𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | 𝟏𝟖+

𝟏𝟕. 𝐖𝐇𝐎'𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐄?

ADDIE

DAY TWENTY-THREE

trigger warning: talk of SA, but nothing happens on page

The cage that I'm locked inside of smells like urine, making my stomach churn nauseatingly. With my back pressed against the cold wall, I bring my knees to my chest, searching for any ounce of warmth. My jacket and beanie were left out in the blood-stained snow as they took Joel and me back to their camp.

Joel.

He was unconscious as they drug him in front of me. His nose was definitely broken, bleeding, and leaving a trail of crimson behind him that I was forced to walk through. The sight of him broke my heart. All I could do was try not to cry uncontrollably, try not to draw attention to myself, as I prayed that he wouldn't die.

Prayed that I wouldn't die.

The bald man didn't bother covering my eyes as we entered their sorry excuse of a camp, so I knew that meant he didn't plan on letting me leave. By nightfall, he shoved me in this cage, and I've been here all night. In the pitch-black dark. Alone. Unable to sleep. I was too scared to sleep, too scared he would come back for me. It was only a matter of time.

They took Joel somewhere else, and my eyes brim with tears every time I wonder what they're doing to him.

I wanted to kiss you, too.

Those were the last words I'd ever hear from him. I made a mental note to repeat them over and over in my head when it was my turn to meet what was coming for me. At least now, I knew that he'd always felt the same. He'd always wanted to kiss me back. There was a tiny part of me that was disappointed that it took all of this for him to admit it, but there wasn't time to dwell on things that didn't matter.

The thought of him wanting me back was the only comfort I had left, and I'd cling to it until the end.

A door creaks open across the room, illuminating the darkness and making me squint against the harsh brightness. The light flicks on shortly after, and I block it with my hand as I glance up to meet the dark eyes of the bald man. The Grim Reaper. I was out of time.

There's a tray of food in his hands that he sets on the ground, sliding it to the cage door before unlocking it with a grin that sends shivers down my spine.

"Eat," he orders.

Dropping my hand, I finally glare up at him as my jaw clenches. Tightening the hold around my knees, I don't move or speak. I won't make this easy for him.

"No?" he questions. "Are you sure? You might need the energy for what I have planned for you, pretty thing."

Fear pulses through me, but only for a moment before I remember that he is the one responsible for hurting Joel. For whatever has happened to him since we were separated. Defiance quickly takes over, and my nostrils flare angrily as I crawl to the door, kick the tray with all of my strength, and watch as the food flies toward him. It covers the floor and his shoes.

My stare is unwavering as I look up at him, shooting daggers with my eyes.

His smile doesn't falter, either. Not even when he kneels down and wraps his large hand around my neck, pushing me back so fast that I don't even have time to react before he's pinning me to the concrete floor with his body. Something hard presses against my stomach, and the bile rises in my throat as I squirm underneath him.

"I like when they fight back," he pants against my cheek. His breath is hot. "Makes it fun."

Unclipping his belt, he tosses it to the side, and the distinct clank it makes against the ground grabs my attention. My head twists faintly, fighting against his hand, as I strain to look. My heart skips happily in my chest to see a gun holstered in the belt, right there, only a few feet away from my reach.

My fingers tug at his hand around my throat, and I thrash wildly under him now with a newfound sense of urgency. Flinging my legs around, kicking and grunting, I struggle to get away from him. His laugh echoes in my ears—he likes it.

But he's so strong. His other hand squeezes between us, ripping open the clasp of my jeans as I try to scream. It's strangled in my throat as he tightens his grip.

I have to fight harder.

Joel would want me to fight harder.

Jared needs me. This isn't how I'm supposed to go. Not without seeing my brother for the first time in years. Not without making sure he's okay.

He tries to press his lips to mine, but I snap at him before he can make contact. My teeth chomp together from my attempt, and this only makes him laugh harder.

"Such a pretty mouth," he moans, trying to tug my pants down one-handedly.

Fuck him.

I'm sick of his eyes on me. His hands. The filth on his skin. Taking both of my thumbs, I shove them as hard as I can into his eyes, gasping in relief when he finally stops choking me. He growls in pain as he tumbles off of me, and I roll over to crawl toward his belt as fast as I can. His hands grasp my ankles before my fingers can reach the holster, tugging me back. With a tiny yelp, I look over my shoulder at him, yanking a foot from his hold and sending it directly into his face. It's a satisfying feeling seeing his nose gush with blood as he lets me go to cradle it.

Scurrying over to the belt, I rip the gun from the holster as I scramble to point it at him, pushing with my feet until my back is pressed against the wall again.

"You bitch," he seethes, spitting blood onto the ground as he pushes up to stand.

My chest heaves shakily. "I thought you liked it when they fight back?"

His eyes darken as he staggers toward me. Blood drips down onto his shirt, and he swipes his nose with the back of his hand as he winces.

"I'm going to enjoy shoving my cock down tha—"

But he doesn't finish his sentence because my finger puts pressure on the trigger until a shot rings out. My eyes squeeze shut as I flinch from the sound, and I feel something wet splatter on my face. I hear him fall to the ground, and I peek through my lashes, past my trembling hands that still hold the gun, and see his lifeless body on the concrete. A hole in his forehead oozes a dark crimson liquid, and it pools around him as he bleeds out.

A raspy whine leaves my lips as the gun clatters to the ground. My chest rises and falls sporadically as I struggle to catch my breath. My shaky hands are frozen mid-air, and I notice the speckles of blood on my skin. Gasping in quick, staccato pants, I look down to examine myself, freaking out even more when I see his blood all over me.

I've never killed anyone before.

He's dead. I killed him.

I'm almost full-blown panic attack now, but then I hear footsteps running down the hall. His men are shouting, but I can't make out what they're saying over the ringing in my ears.

They're coming. More are coming.

Quickly scrambling to pick up the gun, I swipe stray hairs from my blood-stained face, smearing it across my skin as I ready myself for more men. I only have a few moments to suck in deep, shuddering breaths. I'm on the edge of succumbing to my panic, but I can't give up now.

Joel.

I need to find him.

The thought is a sobering one. The trembling in my hands subsides as someone comes running into the room, and the gun goes off for a second time.