Chapter 8. Payment

I blink awake and discover someone removed the bag from my head. I lie on a scratchy couch in what looks like someone’s wood-paneled basement, still wearing my sweatshirt and nightgown. A single lightbulb battles against the dark, but it barely reaches the walls. I suck in a breath, and the musty scent of underground combines with just a hint of the metallic stench I remember from the apartment.

The apartment. Where I left Baba dead. Mama isn’t here, so at least they haven’t caught her yet. Or they killed her too. Tears fill my eyes, and I lift a hand to swipe them away.

Both of my hands move, accompanied by the sharp bite of plastic. I look down. Someone zip-tied my wrists together. And my ankles.

I shriek. Maybe someone will hear me.

A door opens, and several people pound down the stairs. The first, the same massive man from the apartment, backhands me, stuffs a rag into my mouth, and slaps a wide piece of duct tape over the rag so I can’t ge