Monsters in the Dark Series

Tess

Dove

My sense of smell returned first.

Touch, taste, sound, sight, all remained dormant. But smell. How could I ignore the reek?

Stale sweat and the ammonia of piss. Musk, body odor, and garbage.

My stomach flopped, turning me into a pretzel of horror.

Brax!

Oh, God, Brax. Was he okay? Was he dead? All that blood. My lungs went on strike. Brax was back there—wherever there was, alone and in pain. Would I ever see him again?

Thoughts rammed like dodgems in my skull. My head pounded with a nasty headache.

Fear, rank and cloying, crawled up my throat. That bastard had been so eager to hit me, as if he lived to be violent. I had no hope against men like that.

I knew it was weak, but I wished they’d killed me rather than take me. Who knew what brutality existed in my future.

Another whiff of ammonia; I gagged behind my hood, hoping I didn’t throw up and drown in vomit. I panted, forcing the urge away.

Just remain calm. I’d relied on myself all my life. If I got into trouble, my parents were too busy with my brother to offer a shoulder to cry on. I turned to myself in happiness and in terror.

I would get out of this. No one was going to take my freedom.

I slid to the side suddenly, gravity extracting a toll as we careened around a corner. Wits came back, battling the foggy pain. I must be in a vehicle.

My sense of hearing returned.

A whimper sounded. I jerked, trying to move away, only for the whimper to grow into a wail. The plea was undoubtedly feminine.

A man cursed, followed by a thud and a cry.

How many victims were in here? I didn’t want to die. A tragic statistic of another tourist kidnapped in Mexico. Brax and I were so stupid, traveling with the illusion of being untouchable.

More whimpers and gruff commands as the engine hummed and tires squealed, gripping the road, taking corners too fast.

I wasn’t alone. There were others. Others taken. Stolen. Abducted.

I shouldn’t have taken comfort in that, but I did. Just the knowledge I might have allies gave me a burst of hope.

My sense of taste returned.

Immediately, the horrible stench coated my tongue, along with the sweet residue of Coke and sharp tang of terror.

The Coke reminded me of Brax, and I plummeted into heartache. Even if I did manage to escape, how would I ever find Brax? I had no clue where the café was, or how we got there.

Would the hotel come looking when we didn’t return with the scooter?

My throat latched closed, tormented by images of Brax dying on the lonely wasteland of a men’s bathroom floor. Surely, they wouldn’t let him die. Someone would take him to hospital.

They took me.

Oh, God. The realization hit like a ten-ton cruise ship. They took me! I was powerless.

My breath steamed the inside of the hood, melting my ears and eyelashes with panicked heat. My vision remained black and useless.

The hood obscured everything, hushing the surroundings with dirty cloth.

A rough hand landed on my thigh, squeezing hard. Jumping, I tried to crawl away, but the bindings on my wrists yanked me to a halt.

A language I didn’t understand lilted, twisting my heart, making me wish I could wake up and it would all be a nightmare.

The hand clutched my thigh again, wrenching my knees apart.

Red flashed in my vision. I welcomed the rage and kicked as hard as possible. I screamed as an unwelcome hand groped between my legs.

My leggings didn’t offer any resistance from the horrible pressure. I suffered a slap to the side of my head as I fought.

The fingers disappeared, and I choked on the sudden rush of relief. I coughed, hacking up every emotion inside. This couldn’t be happening.

The vehicle screeched to a stop, and the clunking of doors opening resonated. Heartbeats pounded in my ears like heavy drums.

My legs were grabbed, and my butt scraped along a sharp surface. Someone grunted, scooped me up, and threw me over his shoulder like a dead carcass.

Vertigo rushed to my head, lips pressed against dirty cloth.

The power of terror-filled unknown sucked me into a dark place deep inside—a place full of rapists and murderers and unmentionable monsters. Self-pity oozed, and my will to survive faltered.

No!

I couldn’t be sucked into depression and give up. I would never give up. I would fight until I died; I’d teach the kidnappers they stole the wrong girl if they wanted meek and broken.

In some sick way, they proved my own self-worth. My parents may not want me, but these bastards sure did. They’d stolen me because they had to.

I was valuable. I had to stay strong and survive.

I hung over the kidnapper’s shoulder, being carted to who knew where, and something happened.

