Page 1 of Manacled Hearts

PROLOGUE

EVELYN

One month earlier

The screech of the container door plays on a disturbing loop in my head. Hours must have passed since the last time I heard it, closing with a shattering bang that held a finality to it. The loop is never-ending, an excruciating background noise to the whimpers and cries currently reverberating against these walls.

It took me a while, but I finally understood why it plagues me so. My subconscious is demanding retribution for my failure to save Maya from the bastards who took us. Who locked us in this godforsaken place, along with so many others like her.

I had one job—protect my little sister.

I failed.

Miserably.

As if becoming homeless, unexpected orphans, and evading CPS wasn’t enough, now we’re kidnapped. Stuck in this hot, metal box with thirty other children, suffocating in the smell of urine and God knows what else.

Only, I’m the odd one out. I’m not a child.

I’m just shy of turning eighteen, still a minor in the eyes of some laws, but my childhood ended with our mom’s sudden death. Overnight, I became my sister’s guardian, and without siblings, grandparents or other family, we had no one else in the world on our side. Almost two years have passed since she became my whole life.

Sometimes it’s like I’m trapped in a Lemony Snicket novel. Event after unfortunate event seems to have taken a horrible hold of us, and the passing of years did nothing to improve our situation.

It didn’t start with Mom, though.

In reality, it all started with the events that took Dad from us.

The container jolts. Terrified cries erupt from the children, serving as a reminder that the unlucky events haven’t ceased.

“Hold on to each other. It’s all going to be over soon.” I try to soothe them with empty promises.

Still, the cries never stop. Like the little light that used to shine in their souls, they quiet down to fear-stricken murmurs.

Tightening my hold around my sister, I whisper words of reassurance to her. She wasn’t one of the kids who screamed. Maybe that’s why I’m holding her harder. I’m hoping her silence stems from my comfort, but the alternative plays in my mind. Is she in some sort of catatonic state from the trauma?

I yearn for a sliver of light in here. At least then she could look into my eyes with her pretty green ones and see the promises in them. I will never fail her again. I will protect her with all I have and make sure she will be safe. Since they took us and locked us in here, those vows haven’t touched my lips. I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep them. So, words of reassurance are all I can provide. I’m a coward. A failure.

I failed when I chose to park on the dark side too far away from the school—all so I could hide that we live in our car.

I failed when I didn’t immediately notice the men following us, after I picked her up. When I didn’t get her to the car in time.

I failed when they yanked me by my hair, struck me in the ribs, then pushed me away from her. When she screamed my name with such terror in her sweet little voice, it clawed into my soul. I jumped on the man who grabbed her, erratically punching him in the face, aiming at his eyes until he finally dropped Maya.

Then I failed to hold on to her. They ripped her out of my weak arms, punching me hard enough in the gut that I almost threw up before my head even hit the ground. But I got up and ran after them like the pain didn’t exist, following my sister’s muffled cries deeper into the darkness of the alley. I ran even as the worn soles of my shoes gave out and the rocks gouged my socked feet.

When I saw my sister being shoved in the back of the black van, I pushed my way in without thinking. I couldn’t get her out. Instead, the men spit their curses at my hysterics and decided it was safer to take me, too.

Since then, there have been no opportunities to attempt an escape, but I refuse to accept that none will come. There is no other choice. No more room for failure.

With guilt fogging my mind, my exhaustion takes me before I can stop it, and I drift into a restless sleep.

I drift in and out, frequently woken up by the metal screeching or the kids. Even when I manage some sleep, I’m woken up by the children. Some require calming, the really young ones need help to relieve themselves, and I need to make sure they all eat the cheap bread that’s provided. Before closing the doors, the bastards who took us threw in sealed bags of sandwich bread and bottles of water. I tested them on myself before I let any of the kids touch them, and I was fine.

I’m not sure how much time has passed since we’ve been here. The absence of light creates deceit, but I think at least two days have gone by. Although, my measuring system may be flawed. I can’t truly trust my stomach since it’s used to such little food, but I’ve been keeping track of Maya’s hunger. So far, she’s asked for food, albeit reluctantly, six times. I can’t fully trust this method. It’s not like we’ve been sleeping well. We drift in and out, caught in a daze that sometimes gets interrupted by the movements of the container.

I’m convinced we’re on water, but I’ve been praying to all the gods I know that we’re not leaving the country. It covers a vast continent, so maybe we’re going to a different side of it. The alternative is dire. Even when we escape, it will add many more challenges. Requesting asylum with a child who isn’t in my custody will be a sure way of losing Maya to the system. But at least she’ll be out of here.

More time passes by, more meals for Maya, more screams, more cries, more begging for mamas and papas, more drifting in and out of sleep.

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