Page 106 of Unexpected Heroine

My gaze scans the stained walls and drops to the floor. Dust balls in the corners. My eyes are drawn to one area in particular. Near the closet.

I squat down for a closer inspection, shining my flashlight on it.

My heart drops.

It’s not dust. It’s hair.

Blond hair.

Not a wig or a large bundle of locks. Nothing to indicate it was ripped out or cut. It’s just a little clump, likely what would gather in a house that hasn’t been cleaned in a while. A little more than I find in the tub after Lettie takes a shower. This could be hers or one of the many females who suffered inside these walls.

I’m unclear why it bothers me so much. But it fucking does.

Everything about this place is repulsive. Yet this tiny corner with a few strands of hair... feels so much fucking worse.

I’m not the type to let a puzzle go unsolved, so my mind naturally tries to connect the dots. Not about whatever I was looking for as a kid—because fuck that—but about what’s in front of me here and now.

Perhaps this wad of hair embodies the spirit of what happens here.

Inside these walls, pieces of these women are left behind.

Taken from them without their consent. Ripped from them. Then discarded and crumbled in the corner.

When they leave here, pieces of them remain. And although more hair can grow, the strands left behind can’t be restored.

These women will never be the same.

My sugar bear will never be the same.

A ball of rage uncoils inside me, shooting outward. Unable to quell the onslaught of fury, I bash my fist into the closet door, driving a hole right through it.

Again and again, I pummel the wooden door, fracturing it until it falls from the track. When it lands against the back of the closet, I pick it up by the sides and throw it behind me, slamming it into the wall in a fit of wrath. My chest vibrates with ferocity.

A wave of emotions starts at the base of my spine and surges upward, ejecting itself from my throat in a guttural wail. With each breath and every ounce of damage I inflict, my heart beats freer.

I’ve been tamping this shit down for too long.

There’s still more to unleash.

I barrel over to where the door landed and stomp it with my boot. The way I drive my foot violently through the splinters triggers an image of poor Lettie, huddled on the ground, with one of those monsters over her, kicking her in the ribs while she tucks herself into a ball. Burning anew, the hatred I harbor for those fuckers rattles through my bones.

My vision darkens as I punch holes in the wall, imagining it’s the face of her tormentors. The six of them who were here when we freed her. Another punch for Davidov. And another for Yev.

Eventually, the rancor leeches out of me, leaving me spent. I bend at the waist and gasp for oxygen.

I count to ten, attempting to regain whatever composure I can muster.

Opening my eyes, I survey the damage, feeling oddly satisfied. My vision catches on the inside of the closet where a panel is askew.

Jackpot.

I creep into the closet, shining my light into the crawl space behind the wall to see what’s inside. A pillow. A blanket. A small reading light taped to one of the wooden studs.

What the fuck is this hole? It’s eerily reminiscent of a solitary confinement space, but the comfort items don’t mesh.

Where’s Savin’s motherfucking box? He said it would be behind the panel, but I wasn’t expecting everything else.

A quick check of my watch tells me I don’t have time for a fucking scavenger hunt. Frustration spikes again, and I pound my fist into the pillow. Something crunches beneath it. Brows furrowing, I toss the pillow aside.

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