Page 107 of Throttle

With force, he clutches my wounded arm, and I let out a pained hiss. “Watch your mouth, whore.”

“I’m not a whore!”

Crack. He strikes my cheek. “Stop talking.”

My face burns as he tears me away from the van and we walk into a large building. A storage facility maybe. It’s dark, cold, and empty.

Was this the same building? I was too concerned with my arm and getting up that I ignored my surroundings.

Inside, there are only stairs leading downward.

“You first, bitch.” He extends a hand, showing me I’m being ordered to go down.

Slowly and sorely, I move around him, edging closer to the door.

I stop, raising my eyes to meet my captor's, and he emits a snarl.

“Open it.”

So, I do, because what other choice do I have?

I was not ready for it. Dog cages. Small enough to barely fit a large animal.

Jesus.

I think I might vomit.

The scum who brought me here points to the empty one to the right. “In.”

Only two out of around twelve enclosures were occupied.

I shake my head. “No. Please. I can’t. I can’t go—”

“Get the fuck inside.” He kicks the back of my knee, and my one leg gives out. I catch myself, palms flat on the cold cement.

I straighten up and squeeze my body into the cramped prison cell. He locks me in, spits at my feet, and then leaves me like a caged pet. I jump when the basement door slams behind him.

To make more room, I slip off my heels, kicking them to the side. Although the cage is too small for me to stand in, I can at least sit and curl myself into a ball to avoid hitting my already hurting skull.

In the freezing cold, a cry to my right pierces the air.

“Please. Please help me.” The young girl in the duplicate cage reaches a hand between her bars for me. She’s frail. Looks like she hasn’t eaten in days. What the fuck were they doing to these poor women?

I adjust my body to reach for her outstretched hand. With its chilling and boney touch, I still give her a comforting squeeze. “What’s your name?” I ask.

“Mya,” she chokes out. She doesn’t look a day over eighteen.

“We’re going to get out of here. I promise.”

A flicker of hope shines in her eyes, lighting up her face.

“Don’t lie to her.” A stern voice to the other side of me draws my attention away, and I’m horrified. She’s covered in dark bruises on her arms and upper thighs.

Oh God. Tears blur my vision, and my stomach turns queasy.

“And don’t you dare pity me,” she threatens.

“I—I’m sorry, I just… what did they do to you?” Dumb question when it’s obvious.

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