The first thing Rose registered was the pounding in her skull.
A deep, insistent throb that echoed behind her eyes, like a hammer striking inside her head. Her tongue felt like sandpaper, thick and dry, stuck to the roof of her mouth. Thirst. Her throat burned with it. Her muscles screamed with every shift, her body aching as though she'd been hauling bricks uphill for miles. She groaned softly, her eyes fluttering open against the glare of a blinding bulb overhead.
The light was harsh and white, almost clinical—but the space around her was far from it.
She was lying on a metal-framed bed with a lumpy, stained mattress. Her wrists stung. She looked down and blinked. Cuffs. Thick metal cuffs looped tightly around her wrists, bolted to the steel rails on either side. Her breath caught in her throat.
She slowly sat up, her joints creaking in protest, her entire body feeling like it had been rolled down a gravel road. As her vision adjusted, she took in the room around her.
It was windowless. Concrete walls. A rusted metal door with bolt locks. Stacks of wooden crates and cardboard boxes surrounded her like a maze, covered in dust and duct tape. Shelves were cluttered with tools, chains, wires, metal scraps, bottles of chemicals with faded labels. The air was thick with the sharp tang of antiseptic, metal, and the faint, dried scent of blood. There was no clock. No sound of birds or traffic. Nothing to tell her the time or place. It could've been dawn or midnight or somewhere in between.
She was utterly cut off from the world.
Just as the panic started to edge in, the sound of creaking hinges shattered the silence.
Her head snapped toward the door.
Footsteps. Heavy, unhurried boots. Then two figures entered the room.
The first was tall and broad-shouldered, built like a linebacker. A scar slashed diagonally across his jaw, and tattoos coiled down his arms like serpents. He wore a stained white tank top and carried the weight of someone who enjoyed violence. The other man was slimmer, nervy—his hands trembling slightly as he carried a tray.
Soup. A hunk of bread. A glass of water. A few pills in a paper cup.
The door clanged shut behind them, the sound reverberating through the walls like a prison bell.
"You're awake," the tattooed one said, his voice gravelly and low, laced with a thick Italian accent.
Rose narrowed her eyes. "No. Still dreaming. Worst spa day ever."
His upper lip curled, and he ran his tongue along his teeth. "Want me to cut your tongue off?"
She met his gaze without blinking. "Want me to cut your dick off?"
A smirk ghosted across his face, then vanished. She could see it in his eyes—the flicker of something darker, more dangerous. She was playing with fire, but she didn't care. Not anymore.
"Kevin," he said, turning to the jittery man with the tray. "Only the pussy stays in one piece, yeah?"
Kevin paled, gripping the tray tighter. "Uh… B-Benito, the boss said… he said she has to be delivered in one piece. All of her. He wants her in good condition."
Benito scoffed. "Lucky bitch. Kept by Salvatore. Then Nikolai. Now a new owner. Must be nice, being passed around like a prize."
He leaned in close, and Rose could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. She didn't hesitate. She spat in his face.
His body tensed. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then crack—his palm slammed across her cheek, so hard her head snapped sideways. Her skin burned from the force.
"Jesus, Benito!" Kevin shouted, nearly dropping the tray. "What the hell?"
"She spit on me!" he snarled, wiping his cheek.
Kevin rushed to Rose's side, eyes wide with panic. Her cheek was already red, swelling. She stared straight ahead, her eyes watery—but no tears. Only fire. Rage.
"Are you okay?" Kevin asked quietly, placing the tray on the table next to her. "Do you… do you feel pain? We brought painkillers. You should eat first, or they'll make you sick."
"I don't want them," she growled through clenched teeth.
"You see?" Benito laughed bitterly. "Ungrateful bitch. Most hostages don't get soup and painkillers. But she's special."
"Oh, how lucky I am," Rose snapped, her voice laced with venom. "Abducted, drugged, slapped. Truly living the dream."
Benito stared at her, his jaw tight. "Let's go. If I stay, I'll break her jaw."
He turned on his heel and stomped toward the door.
Kevin hesitated, giving her one last look. "I'm sorry," he muttered under his breath. "I… I didn't sign up for this."
"Run while you can," Rose whispered. "Because Nikolai will find you." Brnito laughed.
"Keep dreaming."
As the door slammed shut behind them, the room fell into silence again.
The stillness was deafening.
Her cheek throbbed with pain. She tasted blood in her mouth. But worse than the physical ache was the cold, crushing realization that she was alone. There was no way to know where she was. No window to glimpse the sky. No sound to guess if she was underground or above it.
She didn't know how long she'd been here. Hours? Days?
She swallowed, trying to push down the lump in her throat. Her hands balled into fists, the cuffs rattling against the bedrails.
Nikolai. Alejandro. Someone… please.
The tears came then, soft and hot. She turned her face toward the wall, letting them fall silently. No sobs. No wails. Just slow, bitter drops of salt and sorrow.
She thought of Nikolai's hand in hers. Of Alejandro's laugh. Of her red curls blowing in the wind in Brooklyn just days ago.
Had it only been days?
She didn't want to think about what would happen if they couldn't find her in time. She didn't want to imagine what kind of man this "new keeper" was. Another Salvatore? A man who took without asking, who saw women as trophies and hostages instead of humans?
She wouldn't survive that again.
She couldn't.
But she also refused to break.
Through the tears, she clenched her jaw, staring at the flickering bulb above her head. Even if they stripped her of everything—her safety, her dignity, her freedom—they would not take her spirit.
She would hold on.
To the memory of laughter.
To the promise of love.
To the hope that someone out there was looking for her, tearing the city apart to bring her home.
And if they came too late… then she'd find her own way to burn this place to the ground.