Page 86 of Out for Blood
It finally clicks, what music is wafting through the warehouse.
A warped, cheerful melody that any child would remember. It belongs in a circus tent, not in a place built on suffering.
My skin crawls at the contrast.
On impulse my fingers find my favorite knife’s handle and clamp around it.
Tyler situates the cutters around the cage lock.
The metal snaps apart with an earsplittingcrack.
The girl shrinks intuitively, her shoulders drawing inward as if she’s bracing to be hit.
“Just breathe,” Tyler directs her tenderly, full of dependability. “No one is going to hurt you anymore. It’s over, you're safe.”
Safe.The word feels wrong in a place like this.
I yank the cage door open and kneel in front of her, my eyes never leaving hers.
“You need to stand up for me, okay?” My voice is warmer this time. “There’s a rescue team outside waiting to take you somewhere you’ll be protected and far away from this place.”
Her entire body shakes as she whispers through her cracked dry lips, “They said they’d kill us if we tried to leave.”
Everything inside me hardens into pure intent.
“They’re not touching you ever again.”
The words fall from me with the weight of a coffin lid shutting right before it’s lowered into the ground.
Tyler proceeds with ruthless efficiency to the next girl trapped behind steel bars.
The cheerful circus tune continues playing, clashing horribly with the stifled laughter winding through the warehouse.
As if none of these women matter and they are just for entertainment.
I guide the girl upright considerately; she winces and wobbles as soon as she puts weight on one of her ankles.
My hands feel clammy and sticky as the anxiety, and the overwhelming protective need to get them out of here right away without being detected takes over.
“She’s injured,” I relay to Tyler.
He inclines his head without looking away from the next lock. “The crew's almost here.”
Another cage opens, then another.
The girls shuffle out using the cage walls as support, panicked and disoriented as the lights capture their malnourished forms. One clutches her chest attempting to cover herself while another begins sobbing hysterically, gulping in breaths.
I inspect the girls' faces one at a time, always searching for Marie and Sofie. They aren’t here.
The anger inside me calcifies into something fatal.
Then headlights beam momentarily through the partially opened bay door.
Tyler checks his watch. “Right on time.”
Not long after, dark silhouettes pass under the narrow opening of the rolling bay window.
Three members of the crew file inside, blending together dressed in black rain gear with medical bags and blankets strapped across their backs.