My mind fractured, literally unthreaded, splitting into two entities. The girl I was: my hopes and dreams, aspirations and love for Brax all blazed bright and true.

My insecurities and need for love saddened me. I saw my own fragility.

But that didn’t matter, because the other part—the new part—was fierce. This girl had no brokenness or issues.

She was a warrior who’d seen blood, stared monsters in the face, and knew without a doubt her life would be hers again.

Somehow the new part wrapped around the nucleus of the old Tess, protecting, cushioning me from the horrors to come.

At least, that’s what I hoped happened.

I truly, truly hoped.

The hood was ripped off my head, taking some hair with it. The rest arched and spat with static electricity. I blinked, light saturating my eyes as everything shone with overexposure.

I was in a room.

Dark, dingy, not a dungeon, but not far off. Bunk beds lined each of the four walls. The lack of windows, and dampness from the floor, settled fast into my bones.

I sat on a threadbare mattress, looking around my new home. Girls huddled on each bed. All of them wore an aura of tragedy, eyes bruised with loss, skin painted with injuries and shadows.

A man loomed over me, his beard black and gross. Reaching behind him, he bared a knife.

I flinched, and tried to crawl away. Some part said he wouldn’t hurt me. Not yet. But the other part saw the knife and cowered.

I knew what a knife did. It cut things. Butchered things. I didn’t want to be butchered.

The man grunted, digging fingers into my shoulder, pressing me into the dank mattress on the bottom bunk. I yelped as he rolled me onto my belly.

I kicked and twisted, trying to stay upright, fighting an already lost battle.

The motion of sawing caused the string around my wrists to bite deep into sore skin. The blade was blunt and it seemed to take forever before the bindings finally broke.

The man released me, backing away with a scowl. I slowly sat upright, rubbing my wrists, skin indented and heated with a raw, angry red.

“You. Stay.” He jabbed a finger in my face before stomping to the exit. The heavy, black door opened and he disappeared. The room echoed with a loud click as the lock slammed home.

The moment he was gone, I gawked at my new roommates. Only a few girls met my eyes; the rest slouched with fear.

I couldn’t stop staring. Eight bunk beds. Eight women. All of us ranged from early to late twenties. There was no rhyme in our abduction. Some of us were blonde, others black, redhead, and brown.

Our skin color didn’t match, either: three Asian, two black, and three white.

Nothing screamed pattern. The police wouldn’t be able to work out who’d be the next victim—it seemed any woman easy enough to steal was fair game. Whether we were tall, short, fat, slim.

Big breasted, long legged. We were all there for one reason.

A reason I didn’t yet know.

A reason I didn’t want to know.

Hours passed while we stared at each other. No one talked—we didn’t need to. We communicated in our silence, deeper than words. Our souls talked.

We comforted one another, all the while sharing grief over what would become of us.

The flickering light bulb illuminated our cage, sending tension rippling around the room.

Some time, hours later, the door opened and a younger man with wonky teeth and a jagged facial scar appeared, depositing a tray of eight bowls in the center of the room.

The stagnant air of our prison filled with scents of food—something stir-fried with a platter of warm bread to scoop it up with. My stomach growled; I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

My heart stuttered, thinking about Brax. It seemed so long ago, sharing our first night in Cancun, enjoying our connection.

I forced myself to stop thinking about him. It hurt too much.

No one moved, but we all stared longingly at the food once the door locked again.

I waited to see if there was a hierarchy.

No one budged.

The scent of dinner overwhelmed, and I couldn’t stand it any longer. I needed my strength to fight. I wouldn’t sit waiting—who knew when they would come for us.

I moved.

My body creaked and protested, but I stood and collected a bowl at a time, handing it with a piece of flat bread to each girl.

They gave a timid smile, a glassy look, a flush of tears. I took comfort in helping them. At least they weren’t alone. We were in this together.

When I delivered the last bowl and took my own, I had to swallow my tears. They threatened to drown me if I let them loose.

Brax. My life. My happy, happy world dissolved and left me in hell.

I didn’t belong to Brax anymore. I didn’t even belong to myself. I belonged to a bleak, unknown, and terror-filled future.

Swallowing hard, I forced the tears away. Tears were not useful, and I refused to buckle. Taking a mouthful of gruel, I hiccupped and steeled myself.

I would not cry.

Not tonight.