Escape the Dark: A Stolen Girl's Game

"How much for the girl?" "Which one?" "Ththe one all the way in the back. Ponytail. Glasses." "Six grand." "Wwhy is she so damn expensive?" "Dosed her too hard.

Fucked up her voice, she's mute now. Otherwise she'd easily fetch ten. You don't want her, someone else will!" "A mute? What the hell good is that? Forget it.

I'm out." Chapter 1 My brain clawed its way through the fog. The pitchblack surroundings made me wonder if my eyes were even open.

The metallic stench of blood hit the back of my throat. I was awake. I blinked hard, forcing my vision to adjust to the gloom. Shapes materialized in the shadows. Women.

Tied to wooden beams with thick, rough rope. They were covered in dried blood and unnervingly silent. A single, rusted grate high on the wall offered the only sliver of moonlight.

Outside that grate, heavy boots crunched on dirt. Men in stained flannel shirts stood around smoking. They were pointing at us, their voices carrying through the night air.

They were talking numbers. Haggling over our price tags. The room spun. How did I end up here? I was supposed to be heading to college out of state.

I dug my nails into my palms, trying to force my brain to rewind. Nothing. A massive, gaping void.

The last thing I remembered was boarding the Greyhound out of my deadend town, heading for the main train hub. My eyelids had gotten heavy. The rumble of the engine. Then… nothing.

A glowing orange ember flicked through the iron bars. It hit the bare shoulder of a woman nearby. She thrashed against her ropes, a raw, guttural shriek tearing from her throat.

A shadow loomed over the grate. "Shut your mouth, bitch! Keep screaming and I'll stitch your lips together myself." The shrieks choked off instantly.

The women shrank back into the darkness. All I could hear was the frantic, synced rhythm of teeth chattering and ragged breathing. Bile surged up my throat.

What the hell was this place? I yanked my arms. Coarse rope bit into my wrists, scraping the skin raw. My hands were bound tight behind my back.

I could barely stretch my fingers far enough to brush against the freezing skin of the girl tied next to me. I opened my mouth to ask her if she was okay.

A razorsharp burn ripped through my windpipe.

Like swallowing shattered glass. "Ah… ahh!" I pushed air from my lungs, squeezing my vocal cords, but the only sound that spilled out was a pathetic, raspy wheeze.

The girl beside me slowly turned her head. Her eyes were dead, hollow pits. "Don't bother," she whispered, her voice cracking. "They dosed you too hard.

Your voice is gone." The air was sucked straight out of the room. My voice? My pulse hammered against my ears.

I forced my jaw open, throwing all my energy into forming a single word. Nothing.

The harder I pushed, the more my throat tore itself apart from the inside, sending hot spikes of agony shooting up into my ears. My chest hitched.

Hot, humiliating tears spilled over my cheeks, dropping onto the filthy concrete. My stomach cramped, a wave of nausea hitting me so hard I dryheaved. No. No, no, no.

Eighteen years of grinding. Endless nights studying under a flickering bulb. I was the only kid from my entire deadend zip code to secure a full ride to a decent college.

My ticket out. And now? Chained like an animal in some Godforsaken barn. Robbed of my own voice. "Ah… ah…" The pathetic rasp died on my tongue.

I slumped against the rough wooden post, my chest heaving. Through the blurry veil of my tears, I looked at the women around me. Nobody moved.

They just stared back, their eyes filled with a suffocating, useless pity. Chapter 2 "Poor thing. Looks so damn young. And completely mute." "She's dead meat.

If she was whole, maybe she'd get sold to a decent house. Now she's rotting in the backwoods for the rest of her life." "Pretty girl. What a waste." My breathing hitched.

I yanked my wrists apart. Not rope. Zip ties. The thick plastic bit straight into my flesh. The harder I fought, the deeper they sliced. The temperature plummeted.

It was already midautumn, and the damp cellar air seeped straight into my bones. They had stripped me down to a threadbare tshirt.

Outside the grate, the haggling finally died down. Total darkness swallowed the room. My teeth clattered uncontrollably.

I wasn't the only one; a collective, rhythmic shivering echoed around me. I have to get out. If I stay tied to this post, I am going to die here.

My stomach cramped, hollowed out after twentyfour hours without food. A heavy engine roared to life outside, vibrating through the concrete floor. "Well, look who it is!

Amos, here for the women!" Roscoe slapped the dirt off his jeans and scrambled up the concrete steps. He shoved a cigarette toward the older man with a greasy smile.

Amos didn't say a word. He just snatched the smoke and slapped a thick stack of hundreddollar bills straight into Roscoe's chest.

