Chapter 5 Kidnapped by the gang

Elina POV

I groaned as I got up. The first thing I felt was the pounding in my skull - dull, rhythmic, like someone had buried a heartbeat inside my head.

Then the smell hit me. Salt. Metal. Oil.

My eyes fluttered open, lids dry and aching. The ceiling above me was curved - white, streaked with rust. Not a hotel. Not a cabin. Not anywhere I'd meant to be.

I tried to sit up too fast.

The world tilted sideways. What the fuck? Where am I?

Groaning, I grabbed hold of something - the edge of a cot bolted to the floor - and steadied myself.

My legs were weak. My mouth tasted like dust. Everything inside me screamed that something was wrong.

The room was small. A cell, almost. Cold walls. Bare metal floor. No furniture except the narrow cot and a silver door with a thick, mechanical latch. There were no windows - except one.

A round porthole set high into the wall. I stumbled toward it, palms pressed against the cold rim as I peered outside.

Endless.

Blue stretched in every direction, too wide, too deep - no land, no city skyline, no harbor in sight. Just a rolling ocean and a sky too quiet for comfort.

"No," I whispered. My breath fogged the glass.

I started banging.

"HELLO?" I shouted. "Hey, is anyone there!?"

I hit the door. Slammed my fists against the metal until my hands stung.

"LET ME OUT!"

No answer. Panic surged up my spine like ice. Where was I? Who had brought me here?

Just , why?

Fuck, Have I been kidnapped..?

But then I heard it - footsteps. Heavy. More than one pair.

I scrambled to my feet, eyes wide, backing into the corner farthest from the door.

The latch turned with a loud clunk and two men stepped in. Broad-shouldered. Uniformed, but not military. Not official.

"Get up," the first one barked.

I didn't move. Couldn't. My mouth was too dry to speak.

"Who are you people...? What do you want from me.?" I stammered in fear.

The man scoffed. "You'll figure it out soon enough."

They dragged me down a narrow hallway lit by flickering overhead lights. Every surface was steel or bolted shut.

The air was damp, thick with the smell of mildew and sweat. My bare feet slipped against the floor, my body still aching from whatever they'd drugged me with.

We turned a corner, and that's when I saw them. Women.

Women around me-completely stripped bare, exposed without mercy. Bruises covered their skin like maps of pain, and some had dried blood on their faces and heads, just like mine.

"Strip," the man ordered coldly, his hand gripping a gun aimed directly at me.

What..!?

I wasn't going to get naked for anyone. My body trembled as I shook my head, lips quivering. "N-No," I whispered.

"You stink of blood and dirt," he snapped. "You need a damn shower. Strip. Now."

I looked at him, stunned. He was serious. He actually expected me to undress right there-in front of everyone?

"I said no!" I cried, trying to take a step back.

His response was fast and brutal-a slap that cracked across my face, sending dizziness crashing into me like a wave. My vision blurred.

"Do it now, or I'll do it for you. And trust me, you won't survive a second of it," He hissed melavolently.

Then he kicked me-hard-in the stomach.

I collapsed to the floor with a choked gasp, the pain shooting through me like fire. Tears spilled from my eyes as I curled inward.

"I said, strip!"

I sobbed. My entire body throbbed with pain. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to be beaten again. I just wanted to go home.

With trembling fingers, I pulled my dress over my head. It fell to the cold floor, leaving me exposed and shaking. I could feel the man's stare burning into me, sharp and vile.

I stood vulnerable before complete strangers-monsters. Stripped of everything, even my dignity.

Around me, I heard the quiet weeping of other girls. Their sobs pierced the air like broken glass, echoing my own fear.

What have I gotten myself into?

Tears slid down my cheeks as cold water sprayed from overhead. I let it wash over me, scrubbing the blood and dirt away as if it could also erase the shame. The man still stood there, watching. His intentions clear in every look.

I washed myself quickly, knowing this might be the last time I would have access to water for who knew how long. I couldn't even imagine what my life would be after this.

There was no escape here. Only one way out, and it didn't come with freedom-it came with death.

A slow, bone-wrenching death.

Later, I sat on the floor of a cramped dining room with the other girls. Plates of bland, cold food were placed before us. No utensils. We weren't allowed to use them. We were expected to eat with our hands, on the floor like animals.

My stomach churned. I could barely swallow past the lump in my throat.

These weren't just criminals. They were traffickers. Men who sold human lives for profit.

This wasn't just kidnapping. This was organized. Calculated. Mafia-level evil.

I was being sold.

A week passed. The ship still hadn't stopped.

I barely slept. Every hour, every creak of metal, every footstep in the hallway kept me on edge. I was trapped-miles away from land, far from anyone who could save me.

The men all carried weapons. The women were too broken, too terrified to resist.

I had no illusions now.

I was going to be sold. Likely to a man who would treat me worse than livestock.

Suddenly, the door to the bunk slammed open.

It was the same guard. The one who forced me to strip. His expression was flat, disinterested-but his presence made my skin crawl.

"How old are you?" he asked, stepping toward me.

I instinctively stepped back.

There was no way I'd tell him my real age. "I'm thirty-one," I lied, quickly.

His jaw clenched. And then, without warning, he slapped me again-hard.

"Lie to me one more time and I'll skin you alive," he growled. "Try again. How. Old. Are. You?"

"Nineteen," I whispered, biting my trembling lip.

His hand twitched again, but I threw my hands up, crying out, "I'm telling the truth!"

He paused. Studied me. Then nodded slowly, his face returning to a cold mask.

"Hm. I thought you were under eighteen. Girls that age go for a much higher price at auction."

His words made me want to vomit.

Auction. Price.

He was talking about us like livestock. Like we were merchandise.

"What's your name?" he asked. "And lie again, I dare you. I'll show you what death tastes like. Understood?"

"Elina." I murmured, too afraid to say anything else.

He narrowed his eyes. "Elina, huh? Well, you're lucky. You're going up for auction today."

Auction.

The word crashed into my chest like a wrecking ball.