Page 32 of Irreversible

The other man lets out a gritty chuckle. “How soon can we do this?”

“I’ll have her ready in ten minutes. We’ll take care of the final payment first.”

Lightning strikes my heart as horror rains down.

Ten minutes.

Why do I get years, and this woman only gets ten minutes?

I’m wondering how long Nick has left when I’m ambushed by a cacophony of terror and noise.

The woman’s panicked screeching. Faraway pounding and anguished shouts, coming from other cells. My wild heartbeats suffocating me.

“Oh, God, please! No, please, no!”

Footsteps. Murmuring. Sick laughter.

“What the fuck!What the fu?—”

Her voice clips off, followed by a loudthump.

I imagine her body hitting the ground.

Pulling away from the door, I drag both hands through my overgrown hair as my nails catch between the tangled strands. The pounding and racket taper off as an eerie silence replaces the horror-movie soundtrack.

Nick remains quiet, which surprises me.

I’m used to screaming, wall-mauling, and baseless threats—especially from the male captives. The men never last long. And the louder they are, the shorter their time is. Given Nick’s aloof disposition and penchant for ill-timed sarcasm, part of me wonders if he’s been through worse than this.

Impossible.

I step closer to the dividing wall between us, my nose an inch away. “You listened to me,” I say to him. “You were quiet.”

A long pause. “What the fuck is yelling going to do?”

“I don’t know. What did it do yesterday?”

He doesn’t respond, and I wonder if he’s smirking or scowling.

“Ever tried busting through this thing?” he finally asks.

“Of course. We all have.” I tap a fingernail against the white panel and rub my chapped lips together. “Don’t bother; you’ll only end up hurting yourself. It’s reinforced with something.”

“Figures.”

“How did you sleep?”

Nick’s chain rattles briefly, and I picture him sitting on his mattress, trying to get comfortable in the most comfortless place on earth.

“Like shit. You talk in your sleep.”

I blink at the wall, my brows gathering into a frown. “I do not.”

“Mm.”

“I don’t.” Traipsing over to my cot, I drop to my knees and inch forward. Then I clear my throat, adding, “What did I say?”

“Since it had nothing to do with how to break out of here, I didn’t care enough to take notes. Why don’t you have a chain?”

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