A sickening grin split Roscoe's face, stretching his skin tight over his cheekbones. "You always were a heavy hitter, Amos! Take a look at the fresh batch.

Pick any three you want." The heavy iron door shrieked open. The blinding beam of a flashlight swept across the room, hitting us one by one. "Wake the hell up!

Look alive!" Roscoe yelled around his cigarette. Every slumped body jerked bolt upright. A younger girl, practically a kid, completely lost it. She started crying, a loud, wet wail.

Roscoe closed the distance in two strides. He swung his arm back. Crack. The sickening sound echoed off the damp walls. The wailing stopped instantly. Nobody breathed.

We just watched the girl collapse, spitting a mouthful of dark blood onto the floor. Amos lowered his flashlight, shooting Roscoe a hard, judging stare.

Roscoe rubbed the back of his neck. "My bad. I'll keep it down next time." Heavy boots crunched on the cement. Step. Step. Amos was coming my way.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. The boots stopped right in front of me. Searing white light pierced my retinas.

I clamped my eyes shut, twisting my head away. "This one's decent." A rough, calloused hand clamped around my jaw.

Amos shoved his dirty fingers into my mouth, prying my lips apart to check my teeth like a horse at auction.

The suffocating stench of stale tobacco and unwashed grit coated my tongue. My stomach convulsed. I dryheaved around his fingers.

Roscoe leaned in, his breath hot against Amos's shoulder. "She's a prime cut, but damaged goods. Mute. We pushed the dosage too far." Amos didn't let go of my jaw.

He just stared down at me. Pure, unfiltered filth swam in his eyes. "Make a sound for me," he ordered. I forced my watering eyes open, staring straight into the blinding glare.

I looked at Amos, then flicked my gaze to Roscoe. These two bastards. They dragged me into this hell. I kept my mouth shut.

I locked my jaw, holding his gaze in absolute, dead silence. Chapter 3 Roscoe's thick fingers dug into my jawline, wrenching my face up. "Amos told you to make a sound!

You ain't deaf!" The searing pain forced hot tears from my eyes. My vocal cords spasmed, pushing out a pathetic, broken whine. Amos gave a slow nod. "She'll do.

I'm keeping this one for myself. Load her in the van and drop her at my place tonight." Roscoe practically tripped over himself nodding. "Arlo! Hey, Arlo! Throw a shirt on this one!

She's shipping out tonight!" A kid, maybe twelve or thirteen, swaggered out of the shadows. Arlo.

He was flipping a pocket knife in one hand and dragging a ratty flannel with the other.

He stopped beside me, shoved the shirt over my head, and sprinted right back out, laughing at some twisted joke in his head. "You should've come by this morning, Amos," Roscoe said. "We had prime stock then.

You're just looking at the leftovers now." Amos took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. "Don't remind me.

State troopers have been sniffing around the county line. But the boys in the compound are getting restless.

Winter's setting in, and they want heirs." "Loud and clear." "Keep a tight lid on this operation," Amos added, his tone dropping to a lethal calm. "You're the lifeline for this whole town." "You know I run a tight ship!" Roscoe barked a laugh.

A sharp chill shot down my spine. A dead weight slumped against my shoulder. The girl next to me.

I thought she had just passed out from exhaustion, but the skin pressing against my bare arm was freezing. I tilted my head, trying to feel her breath against my neck. Nothing.

Not a single rise or fall. "Ah!

Ah!" I jerked against my zip ties, pointing my chin frantically at the girl collapsed against me. "What the hell is wrong with you now, mute?" Roscoe stomped over.

I kept jerking my head, pleading with my eyes for him to look at her. He frowned, leaning in to press two rough fingers under her nose. "Damn it. She's dead.

What a waste of inventory." He wiped his fingers on his jeans in disgust. "Brock! Hey, Brock!" Roscoe yelled toward the door. "Take this one out back and bury her!

Total sunk cost!" A massive, heavily built man shoved through the doorway. Brock. A thick, white scar cut straight across his cheek. His face was a total blank slate.

He scooped the dead girl up over his shoulder like a sack of feed and headed back into the dark. A switch flipped in the room. The silence shattered. "Let us go!

I don't want to die here!" "Please! Amos, please! Take me too! I'll die if you leave me here!" Screams. Begging.

The damp concrete walls echoed with ragged breathing and the frantic scratching of boots against the floor. Roscoe pulled a black stun gun from his belt.

The blue electricity cracked through the air. "Shut the hell up!" he roared. "Next bitch to make a sound gets put in the dirt first!" The room flatlined. Instant, graveyard silence.

Amos finished pointing out two other girls. He clapped his hands once. "Load 'em up." Roscoe grabbed my collar, hauling me to my feet, and dragged me out the iron door.

