Chapter 12
An ache radiated through my arms, a dull and relentless throb that intensified with every shallow breath. My fingertips were numb, and as my senses slowly stirred to life, I became acutely aware of my predicament. My knees pressed against a dusty, unforgiving floor, and my hands were bound high above my head, the cuffs biting cruelly into my wrists. The chains stretched taut, anchored to some sort of vault above me. I couldn’t tell how long I’d hung there, suspended in this torturous position, but the unbearable strain in my shoulders and the dead weight of my arms told me it had been far too long. Movement felt impossible, yet standing was out of the question. I could only dangle there, helpless, clinging to the faint hope that my strength might return before it was too late.
A shiver coursed through me, sharper than the ache in my limbs. My clothes were gone. In their place, a thin white dress with delicate shoulder straps clung to my skin. Its light fabric did little to protect me from the chill that seeped into my bones, leaving me trembling as if I were entirely exposed.
As my vision sharpened, I took in my surroundings. I was confined within a circular, human-sized cage—a grotesque imitation of a birdcage. The dim light from a few dangling bulbs cast flickering shadows across the basement walls, giving the space an oppressive, almost otherworldly atmosphere. Aside from the faint sound of my own ragged breathing and stifled groans, the place was eerily silent. For a moment, I thought I was alone, but then my gaze shifted.
The dim glow revealed a row of cages like mine, spaced evenly apart, each one housing a figure slumped in chains. My chest tightened as the realization struck—I wasn’t the only one. A sickening thought clawed its way to the forefront of my mind. Could these be the other waitresses from the event? Was Amara among them? My pulse quickened. If she was here, I prayed fervently that she was still alive.
“Amara…” My voice cracked as I called her name, the effort sending a jolt of pain through my raw throat. “Amara, are you here?”
A faint murmur broke the silence, followed by a hoarse whisper.
“T… Thalassa?”
Relief flooded me, sharp and overwhelming. “Yes! Yes, I’m here!” Tears blurred my vision as I choked out the words. “Thank God you’re alive!”
It was only the second time in my life I’d felt this kind of terror for someone else. Until now, I’d been consumed by my own survival, my own pain. But the thought of losing Amara tightened around my chest like a vice, leaving me gasping for air.
The sound of footsteps cut through the fragile moment. I strained to listen, counting seven distinct sets approaching from deeper within the basement. The creak of a heavy door echoed, and the footsteps grew louder. A second later, the blinding glare of overhead spotlights flickered on, flooding the room with harsh white light.
I squinted, my eyes struggling to adjust. Shadows moved closer, their shapes solidifying into figures as they neared the cages.
“Release the chains. They’re not going anywhere,” a deep voice commanded.
Blinking against the brightness, I made out the speaker’s silhouette. He was sharply dressed in a tailored suit, a stark contrast to the casino staff uniforms. Whoever he was, he clearly wielded authority here. One of his lackeys darted to a lever protruding from the wall. With a loud, metallic clunk, the chains holding us aloft were released, sending me crashing to the floor along with the others.
The relief was immediate yet fleeting. My body ached from the sudden collapse, but at least I wasn’t hanging anymore. Groans and muted cries echoed from the other cages as everyone else adjusted to the unexpected freedom. Slowly, I forced myself upright, my legs shaking as I staggered to the bars. My eyes darted from cage to cage until I spotted Amara, just two enclosures away. She mirrored my movements, gripping the bars for support.
“Mr… Theron Edgewater?” Amara’s voice wavered with dread.
The man in the suit smirked, sauntering toward her. “Ms. Amara Winslett. What a surprise to see you among the merchandise,” he said with casual cruelty, his gaze sweeping over her like she was nothing more than an object. “Though I must admit, you’ll fetch a fine price.”
His words sent a ripple of revulsion through me. Around him, his men laughed—a chorus of cruel amusement.
“What… what are you talking about?” Amara stammered, her voice trembling. “You can’t keep us here! This is… this is illegal!”
Her protest only made them laugh louder. Theron’s mocking grin widened. “Illegal?” he repeated, feigning shock. “Perhaps you’d like to call the police?” His tone dripped with derision. “Oh, wait… the chief of police will be attending the auction as well.”
Amara recoiled, her hands clutching the bars. “Auction?” she gasped. “What auction?”
Theron leaned in, his voice dropping to a sinister murmur. “Our casino caters to a very exclusive clientele. We provide… rare goods for those with refined tastes. Think of it as a high-end supermarket. This time, our clients have requested living blood bags.”
The words hit me like a blow. My stomach twisted, and bile rose in my throat. I had spent my entire life running—fleeing the suffocating chains of my past, desperate to escape being treated as less than human. And now, I faced the sickening reality that I’d only been delivered into something far worse.