays, making friends, and doing well with school. I plan out the life that was snatched away from me.

It's a pretty dream and one that calms my nerves and soothes a part of my heart that might still be whole, but it comes crashing down, shattering in my mind as I open my eyes to a hulk of a man outside the door.

A plate of food is in one of his hands, and a bottle is in the other. He looks… terrifying as the darkness obscures his face. I sit up as he moves to open the door. Not a single bone in my body wants to move to try anything against this guy, so I sit still and wait. He tosses the food from the plate onto the floor, dumps the bottle of water in after, and slams the door back up tight before grunting and moving off.

I let out a breath and crawl over to the food. A sandwich, now fallen apart, with some sort of meat and cheese combo. My stomach moans at the sight, and I brush off the dirt from the bread and put it back together, glad of something to eat and not above taking whatever is on offer. It gives me something to think about for a few minutes, but then I'm back to make-believe and what-ifs.

~

Nobody comes to see me again. I'm left with the scraps and the water. I have no sense of time, although I assume that the trainer came by because it was the morning. There's no natural daylight or anything to help me decipher the time.

And then the noises start.

It's like last night, the muffled sound of cries. But now they grow louder. And the cries morph into screams. Piercing, harrowing screams. I clamp my hands over my ears to try and stop them, but they still seep in.

It brings me right back to the room where they burned me, where they strapped me down and placed an iron-hot poker to the sole of my foot. It stung like hell, and I couldn't pull away; I couldn't move. It ate into my flesh and remains the worst pain I've ever endured. My foot scrunches inside my shoe, something I do whenever I think about it. The skin's still tight over the scar, and it's like I can feel it now, itching as the memory surfaces.

I turn around, face the corner, and put my back to the door to curl up. Cradling my head in my hands, as I wait for the sound of the screams and the pain to stop, doesn"t drown the sounds. They drone on, and I start to block it out, or I give in and let sleep finally pull me away.

My cheeks are damp when I wake. And it's quiet.

"Pathetic. Look at you. All it took was a little noise from my current crop, and you're like a child all over again. They always break. Remember that."