Three military vehicles drive us over rough, bumpy unpaved roads. I know where we’re going. My wrists are still bound and Julia sits beside me in the backseat of one vehicle. Whenever I look at her, she’s looking out the window, holding onto the bar over the window as we bounce along. At one point, she takes out her cell phone, switches it on. I see her scroll through the contacts, but when she catches me watching, she pockets it and turns her face away.

One armed guard sits in the front seat beside the driver, and the glances he gives me make my skin crawl.

Armen and Ace are riding in the same vehicle as Malik. Zach’s unconscious body was dumped into the trunk area of the third Jeep. I touch my neck, grateful Malik ordered someone to bandage it up. I can still feel my brother’s grip as he held me, hear his uneven breath at my ear as he sliced into my flesh. The memory makes me shudder.

I wonder how far he’s willing to go to prove his loyalty.

Will he kill me if he’s ordered to?

And what about Zach? What will happen to Zach?

Night has fallen by the time we get to the site of the auction. The three vehicles stop in a sort of semicircle, their headlights illuminating the ruins of the building. I can’t open my door from the inside so I have to wait until the soldier opens it. He takes my arm, but I shove it away, stumbling out on my own. The trucks cast an eerie glow over the space, almost making me think I can see the ghosts of the dead, like they still haunt this place. And maybe they do. They will, until they’ve been avenged. The wrong righted.

But a moment later, a thud to my right catches my attention. It’s Zach. They’ve dumped him on the ground, but he’s moving. He’s waking up. The skin at his temple is blue and swollen, and blood has dried and created a crust on his cheek. His hands are bound with rope and he blinks hard, looking around. I know the reality of where we are is coming back to him. I can see recognition dawning on his face. I think about his back, the names tattooed there. I wonder if he feels them now, burning onto his flesh. Reminding him why he’s here. Reminding him that he lived and they died and that he needs to be strong for himself, for them. The pain on his face tells me he’s remembering just that and I think back to when he’d brought me here just a day ago.

Was it only a day? It feels like an eternity has passed since then.

In that moment, Zach catches my eye. My heart thuds against my chest when I look at him, and I know we’re going to die here. We’re both going to die tonight in the very place where maybe we both should have died two years ago. Maybe the last two years were borrowed time for us both.

My throat closes up but I bite back the tears when two men haul Zach to his feet. He grunts, but stands straight and tall. Taller than the others. Bigger. Stronger.

But unarmed.

I take a step toward him, drawn to him, but Julia’s hand wraps around my arm and drags me backward. When I look at her, she doesn’t speak. Just sneers.

“Here we are,” Malik says, stepping over a barrier and into what would have been the interior of the building. Ace is close behind him. “Back again. The spirits of the dead haunt this place,” he says casually, picking up a strip of cloth from the ground. For all the dirt, I recognize the pattern. It was a piece of the dress I’d worn that day. The one Armen tore from me.

“Did you orchestrate the auction just to kill the men you once led?” Zach asks, his voice powerful, proud. The men walk him into the building’s perimeter as Malik watches. “Men who mourned your death.”

“You know, strange thing. Guilt isn’t something I’ve ever felt.”

“Makes sense. Psychopaths typically don’t feel remorse.”

Malik’s grin falters, just for an instant, but it’s long enough for me to see it. He turns to Julia. “Bring the girl.”

The men holding Zach stand taller, and I know he’s just tried to break free.

I stumble as Julia shoves me forward. In my periphery, I see Armen. See him stand by and watch.

“How did it go?” Malik asks when I’m a few feet from him. He turns to Armen. “Do you remember?”

Armen’s forehead is creased and he won’t look at me. It’s so strange to see him like this. His eyes so gentle, yet him so…not.

“You want me, Malik. She has nothing to do with this. Let her go. I’ll do what you want.” It’s Zach. A moment after he speaks, one of the soldiers jabs the butt of his machine gun into Zach’s ribs. Zach grunts, hunches over, and I see the effort it takes him to straighten. To keep his face hard, impassable.

“But you don’t even know what it is I want,” Malik says.

He grabs my arm roughly and throws me to Armen, who catches me, holds me, keeps me facing away from him so I can watch the interaction between Zach and Malik.

Malik looks to one of the soldiers, the one who drove the vehicle Julia and I rode in. “Take my niece home.”

“Uncle!”

“This isn’t something for a woman to see,” he tells her.

“But—”

“Go home to Hope.”

“Please—”

Malik nods to the driver who opens the passenger side door for her. “I said go, Julia.”

She takes in a deep breath, turns her attention to Armen. I glance at him, find his eyes locked on hers, their gaze intense. Maybe they’re not sure who will walk away tonight either.

Armen nods, and, without a word, Julia turns, takes the few steps toward the Jeep and disappears inside. The driver pulls away, crunching branches and leaves beneath the heavy tires. With one set of headlights gone, the space is even more eerie.

