Page 6

SIX

Ember

Shadows and Whispers

Aria’s muffled sobs slice through the darkness, yanking me from fitful sleep. My eyes snap open, heart racing. For a moment, I forget where I am. Then, the cold concrete beneath me, and the stench of fear and desperation brings it all crashing back.

Rain pounds the metal roof far overhead, its relentless rhythm punctuated by the occasional groan of rusting beams. The sound used to be comforting, back when this warehouse was just a shelter from the streets. Now, it’s a dire reminder of our isolation, of how far removed we are from help.

A shiver wracks my body. The cold seeps through my threadbare clothes, settling deep in my bones. At least it’s above freezing. Small mercies.

Reality is a cruel bitch.

I push myself up, ignoring the protest of bruised muscles. Across the warehouse, Aria’s huddled form trembles in her cell. The urge to comfort her claws at my chest, but the chain-link fencing between us might as well be a fortress wall.

“Aria,” I whisper, my throat tight. My words barely cut through the steady drip, drip, drip of water echoing from the darkness. “Hey, you’re okay. I’m right here.”

My heart pounds in the silence, each breath shallow as I reach out. My fingers tremble against the cold metal of the fence.

Aria’s sobs quiet, but she doesn’t look up. She probably thinks I’m just another nightmare. Frustration bubbles in my chest. She’s so soft, so unprepared. Her panic is going to get us killed if she doesn’t learn to shut it down.

The scurrying of tiny claws across concrete sets my teeth on edge. Rats. I scan the shadows, half-expecting to see their beady eyes glinting in the darkness.

A memory surfaces—me, younger and more na?ve, thinking the furry creatures were cute. Until that night when I woke to searing pain, their sharp teeth nibbling at my flesh. The scars have faded, but the disgust lingers.

Movement catches my eye. Two guards, silhouettes in the dim light, exchange hushed words by the main entrance. One nods, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion as he heads for the door. The other takes up position, watching over us, a rifle cradled in his arms.

My brain kicks into overdrive, cataloging details. This is the third shift change I’ve seen. Always on the hour. Always one guard watching the exit, one guard watching the cells. The warehouse layout unfolds in my mind, a maze of rusty metal and crumbling concrete. I used to know every nook and cranny and every hiding spot, but it’s been years.

The catwalk where Jessie and I would perch, watching for cops or rival gangs, is still there—far overhead. The old office where we huddled on cold nights, sharing body heat and whispered dreams of better lives. The loading dock where the older boys…

I push that memory away, focusing on the present.

A door creaks open, spilling harsh fluorescent light across the floor. Soft Eyes enters, steam rising from the tray in his hands. His gaze sweeps the room, lingering on each occupied cell. When he reaches mine, something flickers behind his eyes.

Hesitation? Guilt? Regret, maybe? It’s fleeting, gone as quickly as it appears, but I catch it—just enough to make me wonder.

I push myself to my feet as he approaches, ignoring the protest of bruised muscles. “Morning, sunshine,” I rasp, mustering a wry smile. “What’s on the menu today? Gruel with a side of crushing despair?”

Soft Eyes’ lips twitch, almost a smile. “Oatmeal,” he mutters, sliding a bowl through the slot in the fencing. “And water.”

Steam curls from the bowl, carrying the faintest hint of cinnamon. My stomach clenches, a painful reminder of how long it’s been since I’ve eaten. I inch closer, keeping my movements slow and deliberate.

“Hey, thanks for taking such good care of us.” My tone drips sarcasm, but I soften it with a conspiratorial wink. “Must be a real fulfilling job, huh?”

He stiffens, eyes darting to the other guard. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple despite the chill.

“Just eat,” he hisses, but there’s no real venom in it.

“Aww, what’s wrong? Not feeling chatty today?” I press, desperate for any scrap of information. My heart pounds, knowing I’m pushing my luck. “C’mon, I’m dying for some good conver?—”

A shadow falls over us. The temperature plummets, ice crystallizing in my veins.

A meaty hand clamps down on Soft Eyes’ shoulder, yanking him back with brutal force. Bruiser looms over us both, his scarred face twisted into a snarl that promises violence. The fluorescent lights cast deep shadows across his features, transforming him into a nightmare-made flesh.

