The car slows, and I can feel it turning before coming to a stop.
I hear doors opening and closing, low voices speaking in Russian. They’re unhurried this time, unlike the barking commands back at the doctor’s office. They’ve accomplished their mission.
The trunk opens and light floods in, harsh and assaulting. I squint my eyes. The sky above the buildings around us is a bruised purple color, and it appears to be dusk. We must have been driving for hours.
I have no idea where we are.
I’m looking up at the fire escape of an old brick building with blacked-out windows, and a neon sign I can only see the edge of. It looks like it could be a nightclub. The alley smells like grease, stale beer, and rotting garbage.
Two men stare down at me. I don’t have a chance to scream before they reach down and haul me out of the trunk. My first instinct is to put my feet on the ground and run, but my legs aren’t strong enough to carry my weight.
My bare feet drag on the wet asphalt as the men pull me toward a service door propped open with a cinder block.
I hear heels. Familiar, measured steps clicking on the pavement with a rhythm I’d recognize anywhere. I just listened to it, back at the clinic.
Run, Thea. I’m right behind you.
Amanda approaches from a second car parked farther up the alley.
Her coat’s buttoned, makeup perfect, and not a hair out of place, phone in hand. She looks calm and composed, as if she’s heading to a meeting with a client.
She strolls toward me with the confident gait of a woman who is exactly where she intends to be.
Our eyes meet.
I want to say something, scream at her, curse at her, ask her why. But the chemical fog is pulling me back under, my vision swimming. All I can manage is her name.
“Amanda.”
She stops in front of me and tilts her head, as if curious. She studies me with pity on her face. Cold and clinical.
“I really am sorry, Thea, but he was never going to choose correctly on his own.”
She nods to the man on my left. Something presses against my face—the cloth again.
The world dissolves.
The last thing I hear is the sound of her heels fading away.
CHAPTER 43
THEA
Ireenter the world bit by bit, detail by detail.
The first thing I register is the cold concrete under my cheek, damp and smooth. Then there’s the smell, the awful smell of stale liquor and even staler cigarettes.
Finally, there’s the light—dim and purple, making everything look sickly and bruised.
I push myself up onto my hands and knees. My head is pounding. My mouth still tastes like whatever it was they used to knock me out. My stomach rolls and I place my hand to my belly, as I’ve done so many times before, telling myself to breathe.
Still here. We’re still here.
I blink multiple times until my vision sharpens.
It’s a nightclub, but it’s empty—no music, no dancers, no bartender. Just a big, open floor with a long bar along one wall. There are dark leather booths for seating, and a DJ platform in the corner. The lights are set low, cycling through shades of violet and blue.
It could even be a little atmospheric, if it weren’t for the four men standing at the exit.