Page 47 of Chained

I keep my head down, eyes fixed on the table's chipped edge. I can feel him watching me, waiting, like he always does. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat, the fabric of his jacket rustling.

"How about we play a game?"

This isn't a good idea. In fact, this is a terrible idea. My hands begin to sweat, nerves boiling to a simmer inside. Say no, say anything.

"Okay," I whisper. Anything but that. I pick at my nails until a thin line of blood seeps down my finger. I can feel him staring, he doesn't stop. I don't think he ever will.

"I ask a question, you ask a question. Pretty simple, right?"

Lie. All you have to do is lie. You can do this, you've lied plenty of times. What's a few more? It's true, I was notoriously good at lying to my mum as a teenager, but it was easier then. It didn't matter if she found out because I knew she'd always love me.

Here, it's different. A lie could mean the end. I don't doubt that if he suspects even a flicker of deception, he won't hesitate to punish me.

Or worse.

He shifts closer, elbows leaning against the arms of his chair. I look up to face him, giving him a soft nod.

"Tell me, who do you have waiting for you outside?"

I swallow. No one. I have no one. I don't have many friends, none that would notice I was missing at least. Maybe my art teacher, but she's so busy with classes and other students I doubt she'll even notice. It's only ever been me and Rosa since our mother died. Our father left when we were younger, he never bothered to check.

So, there's no one coming for us. No one was waiting for us to come home. What a thought that is. I hadn't really let myself think about it before, not when I was at Derek's or the warehouse. Not until now, what a life. The only person who cares enough to notice I'm missing is missing too.

"I have friends, classmates—" I lie through my teeth, but it sounds false, even to me. "Close friends."

He nods with a smirk. "Close friends. Got it. Do any of them have a name?"

"That's more than one question." I frown. He's trying to figure out who's waiting, who's looking for me. I caught it. I caught the trap.

I move to take the glass from the table, the wetness cold on my fingertips as I take a sip. It tastes good—amazing, in fact. The fizz bubbles at the back of my throat as I search for a question of my own.

"What is this? Like…what do you do here?" I need to know why you have the girls. How you never get caught. If there's any chance you will. Every question breezes through my mind, so many answers that I doubt I'll ever get.

His composure shifts slightly, his face dropping, mouth now a straight line. He doesn't want to answer; I don't think he really knows how to.

"Another question." His tone is ice cold, everything stiffening. I tilt my head with a frown.

"That's not how the game works⁠—"

He cuts me off fast, his voice a little louder. "That's how my game works. A different question."

Whatever he's hiding must be bad. I thought he'd gloat, that he'd take the opportunity to rub it in my face all that he does, but he didn't. Why?

"What happens to us?" I let the question fall, even if the answer terrifies me.

"Us?" He tilts his head as he brings the glass of lemonade to his lips.

"The girls you take." My tone is strong, even if inside I'm breaking. Annabelle is still in the cells below, I hope at least. And Jade? I haven't seen her since the night Hailee died. She is somewhere in these walls; I cringe at the thought of what might be happening to her. It's too much to name.

"You want the truth?" He doesn't smile, but his face looks softer. Almost honest. It's unsettling.

I nod, palms sweating as I clasp my hands together in my lap, heart beating loudly in my ears.

"The girls brought here are usually sold once they're broken. Once they're no longer fit for use for me, my men, whoever I decide. Some stay and work if I decide they're worthy of it; the maids, the women serving the bar in the parlour. We host an auction every few months, invite other organisations to attend."

He sips his lemonade again, but he doesn't hold my gaze. He looks away, almost ashamed. I reel from his admission. Other organisations. So that's what this is.

"Other organisations? So, there's more who go out and take people from the streets?"