Hours and hours pass with no sign of Amanda. Sophia and I are forced to relieve ourselves in the bucket and then we share what’s left of the water.

Sitting side by side on the thin mattress, we have nothing left to do but wait and fret.

“What do you think they’re doing to her?” Sophia asks quietly, breaking the silence.

She looks to me, her eyes full of desperation. I know she wants me to reassure her, to give her some kind of hope we can get out of this situation, but I have no hope left to give.

“I don’t know,” I answer just as quietly. I don’t want to think about it, I don’t, but I can’t help it.

They could be raping her, interrogating her, torturing her, or she could be dead.

Sophia’s face crumbles for a moment, and then she looks away. I listen to her draw in a deep breath, let it out, then suck another in.

“Do you think we’ve made the news yet?” she asks after a couple of minutes.

“God, I hope not,” I exhale in a burst. The last thing we need is our faces blasted all over the media. Once these guys find out Lindsey wasn’t the only one with powerful connections, we’re dead.

“I bet my father is freaking the fuck out.”

I nod.

“Yours too.”

“Only if his men have reported it,” I sigh.

I feel a little sorry for the guy that has to break the news to him. There have been many times I was able to get away with stuff, like sneaking out for an hour or two to hang with Sophia, just because the guys assigned to me were too afraid to admit they fucked up to my father.

“Maybe they’ll be able to find us. My father is the police chief, for Christ’s sake. He has to have some idea… some clue about what is happening.”

“Shush,” I hiss and glance towards the door and then around the room. “They could be listening to us,” I whisper.

They could even be watching us. Maybe I’m a little paranoid, or I’m simply used to my own father spying on me, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a camera or two hidden in this cell.

And that’s exactly what this little room is—it’s our holding cell. They’re keeping us here until they do god only knows what with us.

“Fuck,” Sophia mutters, and then she slumps against the wall. “I’m sorry.”

We’ve gone through a hell of a few days. We were grabbed off the street, watched one of our best friends get murdered in front of us, and have been trapped in this room ever since. I think the waiting, and the heavy weight of the situation, is starting to get to the both of us. I, myself, feel like I’m barely keeping it together.

Either one of us could snap at any moment.

“Don’t worry about—” I start to tell her then clamp my lips together when I hear the familiar, terrifying sound of the lock rattling.

Fuck, were they listening in on us? Are they coming to kill us now?

We both jump to our feet and press together as the door swings open. The same goon from before marches into the room, dragging Amanda with him.

“No, please, no. Let me go,” Amanda whimpers and pleads, dragging her feet as he pulls her into the room.

The goon ignores her and gives her a hard shove causing her to trip forward before she falls to her knees.

Then he looks to Sophia and I.

My heart freezes behind my ribs and my lungs forget how to breathe.

“You,” he says, looking me in the eyes. “Come here.”

“No!” Sophia cries and jumps in front of me before I can take a step forward. “Take me instead.”

The goon’s lips curls up in a sneer and he all but leers at Sophia before saying, “You’ll have your turn, blondie. Now get the fuck out of the way.”

“Take care of Amanda,” I whisper, and try to take a step around her.

“No,” Sophia says and shakes her head in defiance. She steps in front of me, blocking me from moving.

“Sophia, don’t,” I hiss into her ear and nudge her out of the way.

I don’t want her getting hurt or killed on account of me.

“But…” Sophia protests, and her bottom lip trembles as I step around her.

“It will be okay,” I try to reassure her, but the truth of the situation is in my eyes.

It’s not going to be okay, but if we fight, we die, and I don’t want Sophia to die.

Right now we need to do whatever it takes to stay alive. Even obey their commands until we can come up with some kind of plan to get out of here.

“Take care of Amanda. She needs you right now.”

“Beth…” she says and reaches out as if to stop me.

“I don’t have time for this shit,” the goon says angrily. “Get your ass over here or I’ll take it out on your little friend.”

He nudges Amanda’s side with the tip of his boot and she cries out, curling away from him. “Bitch has already given me a headache with all her whining.”

That does it, there’s no more arguing over this. Turning away from Sophia, my spine stiffens when I hear her whimper, but I don’t stop walking as I approach the goon.

