Chapter 3

I was being dragged again.

The rough ground scraped against my torn skin.

My eyes fluttered open to a horrifying scene.

A makeshift operating table, crude and stained, under the open sky.

Chloe stood there, a triumphant smirk on her face.

She ripped the dirty bandana I' d somehow managed to partially cover my face with earlier, before the dogs.

She spat on me.

"He buys us the same things, you know," she hissed, her face close to mine, her breath smelling of champagne. "That little beachfront cottage you loved? He bought me an identical one. The same model Tesla. Even the same damn brand of prenatal vitamins."

My heart fractured a little more.

"Remember your father' s funeral?" she continued, her voice a vicious purr. "Ethan couldn't make it. Critical business trip, he said."

I remembered. The crushing loneliness, the grief compounded by his absence.

"He was with me," Chloe gloated. "My prize poodle, Fifi, had a tummy ache. Ethan flew in three top vets from across the country. We played 'doctor' all weekend while you were burying your dad."

Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

A man in surgical scrubs approached. Dr. Ramirez, his name tag read. His face was pale, his hands trembling.

"I... I can't do a C-section without anesthesia," he stammered, looking at Ethan, who was now visible on a large monitor, watching intently.

Chloe, ever the actress, suddenly shrieked, clutching her arm. "She tried to bite me! The monster tried to bite me!"

It was a lie. I was too weak to move, to even lift my head.

Ethan' s face on the monitor contorted with rage.

He wasn't there, but his order was swift and brutal, "The bitch is faking. Proceed. No anesthesia. And someone shut her up."

Before the doctor could move, one of the hunters stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face.

A tooth flew out, skittering across the dirty ground.

The world swam.

"Now, Doctor," Ethan' s voice commanded, cold and final.

Dr. Ramirez picked up a scalpel, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and pity.

He looked at me, a silent apology in his gaze.

Then, the steel bit into my flesh.

The scream that tore from my throat was inhuman, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony.

As I screamed, I saw, on the monitor, a thin chain snap from Ethan' s wrist.

The St. Christopher medal he always wore, the one he' d said protected him, clattered to the floor of his viewing deck. He' d gotten it after misplacing the prayer beads his devout grandmother had given him, claiming this was a more practical "replacement" for her hopes of his safety.

He muttered something, looking down at the fallen medal, then back at the screen showing my torment.

"That scream... sounds so much like Sarah's."