Page 64 of Savage Little Secret

I blink to clear them and catch sight of my reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror. A pang of shock and sadness hits me like a kick to the chest. I barely recognize myself.

Every time that I come in here, I look worse. My hair is matted and tangled. Flecks and smears of dried blood litter my face, and my bottom lip is cut and swollen. Dark crescents have formed under my eyes, which look red and glassy from exhaustion.

But I’m alive. So far.

I glance down at my stomach and gently touch it, a swell of emotions rising in my chest and throat. I didn’t expect this to be so emotional, but the possible baby growing inside of me is the biggest reason why I’m fighting so damn hard right now.

My face hardens with determination as I look back up and start pulling open the few cabinets and drawers of the bathroom counter. They’ve already taken out most items, but they’ve left a few behind.

A few stray Q-tips. An almost empty tube of toothpaste. A broken flosser pick.

Nothing of interest. Nothing that can help me.

Until I pull open the top right drawer and see a few more items.

A little compact mirror. A tube of lip gloss. And an eyelash curler.

Come to think of it, I have heard some women laughing in the distance when I was trapped downstairs. It wouldn’t surprise me if they had some women come out to keep them company while they’re stuck all the way out here.

They must freshen up in the bathroom.

The lip gloss and eyelash curler are useless, but as I flip open the palm-sized compact mirror and stare at the glass, an idea pops into my mind.

Without a second thought, I smash the glass of the top half against the bathroom counter, making the pieces clatter around my feet.

The men roar at the TV. Nobody hears a thing.

I drop down and pick up a piece that’s about two inches long and jagged at the end. A perfect size to hide in my grip.

My pulse quickens as I hurry up and clean up the rest of the glass. I wince as the shards dig into my fingertips, but I don’t have time to fret over the pain. I toss the mirror and its glass pieces into the garbage can, my eyes lifting to the door just as I hear heavy footsteps approaching.

“Shit,” I whisper before lunging toward the toilet to flush it. I haul myself up to my feet and hastily tie the blindfold around my eyes, my fingers shaking.

Before Heavy Foot yanks the bathroom door open, I wrap my fingers around the glass shard, hiding it in my grip.

“Come on,” Heavy Foot grunts as he grabs my arm and pulls me out of the bathroom. He forces my arms behind my back once more and leads me down the hallway just as the guys cheer. “What? What happened?”

“We scored!”

I tense up when I hear footsteps approaching from in front of me.

“Can’t wait to get rid of this one so that we can stop babysitting,” Creep says as he grabs my jaw, the smell of alcohol rolling off his breath.

I grimace and try to pull away from him, but his grip tightens so much that my jaw aches. If there’s a chance for him to put his hands on me, he does. He knows how much I fucking hate it.

“Tell me about it,” Heavy Foot mutters. “I’ve got shit to do. Can you take over the last hour of my shift?”

“Fuck no. I already got to deal with her throughout the night,” Creep replies as he releases his hold on me.

“Jackass,” Heavy Foot grits out, his grip on me tightening.

My body is so tense that it’s on the verge of shaking as I stand there surrounded by them. It’s bad enough when I’m trapped in a room with one of them.

“Go drop her off and get back up here. The commercials are about to end,” Creep tells him.

“Come on. Hurry up,” Heavy Foot mutters before forcing me forward.

I place one foot in front of the other, doing my best not to slam into doorways or fall down the stairs. I’ve protected myself and my stomach as much as possible lately, taking more blows to my face by keeping my head lower than usual.