Chapter 1 Sold

Alicia's POV

I opened the door to the last conversation between my mother and father and felt the air go thin. They sat opposite each other like strangers sharing bad news. My father's face was numb, as if the truth didn't belong to him. My mother's shoulders shook with quiet sobs.

"Mum, what are you talking about?" I asked, my voice trembling as I stared between them.

She only wept more. I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "Say something. Please."

"I'm sorry, my daughter," she managed, each word a ragged rasp.

My heart slammed into my ribs. I went to my father. "What did you do?" I demanded. "What have you done?"

He stood slowly, the chair scraping the floor. "How dare you raise your voice at me," he snapped, but the anger couldn't hide the little smirk that curled at his mouth. "You want to know what we were talking about, hun? I'll tell you."

He lit a cigarette, the flare of the lighter stabbing the dim room. "We sold you off." His voice was calm, almost bored. The words hit me like a fist. For a second the world tilted; my knees almost gave way.

"Mum-" I started, but she could only cry, hands pressed to her face. "How could you do that?" I screamed, slapping his chest as hard as I could.

He took my hands, forced me down until I hit the floor. My mother tried to lift me, but I pushed her away; anger and betrayal burned hotter than pain. "You'd better get your things ready," he said, exhaling smoke. "They'll be here soon."

"Why do we always have to clean up your mess?" I spat. "Why don't we just let them kill him? You're useless.....smoking, gambling away money-" The words tumbled out, raw and reckless.

A hand cracked across my cheek. The sting was immediate and bright. It was my father's. "How dare you talk back to me like that," he said, voice low and controlled. "I am the reason you're still alive. I am your father. You have no right."

My cheeks burned with tears. "I'm sorry, Alicia," my mother whispered, clinging to my clothes, her apology thin as tissue. "I couldn't do anything."

"You knew," I said to her, voice small. "You let him-" My throat closed. "You let him sell me?" I stammered.

"I didn't-" she tried, but the answer dissolved into more sobs. My father took a long drag from his cigarette and smiled like a man who had already counted his coins. "Doesn't matter anymore, Alicia. Your buyer will be here soon. I hope you've packed your things."

I stared at him, fury and cold dread knitting together in my stomach. "Who is he?" I demanded.

My mother only cried louder. Then, sharp and sudden, a knock thudded against the door-three hard, impatient raps. My father's smile widened. It was late, so the hallway was a blur, but the sound of his voice answering the door was unmistakable: polite and practiced.

They were coming for me.

I wasn't going to wait. I had heard stories-girls taken and never seen again-and I refused to be one of them. I bolted to my room, shoved a few things into a bag, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped them. I locked the door behind me, grabbed at the window, and pushed it open. Heart thudding, I clambered onto the sill and dropped into the cool darkness.

I ran. I jumped fences, scraped my palms on rough wood, tore my nightdress on thorns. A black-tinted car appeared like a shadow on the road behind me; headlights like hungry eyes. I didn't look back. I threaded through alleys, ducked into gardens, took every hidden path I knew as if they were lifelines.

When I finally dared to slow, the world spun. My chest heaved, lungs burning. I had been running until my legs felt like nothing but lead. I sank down against a low wall and let my body sag.

A pinprick of cold seared my neck. I slapped at it and pulled out a thin needle. My fingers trembled. Dizzy, the edges of my vision blurred into gray. I tried to stand, but my legs didn't obey. Darkness pooled at the corners of my sight.

A voice stepped out of the night-smooth, amused, and far too familiar. "What made you think you could run away from me, hun?" it said.

I squinted into the shadow. I didn't see his face clearly, but the voice-old, patient, ruthless-sat in my memory like a photograph. He sounded like the men in the stories: feared, remorseless, precise.

"Who are you?" I rasped, fighting to keep panic from swallowing me.

A laugh, low and pleased. "You ran right into me."

A cellphone clicked open in the darkness. "Yes. I've found her. Bring her," the voice said into the line. A pause, then, softer: "Sleep well, princess. We're going to have a long ride home."

He stepped forward. Moonlight cut across his face and for the first time since I was a child, I knew the look in a stranger's eyes. The man who had bought me was not only dangerous. He was someone I had seen in my nightmares.

He smiled and the smile was the kind that promised there would be no escape.