He grabs me hard by the arm and pulls me close. My lips press together and I resist the urge to cry out. I know from experience that these guys are more likely to let their guard down if we pretend to be cooperative.

“Let’s go,” he grunts, and even though I’m not trying to fight him, he starts to drag me out of the room.

“Beth,” Sophia says, and I glance over my shoulder to see her crying.

She looks terrified and helpless.

It hits me now, hard in the chest, that there’s a very real chance that I might not come back.

That I might never see her again.

“Don’t worry,” the goon grins just before slamming the door behind us. “It will be your turn next.”

* * *

The goon drags me down the hallway and up the dark set of stairs.

My eyes are no longer irritated and this time I have no problem seeing where we’re going. I take everything in, burning it into my memory. If we can get away, if we can get to someone important like Sophia’s father, the information will be invaluable.

Behind the doors, I hear others crying, whimpering. Some of the cries sound like women, but some of them also sound younger…

A sick sense of unease travels down my spine, curling in the pit of my stomach, and lifts all the little hairs across my flesh.

Do they have children here? Locked behind those doors?

I look to the goon, my eyes boring into the back of his head.

What kind of sick fucks are we dealing with?

Up the stairs, he tugs me and then takes a sharp left. I’m led down a dimly lit carpeted hallway and then through another door into what looks like a locker room. The carpet gives way to tile and the air here is moist from a recent shower.

The goon’s grip on my arm relaxes and then he just starts to push me forward with a hand at the small of my back.

“Remove your clothes,” he orders coldly.

I’m given one more push around a tiled corner until I’m face to face with a long row of open showers.

I look to the showers and then back to him. Is he serious?

“Remove your clothes,” he repeats, and crosses his bulging arms over his chest. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

I take a step back, away from him, and my mind races for a way to get out of this. The thought of removing clothes in front of him, of being completely naked and vulnerable, is just too terrifying at the moment.

I’ve never been completely nude in front of a man before, and the clothes on my back are the last shred of dignity I have left.

The goon uncrosses his arms and takes a menacing step toward me.

“No, please,” I hear myself say and immediately hate myself for saying it.

I don’t want to beg. I don’t want to be weak or pathetic. But god dammit, how can he just expect me to strip like it’s nothing?

I take another step back, eyeing my options. I could try to make it past him, make a run for it… Then I see his fingers brush his waist. He’s carrying a gun.

Shit.

If only I had my own weapon, I might have a chance. I glance behind me then side to side, searching for something to use, but there’s only showers, a bench, and lockers.

“I had to help your little friend undress,” he says with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think I have much juice left in me…” He reaches down and adjusts his crotch. “But I’m sure I could find something for you.”

I stare at him, frozen in horror at the implications of what he just said. He undressed Amanda? What else did he do to her?

What will he do to me?

He takes another step forward and I quickly decide I much rather strip naked myself than have his hands on me.

He takes another step and I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Wait, no!” I say and start to tug my shirt over my head.

He gives a grunt of approval as I pull my shirt off and then clutch it to my chest. I start to shiver involuntarily as the moist air hits my skin.

“Remove the rest,” he says, his voice sounding gruffer, and crosses his arms over his chest again.

My fingers don’t want to release their clutch on my shirt, but I have to if I don’t want his hands on me. Forcing my fingers to open, I let my shirt drop to the floor then reach down and unbutton my jeans.

I hear him make a sound of appreciation as I have to wiggle to get my jeans over my hips. Bile burns the back of my throat and I consider letting myself get sick. But did that stop him from abusing Amanda? I doubt it.

Straightening, my jeans pool at my feet and I toe my shoes off, stepping out of them. Nearly naked now, I cross my arms over my chest and shiver as I stare at him.

His eyes narrow. “Do you not understand fucking English? I said remove all of it.”

With tears stinging my eyes, I uncross my arms and reach behind myself, unsnapping my bra. I can’t even look at him as the straps slide down my arms. Sliding one arm out then the other, I do my best to reveal as little as possible, but it’s pretty much hopeless.

The bra drops to the floor and I keep one arm pinned tight against my breasts as I use the other to push down my panties. My panties give way too easily, and once they drop, my hand immediately goes to my mons, covering it.

