Page 112 of Throttle

Danika snorts. “You’re named after a liquor?”

“It sounds silly, doesn’t it?”

Mya laughs, and it catches me off guard. But then, when Danika giggles, I join in.

I never expected to smile or laugh given our circumstances, but it felt good. Short-lived but lifted our spirits, even for a minute.

The door opens and a man appears. We fall silent and suddenly all the fear and anxiety rush back.

Right. We’re being held captive. How did I forget?

I detect Danika's unspoken dread as the biker from earlier moves forward with a cattle prod, accompanied by another one carrying a blow torch. My breathing quickens and I'm worried about what they'll do with that.

“You’ve been sold,” the first one says.

Panic overwhelms me until I realize their attention is on Danika, not me.

With fear in her eyes, she glances at me. Dread consuming every inch.

No.

The person holding the welding torch turns the knob on the nozzle, and the heat envelops us. He hands off the metal prod to his buddy and opens Danika’s prison cage. “Let’s go, little rabbit. Out.”

“Go to hell,” she hisses, and he swears, seizing her by the hair.

“Fucking bitch.” He throws her down, pressing a knee to her thin spine.

“Stop! Don’t do this!” I beg, but he ignores me, taking back the prod from his friend.

With a revolting sneer, he sticks the top into the fire and gleefully watches it blaze orange.

Danika's eyes meet mine as her cheek presses against the cement floor. They’re empty, cold, and barren. But she’s strong. So strong.

“Look at me. Keep your eyes to me,” I whisper and then mouth to her: You’re going to be okay. It’ll all be okay.

Of course, it’s not the truth. It won’t be fine. Not if we don’t get out of here.

They intended to brand her as if she were an animal and then sell her. Endure days, weeks, years, maybe the rest of her life in suffering. But if I can give her minutes of peace and comfort, letting her know she’s not alone, then I will.

A lone tear marks her pale temple as I struggle to suppress my own emotions.

You’re strong.

The scorching metal sears her lower back, causing her screams to echo through the room.

Mya has her hand covering her mouth as she cries for Danika’s pain.

Danika’s dreadful wails shatter me and I can't keep it inside any longer. Tears fall one by one and my stomach rolls with nausea.

What monsters.

Passing the prod back to his assistant, he crouches down and places his grubby hand on her back, observing her tear-streaked face. “Your shiny new owner should be here soon. So, I’m afraid our sessions are over.” He snares. “What a shame. I’ll miss that cunt of yours.”

“And here I was worried.” Danika struggles under his weight, and even battered and in physical pain, she doesn’t want to show full weakness.

He smiles. “Trust me, where you're going, you’ll wish it was me fucking you, little rabbit.” He drags her back to her metal prison and locks it, stomping away.

It wasn’t until they both left that I inspect her wound from my own cell. The letter etched onto her skin was already red and blistered. “Are you okay?” Dumb question, but I wasn’t sure what else to ask or say.

---