There’s something about him…

“Getting friendly with the merchandise again?” Bruiser’s voice is a guttural growl. He shoves Soft Eyes against the chain-link fence, the metal rattling ominously. “You know the rules.”

Soft Eyes’ face drains of color. “I wasn’t—I didn’t touch.”

“Save it,” Bruiser spits. His fingers dig into Soft Eyes’ throat. “One more slip-up and you don’t get to play at all. Understood?”

Soft Eyes jerks his head frantically, a panicked twitch as his eyes bulge, pleading for air.

Bruiser releases him with a contemptuous shove. “Now, get back to work. And remember,” his gaze flicks to me, cold and predatory, “they’re not for you. No matter how young and tender.”

The implication hits like a punch to the gut. Bile rises in my throat, and I stumble back, desperate to put distance between myself and these monsters. I glance at Soft Eyes, searching for any sign of protest, any hint of humanity. But all I see is the hunger in his gaze—something sick and twisted, a look that suddenly makes sense in all the worst ways.

Hunger not for me but for the children held in the other cages.

He’s not an ally. He’s not conflicted or hesitant. He’s just another predator, another one of them. I thought I would find some scrap of mercy in him, but now I see it. He’s worse—feeding off vulnerability like a snake waiting to strike. There are no allies here, no hope of kindness.

Just predators and prey.

And I’m trapped in the cage with them.

“Feeding time’s over,” Bruiser growls, his gaze locking onto me, cold and harsh. “You want entertainment, little bitch? I got some ideas that’ll keep that smart mouth of yours busy.”

My heart hammers against my ribs, but I stand tall, refusing to let him see an ounce of fear. I force a lazy smile, meeting his stare head-on.

“Ah, I was getting used to street rat, but little bitch works just as well.” The words burn as they leave my mouth, but I spit them anyway, daring him to make the next move.

He might be bigger and stronger than me, but I’ve been through worse. As his lips curl into a sneer, something flickers in my mind—something familiar yet buried deep in the fog of my past.

A memory flashes—Bruiser much younger, a boy not yet a man, his meaty hands pawing at my clothes. The fear, thick and choking, and the words that doomed me: “ Touch me, and I’ll bite your dick off. ”

The unbridled anger that followed isn’t something I ever forgot. I insulted his manhood in front of the pack of boys who followed him around like puppies. He couldn’t let the slight go.

Oh no.

He couldn’t let me go.

He taught me a lesson I’ll never forget, even if I shoved the memory of his face into the darkest recesses of my mind.

My gaze drops to his throat, and my breath catches. The faint outline of an old bite mark, jagged and uneven, like a child’s teeth, stares back at me—my teeth. My bite mark.

I can almost taste the blood, almost feel the way I sank my teeth into him, fighting for my life all those years ago.

It’s him.

Bruiser, the man who attacked me when I was just a kid, the one who stole my childhood and left me bleeding as he ripped my virginity from me.

Of course, he wasn’t a man back then. He was just a boy—a kid—trying to survive. Unlike me, he survived by using his fists. Funny how fitting my nickname for him is.

Bruiser.

I’d laugh if it wasn’t so damn pathetic. But he’s not breaking me again—not now, not ever.

Does he remember me? My stomach turns as I search his face for a flicker of recognition, but all I see is hunger, cold, and unfeeling.

Does he remember what he did to me? Or am I just another nameless, faceless victim to him?

My smile falters for the briefest moment, but I hold my ground. He won’t break me again. Bruiser’s eyes narrow, a vein pulsing in his forehead. My words have struck a nerve.

Good.

Bruiser’s massive form fills my vision. He leans in close, breath hot and rancid against my face. “Keep pushing, street rat. Give me a reason.”

“Fuck. You.” I lock eyes with him, channeling every ounce of street-hardened defiance I’ve got.

His hand shoots through a hole in the fencing, fingers tangling in my hair. Pain explodes as he slams my head against the metal. Stars dance in my vision, but I don’t look away.

“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 and Aria 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.”

His eyes widen. Shame and fear flash across his face. But he nods, jaw clenching with determination.

Daniel’s gaze sweeps the room with a sharp intelligence. Despite his battered appearance and the tremors of withdrawal, there’s a coiled energy about him. This man is used to being in control, even when he’s not.

