Chapter 13

"Living... blood bags? What does that even mean?!" Amara shouted, her voice taut with a mix of confusion and fury, her teeth clenched tightly.

"You'll find out soon enough—from your buyer," Theron replied with a cruel chuckle before turning to an older man with silver-rimmed glasses. "Mr. Crowell, let's get started. Begin with the cage on the far left."

"Of course," Mr. Crowell responded with a detached calm, his voice void of emotion.

I didn’t fully grasp what they meant by "valuation," but I understood one thing: my turn would come last. My cage was positioned at the far-right end of the row, ensuring I would endure every moment leading up to my "assessment."

Mr. Crowell approached the first cage and peered at its trembling occupant. The girl inside shrank back against the bars, her fear palpable.

"No... please, no!" she whimpered, her voice breaking into sobs.

"Quiet. Extend one of your hands through the bars," Mr. Crowell demanded coldly.

The girl shook her head, her refusal barely a whisper. "N-no..."

His tone turned icy. "Do it, or I’ll open this cage, break your arm, and then take what I need regardless."

Her soft cries echoed off the basement walls. She was terrified but knew resistance was futile. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she extended her hand through the bars.

"Good," Mr. Crowell said, grasping her wrist firmly. With practiced ease, he pricked one of her fingers with a needle, drawing a bead of crimson blood. Bringing her hand closer, he sniffed the blood delicately, as though evaluating a fine wine.

"Starting price: five thousand dollars," he declared, turning to Theron with a clinical detachment.

"Excellent," Theron replied with a satisfied smirk. He gestured toward one of his men. "Record every price meticulously. The auction begins in thirty minutes."

Mr. Crowell moved systematically from cage to cage, his assessments swift and methodical. Each price he called out was carefully logged, his voice punctuating the silence like a death knell.

I used their momentary distraction to scan my surroundings, desperately searching for any means of escape. My first instinct was to free my hands from the cuffs. The iron restraints bit into my wrists, their thick, heavy construction making it impossible to slip free without a key. The chain between them allowed limited movement—enough for a weak punch, perhaps, but nothing that could hold its own against someone as strong as that manager I’d fought before.

Next, I examined the cage itself. The bars were spaced widely enough to tease the idea of squeezing through, but even if I tried, they were still too tight for my body. Worse, the door was secured with an electric lock—another obstacle I couldn’t bypass in my current state.

"Damn it," I hissed under my breath, frustration bubbling into quiet fury.

The sense of helplessness coursing through me made my blood boil. I had to think of something—anything—to protect not just myself but the other girls, too. But no matter how hard I tried, my mind was a blank slate of desperation.

"Mr. Edgewater, we have a slight problem," Mr. Crowell's voice broke through my frantic thoughts.

Theron strode toward the cage where Crowell stood, his expression darkening. "What kind of problem?"

"Leukemia," Crowell replied flatly, glancing at the girl inside.

Theron clicked his tongue in irritation. "What a waste." Without hesitation, he turned to one of his men. "Isidore, dispose of her immediately."

The words sent a jolt of terror through me. My breath caught in my throat as I stared wide-eyed through the bars.

Isidore drew a handgun from his holster, his expression cold and unfeeling. Screams erupted around the room as the girl in the cage fell to her knees, her sobs tearing through the air.

"Please, no!" she begged, her voice breaking with desperation. "I have a daughter! Please don’t kill me!"

"Let her go!" I shouted, my voice rising with urgency. "She’s no threat to you! Just let her go!"

The other girls joined in, pleading for her life, their cries mingling into a cacophony of despair. But Isidore remained unmoved, his hand steady as he aimed the gun.

The shot rang out, deafening in the confined space. Blood splattered against the bars as the girl’s lifeless body crumpled to the floor. A dark pool spread beneath her, crimson rivulets tracing patterns across the cold cement.

The basement erupted into screams of horror and anguish.

"Shut your damn mouths, or you’ll join her!" Theron barked, his voice a thunderous roar.

The room fell silent, the air thick with fear. My gaze dropped to the blood seeping toward my cage, the metallic tang of it stinging my nostrils. My chest heaved as my heart pounded violently against my ribs.

For the first time, I prayed—not for freedom, not even for salvation—but that my blood would be deemed valuable enough to keep me alive.