I was surprised to wake slowly, warmed by the sun streaming through the uncovered window. It was rare for me to have a full night's rest. If it wasn't them waking me, dreams—nightmares—jerked me awake. But last night had been... peaceful. No nightmares. No Johns. No guards. No moving. Only true, deep sleep.

How long had it been since I'd had a real night of sleep? I couldn't even remember.

My stomach rumbled. I was starving.

And not nauseous.

I actually wanted to eat. I rolled out of bed and peered out of the peephole in the door. The hallway was empty on the other side. I knocked cautiously on the door. What time was it, anyway? I didn't have any way to tell, other than by the sun, and my knowledge on that front stopped at morning.

No one appeared in front of my door, so I knocked a little harder, trying to get the guards' attention if they were near. Not too loud, though, or I'd get in trouble for trying to escape.

Wait—what was I thinking? Of course, I should knock harder! If I could get someone's attention, maybe they could help me. Maybe they’d even call 911 or something. I'd just have to wait until someone walked by.

I hovered at the door, praying for someone to walk by. These doors weren't well-sealed—I could easily talk to someone on the other side, if I could just get them close enough.

I nearly slammed my entire body against the door with excitement when the first form crossed into my view, but I jerked back at the last moment—it was one of the guards, leading a man down the hall.

Crap. That meant we were about to be put to work.

I didn't have much time.

Someone else had to come down the hall. Anyone. We couldn't be the only people in this craphole, could we?

The next man's stomach entered my view before the rest of him. It protruded a couple feet out from the back of him—he was enormous, his shirt pushing up underneath his stomach to tuck into his pants. Acne splattered his face, and his beard was patchy and stringy. But he wasn't one of the guards.

I started banging on the door frantically, only to realize the guard—the one with the soup-strainer mustache—was behind him. They stopped in front of my door and I froze as the lock turned squeakily, the doorknob rattling ominously.

I stumbled back as the door opened.

"Eager young thing, isn't he," the giant man said.

"He's all yours," Soup Strainer said. "Knock and call when you're finished. If you're not out before your time, we'll come let you know." He locked the door behind himself.

The big guy started undoing his belt—lifting his stomach up out of the way so he could get to it—and a leering smile stretched his face. One of his teeth glinted gold, and two others were completely missing. I kept stepping farther back until my legs hit the bed and I fell onto it.

I lay there, sprawled helplessly on my back with my legs dangling over the edge while this fat man loomed over me, his leer unwavering as he worked to shove his pants down. A small, chubby dick fell out. At any other time, I’d laugh at such a large man having such tiny equipment, but in my situation, that was almost a mercy. Also, laughing could get me punched… or worse.

"That's a good mutt," the man said, slobber dribbling down his lips. But even worse than that was the giant, flaming-red pimple at the corner of his mouth. The top practically glowed white, as if the barest touch would cause it to explode. "I like it when you're a little afraid."

My nausea returned with a vengeance. I had to hold it in, keep it back. Just get through this, Cody. He wasn't the first shitty specimen of humanity I'd had to deal with, but he was the first since figuring out I was pregnant.

The man kicked his pants away, one arm holding up his stomach, the other holding his chubby little dick as he advanced on me. "Come on, dog. You know what to do."

I knew what I was supposed to do. I'd already done it thousands of times, I could do it once more. I was supposed to get up and drop to my knees, let him do whatever he liked with me—but I felt like if I moved one inch, I'd lose all control of my stomach. They might find out about the baby. They might just drug me up to get me through whatever jobs they had lined up for me. What would that do to the baby? I couldn't let them do that, I had to—

The man let go of his stomach and grabbed my calf, pulling me toward him. I was frozen—my fight or flight instinct trapped in the middle. I was like a rabbit, not the wolf I was at my core. The wolf I had barely been in touch with for the past few years...

They punished us if we shifted, but… if I could shift now, I could protect myself. I just needed to remember how it felt—the wind in my fur, the dirt under my claws...

I tried. I tried to make it as real as I could. The voice inside me screamed, "Shift now, damn it!" But I did nothing… it was as if I were paralyzed.

He pulled me closer to him. My knees squished up against his stomach as his smile shifted into displeasure. "On your knees, cur!" he commanded. He grabbed me by a shoulder, forcing me off the bed. I stumbled against him, landing on my knees, accidentally pushing him away as my body lurched forward.

He staggered back a couple of steps, fury blooming on his face, but pleasure, too. This was a man who liked to hurt people. He was going to hurt me.

I'd been hurt before, but what if he punched my stomach? What if he hurt the baby? I had to shift. I had to do this. I had to protect myself. Why wasn't I shifting? Why wasn't I doing anything?

Nausea crashed over me like a wave.

"No," I protested, holding a hand up in a silent plea for him to wait. I wouldn’t dare tell him not to touch me—I knew I couldn't avoid that. If I couldn't shift to protect myself and escape, I had to endure. But I needed a moment, or I was going to puke all over him.

Tears blurred my vision, but I could see him take hold of that little dick of his, and I knew he was going to force it on me. I was starting to feel woozy from the difficulty of holding back the nausea. If he tried to force that cocktail wiener of his into my mouth, I just knew I’d puke all over him.

I blinked in confusion when a red spot suddenly appeared on his forehead. I hadn't realized a pimple could form so quickly. The giant pimple had popped—when had that happened?

I felt my mind disconnect from reality with relief, finally latching on to something I could use to distract myself: had any of its ooze landed on me?

The man leered above me, but I stared up passively, disappearing into, if not a happy place, at least somewhere else. Somewhere I was not forced to serve the desires of sick, evil men. A place I wasn't worried about my baby. A place—

The red spot grew to a dark dot. The man's head whipped backward, but he fell to the ground as if in slow motion, landing heavily on the floor, and falling back into the wall behind him. I watched as he lay there, waiting for him to get up and exact revenge for whatever had just happened.

It took a second for me to realize he wasn’t moving. I pulled myself to my feet. Something had sprayed all over the wall behind him and was dripping down in oozing chunks. I stared at it blankly, not sure what was even happening. It was red and pink and—oh. Oh my. That—that was—

Oh, God. He'd been shot. And that vile wall decoration was gray matter that had spattered from the back of his head.

The door burst open, and I finally vomited bile all over the dead man's dick.