“Get in the shower,” he orders and my eyes flick up. There’s an open, hungry look on his face that fills me with cold terror.

“Now,” he barks when I don’t immediately move, and the harshness of his voice spurs me into action.

Turning away from him, I give him my naked back as I walk up to the closest shower. There’s a handle I have to twist to the left to turn the water on. The first spray of water is icy cold and I gasp as it hits me.

“Use the soap in the dish,” he orders behind me, and I cast a glance over my shoulder to see that he’s moved closer.

Fuck.

Compliance. Pretend to be compliant and maybe he’ll drop his guard long enough to give me an opening, I remind myself.

If I can steal his gun I can fucking shoot him with it.

Looking forward again, I reach out, my hand shaking as I grab the little bottle of soap that’s been left on the soap dish by the water handle.

One handed, I pop the lid and then just squirt the bottle onto the top of my head. I lather up my hair, scratch my nails through my scalp, and resist the urge to look back again.

Pretending there’s no one behind me, I rinse my hair out and then squirt some more soap into my hand. Just as I start to rub the soap onto my arms, I hear a little grunt behind me.

Glancing back without thinking, I see him rub his hand over his groin.

Fuck, he’s getting off on this.

Looking forward again, air puffs out of my mouth in little pants as I focus all of my energy on completely not losing my shit. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to fucking attack him, and the only thing keeping me from not doing it is the desire not to have a bullet in my head.

I work the soap up and down my arms then quickly over my chest. I stare at the tile wall as I wash myself as quickly as I can. I just want to get this over with now. The more I try to hide myself, the longer I’ll have to be naked in front of him.

The air behind me moves and my hackles rise. I cast another little glance over my shoulder and see that the goon is even closer. His eyes are locked on my backside as he rubs his hand over himself.

“Hey, is she done yet?” a new voice calls out, echoing in the room. “The doc is ready for her.”

“Fuck. Hurry it up,” my guard orders and moves back.

I begin to tremble, unable to stop it. That was close, too fucking close for comfort.

I turn the water off and then wrap my arms around myself as I turn back around to face him.

He bends down and picks a towel off the bench. Then he grins as he holds the towel out.

I have no choice but to walk up to him if I want it.

Teeth chattering from the cold, my eyes remain locked on his face as I approach him. I get only as close as necessary before I reach out to take the towel from him.

He immediately yanks the towel back, out of my reach.

His eyes gleam with cruel amusement as I have to move closer. I reach for the towel again, half expecting him to yank it back, but his eyes drop, locking on my wet breasts.

I yank the towel from his hand and immediately jump back.

“Dry off,” he says gruffly.

“Hey! What’s the hold up?” the other voice calls out.

“She’s almost done,” my guard yells back then he glares at me. “Hurry it the fuck up.”

I run the towel over my arms, ignoring my hair, and then wrap it around me for protection.

Grabbing me hard by the arm, he drags me around the corner and out into the hallway where another goon dressed all in black is waiting.

The new guy looks me in the face and then seems to do a double take. “Is that the redhead from the other night?”

“Yeah,” my guard answers and begins to drag me past him.

“Wow. She’s pretty fucking hot without all that snot and shit.”

My guard just grunts and continues to drag me down the hallway. We pass the stairway to the basement, more doors, then take a left. I try hard to remember how I was led in last night, but I was so confused and disoriented, I just can’t remember which way the exit is.

He leads me up to another door, pushes it open and pushes me in. I trip a little as I step into the room, but then my escort yanks hard on my arm, pulling me up so I don’t fall on my ass.

“Get on the table,” he orders.

Looking around the room, I take in the dark panels of the walls, the little stool with wheels, the little table with medical instruments, and finally the table he wants me to get on.

No. No fucking way, I think as I stare at the table. It’s one of those medical tables with metal stirrups my gynecologist uses, but there are leather restraints attached to it.

“Get on the fucking table now,” my escort growls and shoves me towards it.

“No.” I shake my head and pull down on my arm, trying to yank it out of his grasp.

I’ve put up with a lot of shit so far but I’ve reached my limit. There’s no way I can just willingly climb up on that table and allow them to strap me to it.

