Enver Williams is leading on a normal life but that is all ripped away from her when she is taken from her home town.
When Enver comes to realize that there are others like her in more ways than one, she is determined to free herself and her newfou...
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I stand and tiptoe my way to the bathroom, careful not to wake anyone. I refresh my face, rinsing off the sticky trails off dried tears. My head feels as if it's got a million bricks inside. The only thing holding it up the thin string of my neck.
The mirror is dirty, fingerprints peppering the glass. Hartley's fingers. My eyes are dark and sunken, seeing no light. Anger bubbles over in my heart, contaminating my thoughts with a thirst for revenge.
I try to drain them from my mind, flushing away my feelings. Nothing works. My breath is sharp and violent, indignant blood controlling me like a robot.
My fists fly into the air and smash into the cool reflective glass. The crisp crack, the chime of shards falling into the sink, the blood dripping on the floor. Anger overrides pain.
I want revenge.
Omar swings around the corner, but I shove him, leaving blood smeared across his chest. He stares at me in disbelief, turning the corner and gasping when his eyes land on the mirror. I keep walking. Crimson dots mark my trail, which Omar follows.
"Enver, stop!" He commands. I don't care. I will get revenge. Decklin is awake and alert now, joining in Omar's protests. They pull and beg but my mind's made up.
"Enver he'll kill you too!" Decklin shouts desperately.
I stop, for just a second, and whisper, "Death is no longer a complication," They fall silent, and I begin my howling protest. Screaming for Holloway to fight me. Pounding on the door just as I did on my first night. And same as that night, I am dragged away. This time, I walk with purpose.
The men look tired, worn. I suppose Holloway's been punishing them too. One of them lets go of my arm.
"Jenkins, she knows the way," he mumbles. Jenkins looks at him as if he's gone insane.
"She's too wounded to escape and too dumb to do it on her own," I want to object, but decide it's best to keep my mouth shut, "She wants to talk to him, why can't we just let her go on her own?" His reasons are valid, and I can feel Jenkins's grip loosening, "Please, we can go back to bed if we do," That seemed to change Jenkins's mind.
He turns back to me, and in a deep, threatening voice, warns, "If you even try to escape, we'll have you shot within seconds," I know he's bluffing. If Holloway wanted me dead he would've done it a long time ago. I continue on by myself, and it's a strange but liberating feeling.
The oak doors are actually intricately beautiful when I'm not being tossed through them. I run my fingers along the grooves and admire the architecture. A voice whispers through the doors, cracked open less than an inch. The words are curved by a gentle British tongue.
"I have it under control father."
"She's becoming more and more of a threat every second! She managed to escape in less than four months! I need to be sure that you're not going to put our entire organization in jeopardy because of her!" His father scolds, his voice booming through the crack.
