Page 19

“Soon,” he whispers, releasing me. “Soon, you’ll know…”
Know? Know, what?
A twisted part of me needs to know, but sometimes the answers are worse than the questions.
I slump to the ground, bile rising in my throat. But as Bruiser’s laughter echoes through the warehouse, a different memory surfaces.
Bruiser’s screams when I unleash a horde of starved rats on him. The satisfaction of turning his fear against him will be worth it.
A tight smile tugs at my lips.One day, Bruiser. One day, you’ll learn what real fear is.
A whimper from Aria’s direction snaps me back to reality. Annoyance flares hot in my chest. Doesn’t she get it? All that noise is just painting a target on her back.
I crawl to the edge of my cell, ignoring the throbbing in my skull. “Aria,” I keep my voice low, “you need to quiet down.”
Her tear-streaked face turns toward me, eyes wild with panic. Her breath comes in short, ragged gasps. “I can’t—” she chokes out. “I can’t breathe. Oh God, we’re going to die here.”
I consider telling her about the auction, but what good will it do? She’ll panic more and draw more attention. Sometimes ignorance is a kindness.
“No, we’re not,” I lie, pressing my palm against the fencing. “Listen to my voice, okay? Breathe with me. In—and out. That’s it. Again.”
As Aria’s breathing steadies, Bruiser’s words echo in my head. Cleaned up for inspection. My stomach churns.
The only showers in this place are down in the basement. A chill runs through me, memories surfacing of hushed whispers and muffled screams. No matter how filthy I got, I never dared to venture down there. Some dirt was better than what waited in those tiled rooms.
My eyes dart around the warehouse, searching for an escape route. There—high up in the rafters. A small alcove where the roof meets the wall. I used to wedge myself in there when the older boys came hunting. They never thought to look up.
I study it now, mapping a path. If I could get out of this cage…
But first, we need to survive whatever’s coming. I turn back to Aria, steeling myself. Time to toughen her up, whether she likes it or not.
“Listen to me,” I whisper urgently. “Things are about to get worse. When they come for us, don’t fight. Don’t scream. Just—go numb. Pretend you’re somewhere else. Can you do that?”
Aria’s eyes widen, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks, but she nods, a tiny spark of determination cutting through the fear.
Good. It’s a start.
As I guide Aria through the breathing exercises, movement from the cell next to mine catches my attention. Our mystery man stirs, groaning softly. His skin has a sickly sheen, and even in the dim light, his pupils are but pinpricks. He’s coming down hard from something. Probably heroin, judging by the tremors in his hands.
I spare a glance at the guards. Bruiser’s disappeared, probably to torment someone else. Soft Eyes is methodically working his way down the row of cells, pausing too long at the ones holding the kids. Twitch lounges by the main entrance, idly toying with a switchblade.
“Hey there,” I keep my voice low. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
His eyes flutter open, unfocused and glassy. He blinks rapidly, taking in his surroundings. When his gaze lands on me, there’s a flicker of confusion, then wariness. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple despite the chill.
“Who—” He coughs, voice raw. “Who are you?”
I offer a crooked smile. “Name’s Ember. Your cellblock buddy for this luxurious stay in hell.”
He struggles to sit, wincing at every movement. His expensive clothes are rumpled and stained, a far cry from their original crisp lines.
“Where are we?”
“Hell’s waiting room,” I quip. Then, sobering, “Some kind of warehouse. Don’t know where exactly. They grabbed me andAria yesterday… Or was it the day before?” Time blurs in this fluorescent-lit purgatory. “What’s your name?”
He hesitates, eyes darting around the space. A tremor runs through him, and he wraps his arms around himself. “Daniel,” he finally says, though something in his tone makes me wonder if it’s his real name.
“Well, Daniel,” I lean closer to the fencing separating us, “welcome to the worst day of your life. Stick with me, though, and we might make it out of here.” I lower my voice even further. “And when the withdrawals hit hard, try not to scream. These guys aren’t exactly the nursing type.”