Thorns and vows

🌹 prologue 2🌹

Shira's pov

Shira felt as if hours had passed since she had last seen the light of day, her small body curled into a tight ball on the cold floor. She hadn’t eaten anything, the hunger gnawing at her insides like a wild animal. The only sound that escaped her lips was a faint whimper, a sound that echoed her despair. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, and she fell into a restless sleep, her empty stomach twisting painfully.

She was jolted awake by the harsh sound of a metal door being flung open. Instinctively, she tensed, her heart racing as she struggled to comprehend what was happening. Before she could fully register her surroundings, rough hands seized her by the hair, dragging her across the floor. She cried out, pain shooting through her scalp, but the man showed no mercy.

“Get up!” he barked, pulling her into a dirty room that reeked of alcohol and smoke. The stench overwhelmed her senses, and her vision was still blurry from sleep and fear. But as her eyes adjusted, she saw a middle-aged man seated in a chair, his demeanor commanding and menacing. A group of men in black stood behind him, their expressions cold and calculating.

With a brutal shove, the man tossed Shira to the ground, her knees hitting the hard floor painfully. A whimper escaped her lips, but she quickly crawled to the corner of the room, instinctively trying to make herself small and invisible. The men laughed, their voices a cacophony of amusement at her helplessness, except for the old man, who watched her with an unsettling calm.

“Bring her here,” the old man ordered, his voice low and authoritative. One of the men grabbed Shira again, yanking her up by her shirt and dragging her to the old man’s feet. She whimpered, fear gripping her heart as she gazed up at him, her small frame trembling.

“Please, don’t hurt me!” she cried, dropping her head in submission, her hair falling over her face to shield her from his gaze.

The old man knelt down, gripping her chin with rough fingers, forcing her to look at him. She got a close look at his face, and a chill ran down her spine at the sight of a deep scar that cut across his cheek, a jagged line that spoke of past violence and brutality.

“Hmm, you look familiar,” he muttered, a hint of curiosity in his voice as he studied her. But he quickly dismissed the thought, focusing instead on the business at hand. “What’s the price for this little one?” he asked, turning his gaze toward the men behind him.

The men exchanged glances, hesitant. “We can’t let her go for too cheap,” one of them mumbled, a note of unease creeping into his tone. “What if someone finds out?”

The old man straightened, a dangerous glint in his eye. “You will take my offer, or I’ll make sure you regret it.” He pulled out a gun, brandishing it with a menacing authority that silenced any further objections.

The hesitation vanished as the men nodded quickly, fear overriding their doubts. “Fine! We accept your offer!”

“Good,” the old man replied, his smile twisted, revealing a sense of satisfaction at their compliance. “The price will be five thousand dollars. I expect her to be treated well until the sale is complete. If anything happens to her, it will be on your heads.”

As the deal was sealed, Shira felt a wave of despair wash over her. She was trapped, caught in a web of darkness that she couldn’t escape. All she could do was hope for a miracle, a glimmer of hope that somehow, somewhere, someone would come to find her

Shira felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead as she processed the old man’s words. Five thousand dollars. The price of her life was being tossed around like a mere transaction, devoid of any value she held as a person. Despair clutched at her heart, squeezing it with an iron grip as she fought back tears.