“Why do they always fight the table?” the other goon chuckles behind us.

“Fuck if I know,” the guy holding me grunts. By the arm, he tries to drag me closer to the table but I’m having none of it.

Unable to free my arm, I turn on him and try to push him off. He doesn’t budge.

His lip curls up with a sneer and my feet nearly leave the ground as he yanks my arm up harder. My shoulder screams in protest as he drags me closer to the table, my toes dragging against the carpet, and I feel my towel fall away.

“No!” I cry out and continue to fight him. I start to kick at him and lean back against his grip even though the pain in my shoulder is nearly excruciating.

He’s going to have to yank my damn arm off because there’s no way I’m allowing them to strap me down.

Right now, in my mind, there are things worse than death.

He pushes me up against the edge of the table, trying to force me up on it, but I twist and take a swing at him.

My punch lands against his chest and he grunts softly.

Taking another swing, this time at his face, his hand captures my hand in mid-punch. He applies so much force with his crushing grip, a scream builds inside my throat and my knees start to give out on me.

“Want some help?” the other guy asks, sounding amused.

“Yeah,” my escort grunts just before his grip tightens.

I scream and then feel another set of hands at my waist before I’m lifted into the air.

They toss me onto the table but I don’t stop fighting them. I kick and scream and throw punches at them, but they still manage to overpower me.

I’ve never felt so pathetic or weak. I’m giving it my all but, the two guys aren’t even winded as they overwhelm me.

Straps are wrapped around my wrists and tightened until my arms are pinned at my sides. My legs are pushed apart, my feet forced into the stirrups, and then more straps are wrapped around my ankles.

Shaking my head back and forth, tears stream down my cheeks as I push and struggle against my restraints.

My escort takes a step back and his eyes roam over my spread, restrained body, as if he’s admiring his handiwork.

“I hate you,” I snarl at him.

I hate them all. I hate them for grabbing us. I hate them for killing Lindsey. I hate them for abusing Amanda.

And I especially hate this sick fuck for getting off on all of it.

He only laughs. “They all say that.”

“I’m going to kill you,” I promise. And in my bones I can feel it, the power of the promise. Maybe not today, but someday… Someday soon.

Two sharp raps sound against the door and then a new, softer voice asks, “Is she ready for me, gentlemen?”

“Yeah, doc, she’s all yours,” the guy who escorted me in says and then gives my thigh a slap.

Instinctively, my body jerks, and I hiss.

“Good, good,” the newcomer murmurs as he enters. In walks a thin, older man dressed in a gray suit. “Clear the room.”

* * *

Tears trickle down my face as my escort from earlier tugs, drags, and pushes me down the hallway.

I feel humiliated and violated after the pelvic exam the ‘doc’ gave me. He didn’t use any of the shiny instruments that were laid on out on the little table for him.

No, he used his fingers, his ungloved fingers, to perform my exam.

“Fucking virgin,” the goon gripping my arm growls as we descend the stairs like it’s a bad thing.

Pictures of me were taken after the exam. With a gun pointed at my head, I was forced to stand in front of a backdrop while I was photographed from all sides, naked.

Something inside me feels broken. Like a piece inside me is missing. A piece they’ve taken from me.

I don’t even try to fight the guy stomping beside me. In fact, I want to return to the cell, to its safety.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I try to tune out the whimpers and cries of the other prisoners, but I can’t stop the sounds of despair coming from the youngest ones from affecting me.

There are children here, I know it. Children, for fuck’s sake. I swear I even hear a little boy sniffling for his mommy.

The despair, the humiliation I’ve been feeling starts to warm until I’m so angry I’m nearly seeing red from it.

The door to my cell is unlocked then pushed open. For a wild, crazy moment, I consider trying to make a grab for the goon’s gun.

But then he shoves me inside and slams the door shut behind me.

My shoulders sag and my knees start to give out. I just want to curl up into a little ball and be near Sophia.

Looking around the cell, I spot Amanda sitting up on the bed.

“Where’s Sophia?” I ask, my eyes going over the room again, thinking somehow I missed her.

Amanda wipes the back of her hand across her red-rimmed eyes and sniffles. “They took her after you.”