To stand where Kimber stands.
To see the walls that need breaking.
They think they’re dragging a helpless girl toward her doom.
But what they’re really doing is leading a blade straight to the throat of their empire.
The hallway narrows the farther they drag me; the walls change from cracked drywall to exposed beams and rusted metal. It smells damp, like oil and mold and old secrets. When we stop, it’s in front of a reinforced door with peeling paint and a lock on the outside that has seen too much use.
One of them fumbles with the latch.
The moment it clicks, I brace myself.
They shove me inside with more eagerness than competence, stumbling over each other like starving dogs. The air changes instantly. Breaths turn thick. Footsteps grow weighted. Their anticipation takes on a pulse of its own, vibrating through the room, pressing in from the walls.
They think they’re going to get off.
Oh, they’ll get off.
Just not the way they imagine.
A sharp, wicked smirk curves my lips. The gag they shoved in my mouth earlier lays forgotten around my neck like a sad little noose.
The one who licked Kimber earlier sneers, stepping forward until I can smell the stink on his breath. “You aren’t gonna be smilin’ soon, bitch.”
His attempt at intimidation is almost adorable.
The room itself is a hellhole. A single flickering bulb overhead. Stains on the walls that are too dark to identify cleanly. And in the corner, a mattress that looks like it has absorbed decades of nightmares. It’s crooked, one corner folded in on itself, as if the last person who lay there tried to claw their way off.
My stomach twists at the thought that someone else was locked in here before me. Maybe more than one. Maybe they had no weapons. No skills. No hope.
I am not them.
The men circle me now, forming a tight ring, their shadows stretching long across the floor. They’re grinning. Practically buzzing. Violent anticipation rolls off them in waves, thick enough to taste.
Two of them step in close, their hands already roaming. Dirty fingers skim down my waist; rough palms slide over my hips. Another gets bold and grabs my tits, squeezing like he’s testing fruit at a market.
The touch electrifies me.
Not with fear.
With memory.
A flash of the girl I used to be.
Helpless. Cornered.
Reign shaking beside me, crying.
Me biting my tongue to keep from screaming.
A girl who had no way out.
I am not that girl anymore.
And none of these men are leaving this room alive. But to kill them, I need them overconfident. Sloppy. Certain of their victory. I need them to underestimate me completely.
So, I let out a breathy, mocking laugh that earns instant snarls. “That’s cute,” I say sweetly. “All this enthusiasm for what’s probably the smallest collection of dicks in the state.”