Chapter 2: Iron Doors

Elodie's POV

They say one’s instinct is never wrong, and I should have listened to mine. That gut feeling that twisted my stomach the moment Colin showed me those tickets for this trip, that terrible nightmare I had that night—it was right. I was right to feel that way.

The first thing I felt was the pounding in my head. It was sharp and steady, like someone knocking from the inside. My throat was dry, and my lips were cracked. The air felt wrong, it was thick, hot, and heavy. It clung to my skin, smelling like dust and leather.

I blinked my eyes open, slow and unsteady, as the ceiling above me spun for a moment before settling. I wasn’t in my hotel room.

"Shit!" My head throbbed as I sat up, pushing my tangled red hair out of my face. Strands stuck to my skin, damp with sweat. My eyes tried to adjust to the dim light, but nothing around me felt familiar.

Then it all came rushing back—Colin’s anger, his shouting, him driving off and leaving me there, the footsteps behind me. The cloth pressed over my nose. Everything came back like a wave crashing down on me.

Panic shot through my chest, and I sat up too fast. My vision blurred before clearing again. I looked around, my heart racing.

The room was small and bare, with stone walls, and no windows. Just a heavy metal door on the far side and a dim light flickering above me. The air was so still it felt like the place had been shut for years. I wasn’t supposed to be here.

I scrambled off the mattress, nearly tripping over the chain around my ankle.

A chain.

My scream caught in my throat.

“Hey! Hello?! Someone— let me out!” I shouted, slamming my fists against the door. It didn’t even rattle, instead, the screaming added to my pounding headache.

No answer, just silence. But I continued banging... and then I heard faint footsteps outside. It was slow and deliberate.

I backed away, my heart hammering as the door creaked open. A tall stocky man stepped in. He had gold rings on every finger. He looked like the type of guy who’d kill for fun and smile while doing it.

I swallowed hard when he approached me, my feet moving backwards.

“You’re awake,” he said in Spanish-accented English, smirking. “Good. He’ll want to see you now.”

“He?” I spat. “Who the hell is he?”

The man ignored me. He unclipped the chain from the floor, tugged hard, and I stumbled forward. He gripped my arm and pulled me with him.

"Fucking let go of me! Let me go!!" I fought, shoved, and kicked, but he just laughed and dragged me out like I was nothing more than property.

Like I already belonged to someone.

He dragged me out of the room and into a hallway. It narrow, and the air was damp and heavy. The walls looked old and wet, and the ground felt sticky beneath my bare feet. There were doors on both sides—thick iron doors like the one I’d just come from.

I heard faint sounds from behind those doors. Soft sobs, someone whispering, then a scream and another cry followed. My stomach twisted hard as I pressed my lips together to stop the bile from rising.

Fuck, I wasn’t the only one. There were others here too.

I pulled against his grip, trying to break free. “Let me go!” I yelled again, twisting my wrist, but his hand only tightened around my arm like a clamp.

“Stop fighting,” he said, sounding bored.

I didn’t. I bent down fast and bit his hand as hard as I could. He shouted, cursing in Spanish, and his hold loosened. I didn’t wait, my feet bolted.

My heart thudded in my chest, loud and uneven. I didn’t know where I was going, just that I needed to get away. The hallway stretched ahead, endless and dark, but it was better than being with him.

I didn’t dare look back. My breath came in sharp gasps as I turned a corner, trying to remember where the room was... anywhere to hide.

But suddenly, a sharp, painful tug at my scalp. "Ahhhh!" I screamed as my head snapped backward. He had caught up to me.

I was yanked around, and before I could speak, his hand came hard across my face, twice.

The sound cracked through the hallway. My cheek burned, and I fell to the floor, tasting blood on my tongue.

He laughed, low and cruel. “There’s nowhere to go, chica. No one leaves this place. You'd better get used to it.”

"No..." I muttered as tears blurred my vision. I pressed my face to the cold ground, sobbing quietly as he grabbed my hair again and forced me up, making me wince in pain.

He pulled out a rough rope from his back pocket and tied my wrists tight. Then, without a word, he lifted me over his shoulder like I was nothing and started walking.

The last thing I saw before darkness filled my eyes again was the hallway fading behind us, door after door, filled with someone else’s pain.

***

Cold water hit my face before I even opened my eyes. I gasped and jerked awake, choking on the water rushing down my nose and mouth. I blinked fast, coughing hard, and my body shaking as the water kept coming. My wrists burned when I tried to move, they were tied.

When I finally caught my breath, I realized I was lying on a wet concrete floor. The air stink of mold and something sour. My head was throbbing badly, and my skin was sticky and cold.

I looked around, my heart hammering. It was a large washroom, but filthy. The walls were covered in grime, the drains half-clogged, and the floor flooded with murky water.

Then I saw other girls. There were at least eight of them, maybe more, all standing there. They looked young and scared… lost. Some couldn’t have been older than eighteen. And they were all naked.

I looked down and gasped when I saw that I was too. My stomach dropped. I tried to stand, to cover myself, but the rope around my wrists pulled tight and I fell back to my knees.

A man holding a hose shouted something in a language I didn’t understand, his tone was sharp and impatient. “Wash!” he barked again, spraying another girl who whimpered under the stream.

Another man laughed as he walked past, hitting the hose against the ground to splash water at our feet.

I froze, hugging myself as much as I could, my breath trembling. My teeth chattered from the cold, but I didn’t dare speak.

I just stared at the water running around me, dirty and brown, and tried not to cry.

Whatever this place was, it wasn’t just a room anymore. It was hell.

I felt a sudden tug on my hand. I flinched, trying to pull my hands away from the man's grip.

"¡Compórtate!" He shot at me, pulling my hands towards him again and he loosened the rope. The rope left visible red marks on my wrist, and I rubbed my wrists, trying to soothe the pain.

"Go wash!" He shot again in English.

I finally looked at him, glaring hard. Half of his face had a beard sitting on it, a long scar from the side of his face to his cheek and I caught a gold tooth when he spoke.

I wasn't going to be stubborn right now, so I just glared at him and stood to my feet. I placed my hands over my exposed breasts and butt, trying to cover what's left of my dignity.

I pulled my feet towards where the other girls were bathing. They all seemed scared, some had visible scars on their faces and bodies. My hand came to my face and I winced, remembering that asshole who hit me.

I couldn't see him here, but I promise to make him pay for what he did. How I'll do it? That I don't know yet.