I study him, trying to get a read. Trust fund kid, for sure, but there’s more to him. He could’ve been the quarterback at some elite prep school, with those broad shoulders and square jaw. But there’s a calculation in his gaze that screams ‘mathlete’ or maybe ‘debate team captain.’ Either way, he’s got resources between his ears—and that might be more useful than muscle right now.

“How many guards?” His voice remains steady despite the beads of perspiration on his forehead.

I shake my head. “Not now. They’re watching.”

As if on cue, Twitch’s voice cuts through the relative quiet. “Well, well. Looks like our VIP’s finally decided to grace us with his consciousness.” Twitch saunters over, switchblade glinting. “Having a nice chat with the riffraff, are we?”

Daniel’s expression hardens, chin lifting in defiance. There’s no trace of the shakes now—just hard, cold focus. “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what this is all about?”

Twitch’s grin is all teeth and malice. “Now, where’s the fun in that?” He turns to me, eyes glittering with cruel amusement. “How about a game, street rat? You like games, don’t you?”

My stomach drops. “Not really.”

I glance at Daniel, catching his eye. There’s a spark there, a hint of strategy forming. Maybe, just maybe, we’ve got an ally after all. If we can keep him from falling apart when the worst of the withdrawal hits.

Twitch ignores me, producing a coin from his pocket. “Heads or tails. Get it right, you eat today. Get it wrong…” The blade dances between his fingers.

“Leave her alone,” Daniel growls, struggling against his bonds.

Twitch’s grin widens. “Ooh, protective already? How sweet.” He flicks the coin high into the air. “Call it, bitch.”

Time slows. The coin spins, flashing in the harsh light. I open my mouth, but before I can speak?—

“That’s enough.” Soft Eyes’ quiet voice cuts through the tension like a knife.

Twitch whirls, eyes narrowing. “The fuck did you say?”

Soft Eyes stands straighter, though I catch the slight tremor in his hands. “Boss said no damage. They need to be in good condition for the auction.”

Twitch’s face contorts with rage. He takes a menacing step toward Soft Eyes, fists clenching. “You trying to grow a spine, you spineless fuck?”

Soft Eyes flinches but stands his ground. “Just following orders. You got a problem with that, you take it up with the boss.”

The tension crackles, electric. Then Twitch explodes into motion, swinging at Soft Eyes. Soft Eyes ducks, surprisingly agile, and counters with a sharp jab to Twitch’s solar plexus.

They collide in a tangle of limbs, grunting and cursing. Twitch fights dirty, all elbows and knees. But Soft Eyes has technique, deflecting blows and using Twitch’s momentum against him.

I press against the fence, eyes darting between the brawling guards. Cataloging. Assessing.

Twitch: raw aggression, no restraint. Dangerous in his unpredictability.

Soft Eyes: trained, disciplined. The calm exterior hides a coiled spring of violence.

Both: distracted.

My gaze locks with Daniel’s. His eyes flick toward the distracted guards, then back to me. A silent question.

I shake my head minutely. ‘ Not yet. Too risky.’

A meaty thud draws my attention back to the fight. Soft Eyes has Twitch in a chokehold, face reddening as he struggles for air.

But Twitch isn’t done. His hand scrabbles at his belt, fingers closing around the handle of his knife.

“Is there a problem here?” Bruiser’s bulk fills the doorway, eyes glittering with barely contained violence. His booming voice echoes through the warehouse. “What the fuck is going on here?”

The fighting stops instantly. Soft Eyes releases Twitch, who crumples to the ground, gasping.

I slump back, heart racing. The brief window of opportunity slams shut. But now I know.

I know what I’m up against. When the time comes, I’ll be ready. One of the many things I learned on the streets is how to fight, and fight dirty.

“No problem,” Twitch mutters, shooting Soft Eyes a venomous glare before skulking away.

Bruiser’s gaze sweeps over us, lingering on Soft Eyes. “Get them cleaned up,” he grunts. “We move tonight.”

As he turns to leave, I catch snippets of a hushed conversation. “…new location… tighter security… big money coming in…”

My mind races, piecing together fragments of information. A plan begins to form, tenuous and desperate.

But it’s all we’ve got.