There I was—bound and blindfolded, in the middle of nowhere. My wrists ached from the ropes, my eyes hidden behind a reddish scarf that smelled faintly of smoke and iron. I felt like a condemned soul in a story, but this was no story. This was real.
I could only imagine how pitiful I looked—sitting there like a criminal on trial, yet guilty of nothing. The silence pressed against my ears until it roared like thunder, broken only by the rasp of my own breathing.
The last memory I had before this nightmare was the library. It had been quiet, the quiet that makes you hear your thoughts. I had gone there searching for a mathematics book to solve an assignment. My eyes scanned dusty shelves, my hands tracing the spines of forgotten texts, when I heard it—voices.
Whispers.
At first, I thought maybe I wasn't alone, that perhaps other students were studying late like me. Curiosity tugged at me, urging me closer, step by careful step, to hear what was being said.
Then, like a dagger to my chest, the words cut through the air:
"Just kill her."
The book slipped from my trembling fingers, falling to the floor with a thud that felt louder than a gunshot. My heart froze. My breath was locked in my throat. Before I could run, before I could even scream, something sharp and heavy struck me. And then—nothing.
When I woke, I was here.
I struggled against the ropes, desperation clawing at my throat. "Please," I whispered hoarsely, my voice barely more than a breath. "Please let me go. I didn't hear anything. I didn't see anyone. I swear I won't tell a soul. I won't go to the police. Just… let me go."
A voice answered. Harsh. Unforgiving. Heavy enough to crush me where I sat.
"Shut your mouth."
I froze instantly. It wasn't just the words—it was the authority in them. The kind of voice that didn't need to shout because it knew it would be obeyed.
Time passed slowly, dragging me through its cruelty. Seconds became minutes, minutes stretched into hours, and hours blurred into what I could only guess were two days. My body ached. My lips cracked with thirst. I hadn't eaten, hadn't washed, hadn't seen light. The only thing that kept me conscious was the splash of cold water they threw onto my face whenever I grew too weak. Thank God I had eaten before going to the library; if I hadn't, I might already be dead.
Two days in darkness, and I had begun to know them—not by sight, but by their voices.
There were four.
Caleb. It was the voice that silenced me that first day. He spoke with a slow anger, steady and deliberate, the kind that promised pain. I guessed he was the one in charge here, the leader among them.
Godwin. Always shouting, always snarling at me as though I were the root of his problems. Every time he opened his mouth, the air reeked of bitterness.
Clinton. His presence was marked by the stench of smoke. He puffed clouds into the air and sometimes forced me to inhale them, making me cough and choke until my head spun.
And Kelvin. The only one with a trace of kindness in him. He was the one who splashed water on my face gently, not harshly, the one who whispered under his breath when the others mocked me. He wasn't allowed to give me food, but I sensed he wanted to.
In the darkness, their voices became my world. I could almost map their movements, sense who stood closest, and feel the weight of their gazes even without sight.
Then it came.
A voice, heavier than usual, breaking the monotony of whispers and shuffling footsteps. Caleb's voice.
"The boss has arrived. His car's parked downstairs. He'll be here any moment. Hurry up—clean this place before he comes."
My heart lurched. Caleb wasn't the boss.
That meant someone else. Someone more dangerous. Someone above them all.
I heard chaos in the room—men moving hurriedly, dragging chairs, muttering curses, the sound of boots against concrete. Then silence, thick and suffocating, as another presence filled the space.
"Welcome, boss."
The greeting sent shivers down my spine.
Panic broke inside me like shattered glass. My voice spilled out in desperate pleas, tripping over itself: "Sir, please—I'm innocent! I didn't hear anything, I didn't see anything! I'm just a student, a poor student, I'm almost done with university—I beg you, I won't say a word. Please don't hurt me!"
The air shifted. I couldn't see him, but I felt him. A weight. A shadow larger than the others, stepping closer, closer still. My skin prickled, my breath caught in my chest. His presence was a storm pressing down on me, suffocating yet magnetic.
Then I felt it.
A hand. Large. Calloused. It brushed against my leg, trailing upward, lifting the edge of my gown slowly, deliberately, as though testing my reaction. Higher and higher, until it reached my thighs. I bit back a sob, my body trembling violently against the ropes.
But just as suddenly, he stopped.
"Untie her."
The command was sharp, final.
My wrists were freed. The ropes fell away, leaving angry red marks etched into my skin. The scarf slipped from my eyes, and light—dim, harsh, dizzying—burned into my vision.
For the first time in days, I could see.
Four men hovered around me, their faces stark in the gloom. Caleb. Godwin. Clinton. Kelvin. And beyond them, taller, broader, cloaked in shadows, stood him—the boss. His face still hidden, his presence overwhelming.
I blinked rapidly, my eyes struggling to adjust, my body weak from hunger and fear. My mind spun with questions, but one thought screamed louder than the rest:
Why had he untied me?
Did he want me to see their faces before he killed me?
Or had I just stepped into a far more dangerous fate than death itself?