Outside was just as pitchblack as the cellar. I couldn't even see my own boots. The heavy, rotting stench of livestock manure and dried blood coated the back of my throat.

My stomach clenched, fighting a fresh wave of nausea. Chapter 4 Roscoe shoved me into the back of a beatenup cargo van. The other two women were tossed in right after me.

Our eyes locked in the dark. Nobody said a word, but their wide, blownout pupils screamed the exact same thought pounding in my head. Roscoe drove. Brock rode shotgun.

Arlo sat in the back with us, rhythmically flicking the blade of his pocket knife open and shut. "Put the damn knife away!" Roscoe yelled over his shoulder before throwing the van into gear. "You scratch up the merchandise, the damage comes out of your cut!" Arlo rolled his eyes and snapped the blade shut.

We crawled up the mountain. The dirt switchbacks were treacherous, forcing Roscoe to ride the brakes the whole way up. "Hey, Brock.

Take a guess what this haul pulled in." Roscoe drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel, humming offkey. Brock just shook his heavy head.

Roscoe took a hand off the wheel and held up three fingers. "Thirty grand! Clean. I swear, the guys in this compound are out of their minds.

Dropping six months' pay just to secure a breeder." "Amos is a heavy roller, though. Didn't even blink at the mute. I wouldn't drop a dime on a defective wife.

No fun if they can't make a sound." My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. My body shook, vibrating against the metal floor panels. Defective.

He was the one who poured that chemical fire down my throat. Give me one clear shot, and I'll tear his vocal cords out with my bare hands. I locked eyes with Arlo.

The kid caught my glare and hawked a thick glob of spit straight onto my cheek. "What're you staring at, bitch?" I dragged my bound hands up and wiped the warm saliva off my skin in dead silence.

The van finally lurched to a halt. I caught a glimpse of the digital clock on the dash. 8:00 PM. Roscoe yanked the back doors open and dragged us out into the dirt.

A crowd had already gathered.

Men stepped out of the shadows, circling us like vultures. "Amos gave the green light!" Roscoe announced, leaning against the van. "Come claim your property." A scrawny, twitchy guy pushed his way to the front of the pack. "Ththat one's mine." He grabbed one of the women by the wrist and hauled her toward the cabins.

She didn't fight back. She just let her feet drag in the dust. After the basement, submitting to this guy was probably her brain's only survival mechanism left.

Another man stepped up and dragged the second woman off. That left me alone by the bumper. The remaining crowd zeroed in on me. Whispers, jeers, and dirty laughs echoed in the dark.

A couple of kids darted forward, pinching the exposed skin on my thighs hard enough to leave dark bruises. I jerked back, letting out a raw, broken wheeze. The kids laughed harder.

The adults cheered them on. My hands were still ziptied. I couldn't do a damn thing. The deep rumble of a motorcycle sliced through the noise.

Amos killed the engine, stepped off his bike, and clamped his thick hand around my upper arm. He marched me straight toward his property. It was a sprawling, gated farmhouse.

Cheap red paper ribbons and crude wedding decorations were taped to every single window pane. The cold reality slammed into my chest. He was marrying me tonight.

Chapter 5 Pure instinct took over. I wrenched my arm out of his grip. I bolted into the dark. "Grab her! The bitch is running!" Amos's voice ripped through the night.

The compound was pitchblack. No streetlights. I plunged into the void, blind and disoriented, my boots slipping on the loose dirt. The silence shattered.

Heavy footsteps multiplied behind me, closing in fast. I risked a terrified glance over my shoulder.

A dozen blinding flashlight beams sliced through the darkness, charging straight for me. My lungs seized, refusing to pull in oxygen. My toe caught a jagged rock.

I slammed hard into the dirt. Instantly, rough hands were all over me. They hoisted me into the air, hauling me back toward the farmhouse. I thrashed. I kicked. Useless.

I was just a fish suffocating on dry land. Amos loomed over me. I was covered in mud and gasping for air. His heavy palm cracked across my cheek. "Dumb mute!

Think you're tough, huh?" The men circling us erupted in deep, guttural laughter. "Break her in right!" "Let's see if you still got it tonight, Amos!" Amos ignored them, his jaw clenched tight.

He grabbed my collar and dragged me inside the house, slamming the door shut. "Wash up." There was no door to the bathroom.

Just an exposed, rusted showerhead dripping onto the cracked tile. I backed against the cold wall, my chest heaving. I wasn't moving an inch. "Strip! You ain't deaf!

You want me to do it for you?" I pressed myself harder against the tile. "Fine. Let's do this the hard way." He lunged.

The suffocating stench of stale sweat and cheap liquor washed over me. His thick, calloused fingers ripped at my shirt.

