Page 2 of Manacled Hearts

Until the jolts come.

I urge the kids to huddle together and protect each other while I keep Maya curled under my arm and the other kids hold on to us. My sister is the happiest, most easygoing and trusting kid, and the fact that she’s been so quiet is unbearable. I’ve talked to her and soothed her the best I could, but even now, as the container jolts in all directions, she barely whimpers.

The exhaustion is almost debilitating, but when the container stops moving and thrashing us around, adrenaline kicks in, pumping new energy back into me. Not the good kind of energy. No, the kind of jittery energy that makes me shake with the fearful anticipation of what’s coming next. I hope that when the time comes, I’ll find the physical strength to do what I need to protect her.

Muffled words sound outside these metal walls, and the cries of the kids grow.

“Shh…” I attempt to calm them. Only some of them listen.

The side of the container rattles, and my sister finally makes a sound, yelping as her small body flinches.

When the noises intensify, I squeeze her tighter. “I’ll keep you safe, Maya.”

The metal box jolts again, and it feels like we’re being lifted. Controlling my fear is proving so much harder than I thought it would be. When my sister groans, I realize I’ve been squeezing her a bit too tight.

My thoughts stray to this unbearable helplessness, to our dad, and to the fact that no one will search for us. Maybe Maya’s school will contact the police when they discover that the address they have for her is fake. That could be our shot at having someone to look for us, but the people who took us are highly professional, so I doubt there’s even the slightest trail.

We’re screwed.

I don’t realize the container has stopped moving until the door cracks open, and the screeching pierces through my eardrums. All at once the kids throw themselves back against the walls.

Squeezing Maya to me, I brace myself for the worst.

* * *

From the moment those doors opened to what seems like a vast warehouse, everything has been happening so fast, and I’m struggling to wrap my mind around things. Initially, I thought we reached our destination, but the shock and disbelief in the expressions of the men looking back at us made it clear these were not the same ones who took us. Those types of emotions cannot be faked, not by men who look as hard as them.

Slowly, pity bled through their gazes.

I counted eight people walking around, running their hands nervously through their hair, talking heatedly. Though a few of them seemed to only stand silent and take orders. Some were dressed for combat—boots, cargo pants, casual T-shirts—but others gave me grave vibes in their black, tailored suits. One in particular seemed to be in charge, and the man stood out in his three-piece suit, ordering the others around to do things for us.

They gave us food, more water, and asked the kids if they were hurt.

But they didn’t let us out.

Instead, they left the doors cracked open so we could get some air and light.

I tried to peek around for an escape route, but I’m too deep into this space. Even so, running while herding thirty kids will be impossible. All I could do was sit, wait, and listen.

Now, something is changing.

More footsteps approach, and with them, another spike of adrenaline surges through my veins. Though it prickles up my spine more like fear.

“This is one thing I won’t work with, and I’m convinced you won’t agree with it either.”

The container opens fully again, and I grab onto my sister, trying to peek from the darkness—four new men stand in front of us. Their features are grim, but there’s something about the look in their eyes that doesn’t just remind me of anger. It’s something more.

Darker.

My gaze flickers to the wavy-haired blonde one who asked a question I didn’t hear, and I can’t tear my eyes away. I can’t see his from here, but that expression… It’s different from the others.

Parts of their conversation breaks through the haze. It sounds like this container belongs to someone they made some sort of business deal with, only, they weren’t supposed to be transporting people.

The moment I hear someone say that they have to close it back up, heat fills my chest. I want to scream, I want to shout at them and beg them to reconsider. But the words don’t come. My mouth falls open, yet the sounds don’t even reach my throat. I manage to rise and lean toward the men and their plan to seal our fate.

The discussion turns heated, kids begin crying, covering their ears as they likely struggle to understand what they’re hearing. I barely can.

“That’s complete fucking madness!” someone shouts.

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