Page 9 of Silent as Sin
Too many eyes. Too much dirt. Too much me.
I wanted to run back to the crawlspace. At least the dark hadn’t stared.
But then Ashen crouched low, close enough that his face filled my vision and blocked the rest. His voice was quiet, meant only for me. “They’ll take care of you. You’re safe with them.”
Safe.
I didn’t know what that word meant anymore. But I wanted to.
I looked at the pregnant woman. At the older one. Their hands weren’t reaching to grab, just waiting. I swallowed hard, lungs shaking.
And then I stood.
Not gracefully. My legs were stiff, my body clumsy from too much stillness. But I stood.
The bikers shifted, whispering low, but I kept my eyes down, hair falling like a curtain. I followed the women toward the hall, away from the neon, away from the stares.
***
THE BATHROOM SMELLEDof soap and clean water. Tile chipped, mirror cracked at the corner, but the tub was full of steam. A folded stack of clothes sat on the counter, soft cotton, not rags.
Elara knelt awkwardly to check the temperature, her braid slipping over her shoulder. “It’s ready,” she murmured. “Take your time.”
Jewel set a towel within reach, her voice brisk. “Lock’s on the door. Use it if you want. Nobody comes in unless you let them.”
They didn’t crowd. They didn’t rush me.
When the door clicked shut behind them, the silence wasn’t heavy anymore. It was waiting.
I stripped slowly, skin crawling with the thought of all the eyes that had just been on me. The shirt, stiff with dirt, hit the floor with a sound that felt final. I stepped into the water and sank down, heat biting before it melted into my bones.
The grime lifted in clouds, swirling down the drain. My hair floated, heavy, tangles loosening under the water’s weight. I scrubbed until my skin ached, until red streaks burned across my arms, until I felt raw but lighter.
Steam curled higher, fogging the cracked mirror. For a heartbeat, it wasn’t steam I saw—it was the shimmer of heat waves on asphalt.
And the memory came.
The sun had been brutal that day, pressing down on my shoulders until sweat stung my eyes. The road shimmered with heat, gravel crunching beneath my shoes. I was nineteen, too tired from my shift at the diner to think much about anything but getting home.
Then I saw him.
An old man, slumped against the side of a truck with its hood propped open. His hat lay in the dirt, white hair plastered damp against his forehead. His chest rose shallow, wheezing, and when he groaned for help, it sounded so real it made my heart squeeze.
I didn’t stop to think. Didn’t question why the truck sat so far off the shoulder. Didn’t notice the other figure in the driver’s seat, slouched too low, pretending to sleep.
My mama raised me better than to ignore someone in need. So I went.
“Sir? Are you hurt?” I reached for him, crouched to steady his arm—
And the world snapped shut.
A rag jammed over my mouth, chemical-sweet and sharp, filling my lungs. Hands clamped down on me, too strong, too fast. My legs kicked, scraped against the gravel, but it didn’t matter.
The “old man” straightened, standing tall, laughing as the disguise fell away. “Got her,” he said, voice thick with triumph.
Another set of arms shoved me toward the truck. I fought. God, I fought. Nails tearing, lungs burning. The fumes filled me faster than I could fight them off.
The desert stretched wide and empty, no houses, no cars, no one to hear me. My scream never made it past the rag.
