Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Chapter 26
Briar
I’m curled up on a makeshift bed in this dusty cage, muscles aching, stomach growling, and head throbbing. It’s been days—days—since I was dragged here, though it feels more like a lifetime. My sense of time blurs. There’s no sun, no clock, just flickering overhead lights that sometimes stay on through the night, sometimes shut off without warning. I’m never certain how many hours pass between the rattling echoes of voices and footsteps.
Chester’s cage sits a few yards away, near the only lamp that still works consistently. The glow reveals his vibrant green feathers looking duller than usual, his posture listless. He hardly squawks anymore. It breaks my heart. The first few times I was forced to feed him, he’d peck at his food with some enthusiasm, but now he barely touches it unless I coax him for a long while. I’m starting to worry he’s as exhausted as I am.
I wrap my arms around my knees, glancing at the iron bars that separate me from the rest of the warehouse. They call it a “room,” but it’s more like an oversized cage—sheet metal walls rigged up to create a makeshift enclosure, with a single door padlocked from the outside. The Russians have allowed me just enough space to walk around in circles if I wanted, but that’s about it. Most times, I’m too tired to pace. My body screams for rest, but my mind can’t shut off. Every time I close my eyes, my nightmares tear me back to reality, reminding me I might not survive this if they no longer need me.
I peer through a gap in the metal, scanning the dimly lit expanse of cracked concrete and rusted machinery. Heath is slouched against a battered desk in the far corner, scrolling through his phone. A permanent sneer twists his lips, and whenever his eyes flick to me, they’re filled with smug disdain. He used to be so charming at the zoo, sweet-talking his way into everyone’s good graces, but now he’s shown his true self—cold, calculating, and cruel.
Jason, on the other hand, hovers near the Russians, trying to ingratiate himself. Sometimes he paces over to my cage, leaning in too close, whispering, “I missed you, Briar,” or “Why didn’t you stay with me?” His obsession makes my skin crawl. It’s like he’s gone off the deep end, his sanity unraveling with each passing day. Part of me wonders if he’s in over his head too, just another pawn of these Russian gangsters. But that doesn’t excuse what he’s done.
My heart pounds whenever the Russians speak, especially now that they’re arguing, their voices echoing in tense bursts. They’re standing near Chester’s cage, the parrot ruffling his feathers nervously at their raised voices. I can’t understand a word of Russian, but the anger is plain as day—sharp gestures, narrowed eyes, clipped tones. One of them is a tall, hulking man with a shaved head; he’s in Jason’s face, while another—slimmer but with a snake-like intensity—flails his arms at Heath. The rest of the Russian crew watch from a distance, guns occasionally glinting in the weak light.
It’s been like this all morning, harsh words snapping between them, followed by tense silence, then another round of angry debate. Chester squawks softly, but none of them pay him any mind. They’re too absorbed in whatever argument is roiling through their organization. It must be bad, I think, swallowing hard. They’re on edge.
My stomach twists. If they’re fighting among themselves, it probably means the plan—whatever twisted scheme they had for Chester—isn’t going smoothly. And if it’s not going smoothly, if they can’t sell him or leverage him… what will they do with us? My worst fear is that once Chester’s of no use, I’ll become disposable. They’ve been making it painfully clear that my only purpose is to keep him alive and healthy so he can fetch a high price, or be traded for something even more sinister. If that plan falls through, they won’t need me at all.
I hug my knees tighter, wishing Orion would somehow burst through the doors, guns blazing, to save Chester and me. Orion. The thought of him sends a fresh wave of pain through my chest. I clung to anger for a while—how he lied, how he said he didn’t care—but I can’t deny how badly I want to see him. Even if what he said was true, if he really has no feelings, I still need him. If anyone can take on these guys, it’s him. But I might be deluding myself. He’s not coming, the dark voice in my mind insists. He doesn’t care.
Yet there’s another part of me, a tiny flicker of hope, that refuses to let go of the memory of his arms around me, the earnest look in his eyes when he promised he’d protect me. That memory is all that’s keeping me from collapsing into despair.