I twisted my body violently, trying to dodge him, but my hands were still bound tight. I was trapped. I dropped my weight to the floor.

I pulled my knees to my chest and kicked out with everything I had. My heavy boot connected deadcenter with his groin. Amos let out a highpitched, agonized howl and doubled over.

Shadows flickered against the redtaped windows. The guys outside hadn't left. When they heard Amos squeal, the yard exploded with roaring laughter. "Damn, Amos!

The girl ain't even screaming yet, what are you whining about?" "Don't embarrass us out here!" The humiliation snapped whatever restraint Amos had left.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair. He yanked upward. Whitehot agony ripped across my scalp. Tears stung my eyes.

I was forced to my feet, stumbling to relieve the pressure before he ripped the hair straight from the roots. "To hell with the shower!" he spat. "I'm doing this right now." He threw me onto the hard wooden bed.

His heavy belt buckle clinked as he fumbled with his pants. I launched myself off the mattress. I drove my forehead directly into the bridge of his nose. Amos froze.

Then, two massive hands locked around my throat. My airway collapsed. My heart hammered frantically against my ribs.

My lungs burned for oxygen, but his thumbs dug deeper into my windpipe. I stared up into his eyes. There was no lust left. Just pure, unadulterated murder.

Black spots danced in my vision. The room tilted. My body went numb. [Flashback] "How much for the girl?" "Which one?" "Ththe one all the way in the back. Ponytail.

Glasses." … Chapter 6 My brain clawed its way through the fog. The pitchblack surroundings made me wonder if my eyes were even open.

The familiar metallic stench of blood slammed into my sinuses, snapping my nerves to full attention. I was awake. What the hell? How was I back in the exact same cellar?

I whipped my head around. The women tied to the posts. Everything was exactly the same. A cold numbness paralyzed my limbs.

The girl tied next to me—the one who had literally died against my shoulder last night—was sitting upright, breathing. Was I… in a loop? My brain shifted into hyperdrive.

The gears clicked into place. This time, I needed to shatter the sequence. Outside the rusted grate, the same heavy boots scuffed the dirt.

The exact same haggling over our price tags. I forced air up my windpipe. A pathetic, ragged wheeze scraped past my lips. Still mute. A heavy weight dropped in my gut.

How was I supposed to orchestrate an escape without a voice? An orange ember flicked through the bars. It hit a bare shoulder. A raw shriek. The exact same timeline.

The girl beside me slowly turned her head. Her hollow eyes locked onto mine. "Don't bother. They dosed you too hard. Your voice is gone." I stared back.

I wanted to shake her, to scream that she was going to die tonight. But my throat was a sealed vault. Her skin was a sickly, jaundiced yellow.

Her eyelids drooped, her chest barely rising and falling against the ropes. She was already fading. Total darkness swallowed the room. The iron door shrieked open.

Amos and Roscoe stepped in. I felt the drop in temperature. I knew the girl beside me was seconds away from flatlining.

I threw my weight against the zip ties and forced a sound out. "Ah!

Ah!" Roscoe stomped over. "What the hell is wrong with you, mute?" I jerked my chin frantically toward the dying girl. Roscoe followed my gaze.

His eyes narrowed, catching the unnatural slump of her shoulders. "Arlo! Get a bowl of oatmeal and a shirt down here! Now!

Don't let this one die on me, she's a sunk cost!" Arlo forced the oatmeal down her throat. A faint flush of color returned to her cheeks. I let my muscles untense.

At least she wasn't going to turn into a corpse on my shoulder again. Heavy boots crunched on the cement. Amos stopped right in front of me.

History repeating itself. "This one's decent." "She's a prime cut, but damaged goods," Roscoe chimed in. "Mute. We pushed the dosage too far." "She'll do.

I'm keeping this one for myself. Load her in the van and drop her at my place tonight." I didn't thrash. I didn't pull away.

I just locked eyes with Amos, maintaining a dead, calculated glare. Roscoe dragged me out and shoved me into the back of the cargo van. Amos had selected the exact same two women.

We huddled in the dark.

Arlo sat across from us, rhythmically flicking his pocket knife open and shut. "Put the damn knife away!" Roscoe yelled over his shoulder. "You scratch up the merchandise, the damage comes out of your cut!" Arlo rolled his eyes and snapped the blade shut.

My eyes locked onto the outline of that knife in his pocket. A tactical map unfolded in my head. I shifted my gaze to the double doors at the back of the van.

They weren't padlocked. Just slammed shut on a loose latch. I pulled my knees tight to my chest. I aimed deadcenter. And I kicked Arlo straight out the back of the moving van.

Chapter 7