Sloane
My head throbs. I think I’ve been drugged because my body won’t move. My mouth tastes like cotton, and I want to puke.
I’m sprawled across the back seat of the Navigator, and the beat I hear is the stereo blasting Post Malone. There’s talking from the front seat, too, but I can’t make out what they’re saying over the music.
And it’s day time.
Which means we’ve been driving all night. At least, I think we have. I gained consciousness a few other times during the night, and every time it was the same. The car moving. My body too sluggish to respond to commands.
Where in the hell are we going?
Oh f**k.
They’re taking me to my new owner to be tortured and r***d until… until what? I’m killed or sold again to someone else to repeat the same fate. Bile fills my throat, and I try to
