I let out another long sigh as I sank into the seat beside Bella — for what felt like the thousandth damn time today. My body went through the motions on autopilot: sit, look around, scan every face, every corner, every shadow for someone who even remotely resembled her.
Nothing. Not even close.
"Have the cops said anything?" Bella muttered, slumping back into her seat. She sounded drained in a way I hadn't heard before. We both were.
But for Noah... we'd run ourselves into the ground if we had to.
"Nothing. Apparently they're 'still investigating.'" I scoffed, the word sour in my mouth. "Total bullshit."
Then — a flicker. A head of black and grey hair in the corner of the bus stop.
My heart jerked. I shot up so fast the seat squealed beneath me, my legs carrying me toward her before my brain even caught up.
She turned as I approached, and reality crashed into me.
Just an old woman. Hair too light, too thin, not at all the streaked pattern Bella had described. Not her.
Not even close.
"Sorry," I muttered quickly, backing away, embarrassment and frustration burning hot under my skin.
I dropped back into the seat beside Bella, rubbing my face with both hands.
"I swear I'm losing my mind," I whispered. "But if it gets us closer to Noah... then I don't care."
"We'll find him. I swear we will," Bella said, giving me a look full of worn-out hope. In moments like this, having Bella — practically my sister at this point — was the only thing keeping me upright.
I nodded, forcing a smile.
We were so close... yet still painfully far.
I took a slow bite of the sandwich, barely tasting the chicken as I stared blankly at the TV Laura had mounted earlier—some random podcast with girls tearing into OnlyFans models.
One of the men even started crying halfway through and stormed off. The girls laughed. I didn't. I didn't feel anything anymore.
Five days.
Five days since I was taken.
I'd managed to work my hands free in that time—not enough to escape, just enough to pretend at freedom. If I wasn't forcing myself to watch whatever trash Laura put on, I was either crying... or being used.
I shook the thought out of my head before it spiraled, focusing back on the sandwich. At least she'd switched things up—no more ham or turkey slapped between cold bread. Chicken, and a little bag of Mister Vickie's jalapeño chips. My stomach didn't care what it was. It was food.
God, I missed cooking. I missed real meals. But more than anything, I missed my girls.
Once I get out of here...
If I get out of here...
I flexed my fingers a little too hard, pain shooting up each digit like sparks. Even after days, they still throbbed from when she'd ripped my nails out.
They looked ugly and raw, but they'd grow back eventually... right? At least she hadn't carved anything into me yet. I kept waiting for her to brand me with her name like some sick signature, but she hadn't brought it up.
Not yet.
I heard her footsteps before I saw her—soft, slow, deliberate taps against the wood floor. My whole body went cold. My throat tightened. She slid into the bed behind me like a shadow slipping under a door, her warmth pressing against my back.
Her arms found their way around my waist with practiced ease, hands roaming slowly, possessively. Her chin settled on my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck.
"Can you change the video...? It's making me sad," I murmured, trying to keep my voice steady.
She didn't hesitate. She reached around me, grabbed the remote, and flicked to another video. This time it was a man baking brownies and cookies—the sound of the whisk, the clink of the bowl, the oven door shutting. Ridiculously normal. Painfully normal.
I sank into it.
My mind drifted—nights on the couch with Elara and Bella, all of us wrapped up in blankets eating warm cookies I'd made, Bella complaining that hers was too hot and Elara burning her tongue anyway because she refused to wait.
My chest tightened. I sniffed, a tear slipping down my cheek as I brought a chip to my mouth. Even the spice burned differently now.
Behind me, her grip tightened just enough to remind me I wasn't free.
"It's okay..." she whispered, her lips brushing the edge of my ear. "I know you're still adjusting. You'll forget about everything soon. You already love me, after all."
A shiver ran up my spine. Not the good kind.
I nodded slowly, not trusting myself to speak. I played into whatever fantasy she'd built around me—whatever lie she needed to believe. Because the more she thought I submitted, the less she'd hurt me.
And maybe... maybe that would buy me enough time to survive this hell hole.
I sat mesmerized by the flickering video on the screen, the dim light casting shadows across the room, while Laura's hands roamed my body with a possessive hunger.
Her fingers danced over my skin, teasing and testing its limits, pinching lightly at sensitive spots and rubbing with deliberate pressure, as if I were a plaything crafted just for her amusement.
Her touch grew bolder, slipping lower down my torso, grazing the spot where my pubic hair once sat—trimmed into a neat heart shape, the way Elara had preferred it. That was gone now, scraped clean at Laura's insistence.
She'd made it clear she despised any trace of hair on her men, her voice sharp with disgust when she moved the razor over my skin.
Her fingers brushed against my cock, tentative at first, then more insistent, squeezing and tugging with a rhythm that sent a shiver through me.
Her other hand slid upward, finding my nipple, flicking it with a quick, sharp motion before pinching hard enough to make me gasp. I let out a low sigh, my body instinctively leaning back into her, surrendering to the wave of sensation.
"Relax, baby," she murmured against my ear, her breath hot and teasing. "You know I've got you."
I closed my eyes for a moment, the video forgotten, her touch consuming every thought. I'd let her play with me like this, just as I always did—her rules, her game.
Find me soon, Elara and Bella...