“Where were we?” Malik asks, turning to me.

I know what he’s going to do. He’s planned this. He’s been waiting for this moment for two years.

“Yes, the girl. Armen, do you remember? I want it done exactly the same. It was such a sight, that I want to see it again.”

“Why are you doing this?” Zach asks.

He knows what’s coming too. I can hear it in his voice.

Malik looks at him, but doesn’t respond. Not right away. Instead, he shifts his eyes to Armen. “What are you waiting for? Now’s your chance to prove your loyalty.”

I swear I can hear Armen swallow and with my back against him, I feel his heart thudding against his chest. But then he obeys, walking me toward the platform, or the remaining part of it, where he’d stood me before. Where he’d stripped me.

“Walk,” he says quietly when we get to the stone steps. There are three of them. That night two years ago, I hadn’t had to climb them. I’d been backstage, so to speak. Hidden behind a curtain, knocked unconscious and bound, awaiting my debut.

The sound of a vehicle approaching, radio loud, makes us both stop. When I look at the company collected, the only man unsurprised by the approach is Malik. I know why a moment later.

A truck takes the place of the one that drove Julia away. This one has a back covered by camouflage material that blows in the slight breeze. I watch dust and dirt settle in the headlights as the engine is shut off, plunging us into near silence, at least momentarily. Armen’s hand tightens around my arm as soldiers unload from the back.

“Malik,” Zach says over the sound of it, of a dozen men in military fatigues crunching ground beneath their boots, piling into the perimeter of the building and I only realize I’m crying when I taste the salt of my own tears.

Zach’s fighting. He’s fighting so hard, two more men have come to help the soldiers holding him back.

“Armen,” I start, turning my head. “What’s going to happen?” I know though. I know.

Armen’s eyes are wide. Locked on the men whose heads and faces are covered with scarves, the same pattern as those most of the men wore that night. I wonder if he recognizes them. If he knew they’d be here, or if Malik planned this part himself.

“Don’t look at them,” he says in a voice low enough that only I hear it. “Don’t think.” Our eyes lock and in the glistening tears I glimpse inside, I see his apology.

“Malik!” Zach’s voice is louder than that of the truck when it approached, than that of a dozen sets of boots marching to take their places in this sick reenactment of that terrible night.

“Armen,” Malik says, smiling, sitting on the edge of the stone wall, his stance casual. “Begin.”

A roar breaks into the night. It’s Zach. But no one pays any attention to him. Not when Armen releases my arm and comes to stand in front of me. That tenderness, the vulnerability I saw in his eyes a moment ago is gone, but his hand trembles when he grips the front of my dress.

I think he mouths the words I’m sorry. But maybe that’s just in my own head.

“Don’t do this,” I say, tears falling down my face, onto the back of his arm. “Don’t.”

He looks at me. He just stands there looking at me. And I know he’s not going to do it.

But I also know what it will cost him.

“Armen.” It’s a sob.

Can you hear a bullet rip through air? Hear it tear flesh?

I think I scream as blood splatters across my face, against my open mouth, as my brother falls away from me, falls backward off the stage, onto the dirt, at the feet of all those men. All those men, none of whom help him.

I scream again when I see them kick at him and for a single moment, his eyes catch mine and that’s when I drop to my knees, the jagged stone stage tearing my flesh as they beat his body, breaking him. They only stop when he goes limp like a ragdoll, and no more sound comes from him.

When I try to get up, to go to him, hands grip me hard, and I look up. Ace stands behind me. His grin is chilling as he tucks his pistol into the waistband of his jeans and grips my shoulder with one hand, bracing me as the other tears my dress apart.

I gasp, look down at myself, see my brother there, bleeding out on the ground, choke on a scream as Ace’s hands rip my bra in two, tear it away, leave me naked but for my panties. The men scream and cheer and I stumble backward, nearly falling off the broken stage.

But Ace raises me to my feet, holds me there, laughs as he calls out another number.

Like two years ago, once I’m fully naked, I search for Zach. I find him. His eyes are wide, locked on mine. Just like that night, but different too.

Wild.

Feral.

Savage.

Ace leans in to say something in my ear but all I feel is his hot breath, his wet mouth. He turns back to the crowd, but it’s all muted now, muted and blurred. Men are screaming out numbers. Ridiculous numbers. And Zach, he’s screaming too. I can’t hear what he’s saying though. Can’t hear his warning. It’s all happening so fast.

Air rushes past me, the sound drawing my gaze from Zach’s to Ace’s. His expression changes. He stops. Blinks. Stumbles. I look behind me and see Hassan stepping out of the woods, his face strange, hands somehow steady. He fires another shot and this time when I stumble, I fall. I fall backward off the stage with a thud onto the ground. That’s when all hell breaks loose around me, an exact reenactment of that deadly night two years ago.