ONE SEVENTY FOUR
The images slammed back into me, the hollow-eyed girls shuffling down the hallways, in the cafeteria, the cold, sterile smell of chemicals and despair, the way Sophia had whispered to me, “They try to make you lose your mind.” It was a miracle any of them remembered at all.
"They take your mind first," I said thickly, my nails digging into my palms so hard I felt wetness, blood, probably, didn’t fucking care. "And then everything else."
Dominic made this low, animal noise in the back of his throat, and it took me a second to realize it was pure grief.
"What the fuck," he said hoarsely, still staring blankly at the screen. "What the fuck, El. Is it some sort of court?”
And then, right then, before I could answer his question, like some twisted cosmic joke — Clarissa’s voice broke through the static of the shitty motel TV, sharp and clear and fucking personal.
“If you’re watching this," she said, her voice syrupy sweet, "it’s not too late to give up."
I swear my blood turned to ice. My heart punched itself against my ribs so hard I actually staggered back a step. It felt like she was looking right at me, right through the fucking screen, like her gaze was reaching across miles to wrap cold fingers around my throat.
Dominic stiffened, every muscle in his body going taut like a bowstring about to snap.
"Turn yourselves in," Clarissa continued, her perfect lipstick-smeared smile cutting across the screen like a razor blade, "return the boy, and no one else has to get hurt."
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Could barely fucking breathe.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew what this was.
It wasn’t an offer. It wasn’t even a threat.
It was a death sentence.
"If you cooperate," Clarissa added sweetly, her tone mocking now, "we can make this... painless."
A beat of silence fell over the room. The only sounds were the hum of the TV, the hiss of the broken heater spitting out cold air, and Dominic’s heavy breathing like he was trying not to lose his shit right there.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch something until my fists broke. I wanted to grab that fucking TV and throw it through the goddamn wall. Because underneath every fake smile, every sweet little offer, was the real message: You’re already dead. You just haven’t realized it yet.
Dominic let out a shuddering breath, his hands flexing at his sides like he was barely holding himself together.
"We’re not fucking giving up," he growled low and violent, like the words were knives cutting their way out of his throat.
"I don’t give a fuck what games she’s playing."
I nodded, my hands shaking, my stomach twisted into knots so tight I could barely stand up straight.
"No," I said, my voice shaking but hard, steel threaded through every syllable. "We’re gonna burn them all to the fucking ground."
And we would. We fucking would.
No matter how long it took. No matter how bloody it got. No matter how many pieces we had to tear apart with our bare goddamn hands.
Because Clarissa didn’t just take Bunny. She didn’t just take Sophia. She didn’t just take the girls locked in those dark halls.
She took me.
And now, I was gonna take everything back. Everything.
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