Page 8 of Until You Break

The heavy clang ofthe door pulls me from the fragile comfort of Dominic’s presence. I glance up, heart seizing as two men step inside, their faces hidden behind red and yellow neon stitch masks.

My breath catches, instinctively pushing myself against the far wall, hoping—praying—that maybe they’re here for something else. Since I’ve been taken, we see them twice every few hours when they drop off food, so maybe that’s what they’re here for.

But there are no trays in their hands. Instead, they move toward my cell; the glowing smiles on their masks twisted and wrong, each step sending a surge of cold terror through me.

I hear Dominic before I see him, his voice loud. “Hey! Don’t touch her!”

He grabs the bars, slamming his fists against them, his voice breaking with panic. “Take me instead,” he says, desperation in his voice. “Leave her! You don’t need her!”

Yellow Mask turns and takes a step toward Dominic. “Oh, you want to volunteer?” His modulated voice is mocking, filled witha cold amusement that sends another wave of dread crashing over me.

Dominic nods, swallowing hard. “Please… take me. You don’t have to touch her.”

They ignore him, coming closer, their movements unhurried, like they’re used to the fear and desperation of their captors. I press back harder against the wall, my entire body rigid with terror. I feel my chest tightening, every instinct screaming at me to run, but there’s nowhere to go.

Dominic doesn’t stop. His voice grows louder, more frantic as his fists pound against the bars. “She’s not worth it. I am! Just take me, you fuckers. Leave her alone!”

Red Mask pauses, then turns to look at him. For a second, hope flares in my chest. Maybe… maybe they’ll listen. But he just snorts, glancing back at his partner before nodding. Then they move forward, swinging Dominic’s cell door open with a loud clang.

Dominic doesn’t move as they close in on him, his eyes flickering over to me with something I can’t quite place—maybe a sliver of apology, or regret. He looks calm, almost too calm, like he’s resigned to what’s coming.

Before I know what’s happening, they’re dragging him out in front of me. Dominic thrashes, throwing punches that barely connect before Yellow Mask grabs his arms, twisting them behind his back.

“Leave him alone!” I scream, my voice shrill, echoing off the concrete walls. I want to run forward, to do something, anything, but I’m frozen, trapped in the corner.

Red Mask raises his fist, and it crashes down on Dominic’s face, a sickening crack filling the air. I gasp, my hands covering my mouth as I watch, horrified. Dominic doesn’t stop struggling, though. He spits blood, his eyes blazing with fury even as they beat him down, his voice slurred as he shouts at them.

“Motherfuckers!” he snarls, even as they hit him again, each blow landing with brutal, calculated precision. He grunts, barely able to keep himself up on his knees, but he still glares at them, refusing to back down.

Yellow Mask shoves him inside his cell, sending him sprawling to the ground, and finally, they turn back to me. Dominic’s on the floor, barely moving, a faint groan escaping his lips as he tries to lift his head.

“Don’t… don’t touch her,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse.

But they ignore him, closing in on me. My heart pounds so hard I think it might burst, my stomach twisting as they grab my arms, dragging me out of the cell. Dominic’s eyes meet mine for a split second, and I see the agony, regret, and helplessness on full display.

He did this for me, and they’re still taking me.

“Dominic!” I scream, my voice breaking as they pull me away and slam the door.

They drag me down the cold, narrow hallway, my feet stumbling as I try to resist, to slow them down, but they’re relentless. They pull me into a stark room with a single shower in the corner, its tiles cracked, the smell of mildew thick in the air.

Red Mask shoves me inside, pointing to the shower; his voice cold and robotic through the mask. “Strip.”

I hesitate, dread curling in my stomach, and I shake my head, backing away. “No… please…”

Yellow Mask steps forward, raising a hand like he might hit me, and I shrink back; my hands trembling as I reach for the hem of my shirt. My cheeks burn with shame, my entire body shaking as I peel it off, piece by piece, until I’m standing there, exposed and vulnerable.

“Hurry up and clean yourself,” he snaps, and I know I don’t have a choice.

I step under the shower, turning on the water, my fingers trembling as I scrub the dirt and grime from my skin. The water is lukewarm, barely enough to wash off the terror clinging to me, but I go through the motions, doing exactly as they say.

When I’m done, they hand me a rough towel, watching me dry off with that same detached interest. And then, as if this is all some twisted routine, one of them raises a cellphone, the flash blinding me for a second. I flinch, my heart racing, but he snaps another picture, and another, like he’s documenting every part of me.

“Looks good,” Red Mask mutters to the other, glancing down at the screen. “She’ll bring a decent price.”

I feel the bile rising in my throat, the word price echoing in my mind; a cruel reminder that I’m nothing more than a commodity to them. Just another piece of property to be bought and sold.

They barely glance at me as they continue their conversation, as if I’m not even here.

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