“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.”
“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.