The Betrayed Luna

Chapter 3 I'm in Hell

Hana

I heard voices.

Angry voices.

They moved in the darkness as snakes, taut and barbed with terror. My head pounded, a throbbing, deep pain that caused me to wince when my eyes crept open. A moan escaped my mouth as agony carved through my skull like a sword. The room around me was dark, closed-in, and alien. My vision was a blur, but I struggled to take in the environment.

Women. Dozens. Their hair was full of dust, their faces drawn and haunted. No light in their eyes—just despair. My slow gaze fell lower, and a rush of horror seized me. Their wrists were tied, ropes cutting into raw flesh. Their ankles, too. Panic flared in my chest when I noticed I was tied in the same manner.

My heart pounded. I jolted wide awake, the fog of pain and exhaustion clearing into stark terror. Fear knotted in my gut, twisting tighter than a vice as my breath snagged in my throat. I clamped my eyes shut, desperate—pleading—that it was all some sick nightmare.

But the feel of the ropes, the reek of sweat and blood, and the crushing hush between sobs informed me that it wasn't.

Then I saw the blood.

Dry, dark smears coated my thighs and legs. My breathing caught. Had I… miscarried? The last memory I had was the burning ache in my belly after being rejected and cast out. Was this death? Had I passed through to the other side?

And if so, was this… hell?

But I was a good person—kind, selfless, to the point of being loyal to a fault. I had done nothing to warrant eternal punishment. So why was I here?

Gulping the lump in my throat, I hardly had time to think before a loud clang echoed through the air. A dirty blond-haired man hit the iron bars with a rod, causing several women to whimper and flinch.

His gaze burned with brutality. "One whimper, one wince in this room," he growled, "and I'll slaughter each and every one of you."

The look of his face chilled my blood. Where others silently cried or gazed blankly into nothingness, I could not continue to be silent. My own voice, cracked but stubborn, rang out through the stillness.

“Excuse me!” I shouted. “I demand to know what’s going on! Why am I here? Is this some sort of prank?”

The man stopped mid-step and turned slowly toward me, a smirk curling across his lips. Amusement danced in his cruel eyes.

“Prank?” he repeated, almost chuckling.

I nodded, my voice faltering slightly as anxiety prickled at my skin. “Yes,” I said, swallowing hard. “Isn’t this some kind of sick joke?”

He laughed—hoarse, mocking, and out of control. The other men in uniform joined him, their laughter echoing off the icy stone walls like a knell of death.

When the laughter finally subsided, his face contorted into a sneer. "Delusional little thing. This is no joke. You've been sold."

My gut curled up.

"Sold?" I breathed the word strange and venomous on my lips.

He leaned in closer to the bars. "By your ex-husband."

I stood frozen. His words hit me like a train.

"Ex-husband?" I asked, my lips shaking.

He nodded, face as blank as reading off a weather map. "Yes."

And like that, the hideous truth hit me.

Dave.

I had been sold—trafficked like a thing, a good.

Panic and betrayal warred within me, wrenching at the shreds of my sanity that remained. Two destinies beckoned before me: I'd either be traded as a s*x slave or as an organ farm. Both nightmares I couldn't escape from.

"No!" I bellowed, my throat raw with shock.

"Dave and Monica!" I shouted through clenched teeth, weeping with anger in my eyes. My ribcage jerked with the intensity of my crying.

Why would they do this to me?

Why would Dave do something like this to me?

It wasn't enough that he had lied, thrown me away like garbage, and let me endure the agony of rejection and exile. Now, he had gone further than any soul should ever go—he had sold me to monsters.

And they would hurt me. Use me. Kill me.

And when they were finished, they would toss my corpse to the beasts.

The mere idea of what could go on caused my stomach to roil viciously, and a new rush of terror coursed through me. My heart thrashed more furiously when a woman was pushed into the cell, her complexion chalk-white, the color washed entirely out of her face. She staggered and fell to the chill ground.

A man outside the cell shouted angrily, "Why can't you do your job properly? This isn't the woman he wants!"

My blood ran cold.

Were they choosing women like objects, picking them up and casting them aside for their own perverted needs? It was a chilling epiphany—but a part of me held onto a warped sense of hope. Perhaps, perhaps I wouldn't be picked. I had never really considered myself very pretty. Men hardly ever paid me much mind, and in this instant, I hoped that would serve me well.

But my delicate line of thinking was rudely interrupted.

The dirty-blond-haired guy from before burst into the cell suddenly. He said nothing and crouched to begin loosening the ropes on my wrists and ankles. My heart sprang up into my throat. Then he grabbed my arm with a sudden jerk and dragged me up off the ground.

Fear clawed at my innards as I struggled to resist, my voice little more than a stammer. "W-Where are you taking me? Let me go! Leave me alone!"

I struggled against his iron hold, desperation curdling into rage. "Let me go, you bastard!" I yelled, my voice raw. "Take your filthy hands off me!"

All I wanted at that moment was to disappear—to wake up from this nightmare and be safe, anywhere but here. But reality provided no escape.

Why was my life always this way? Why did every glimmer of peace disappear, only to be replaced by chaos? Couldn't I breathe, just once, without the world suffocating me again?

My mind shattered when his hand hurtled across my face, the slap sending my head spinning to one side. The burn throbbed across my cheek, robbing my lungs of air. I tasted blood.

His eyes pinned me—a dark, raging glare with something even more menacing. Something corrupted. My knees shook, but I would not break.

I might have been weak, but I would never allow these monsters to break me. I would die first before I allowed them to violate me or sell me into whatever terrible trade they were conducting.

"You'd better kill me now," I snarled through gritted teeth, "because I'm not going anywhere with you."

That just made him angrier. With a snarl, he reached out and pulled a clump of my hair and pushed me to the ground like garbage.

Then another man burst in—a thick-necked older man with authority emanating from him. His voice cracked like a whip. "What in the world is happening here?!"

The dirty blond man straightened in panic. The older man didn’t hesitate—he slapped him hard across the face, then leaned in and whispered something into his ear. Whatever he said caused the younger man’s expression to twist into one of fear. His gaze shifted to me, wide and uncertain.

The older man turned his attention to me, and the venom in his voice was unmistakable. “You’re coming with us. Now.”

"No!" I yelled back, not backing down, though I trembled violently.

A cruel, slow smile spread at the edges of his lips. Then he reached inside his coat and withdrew a syringe.

Fear held me so hard I couldn't catch my breath.

"You leave me no choice," he murmured.

"Hold her!" he yelled.

The dirty blond man complied, grabbing me from behind as I kicked and screamed, fighting against his hold. My screams rebounded off the stone walls. I fought with all my might.

It wasn't enough, though.

The razor sharp prick of the needle hit my neck, and in a matter of seconds, my strength ebbed away. My vision went cloudy, and darkness seeped into the periphery of my vision.

My body collapsed.

And then—nothing.