Chapter 12

• A blonde woman stood shivering in the corner of a desolate alley. Her arms rubbed furiously against each other, trying in vain to summon warmth. But the air had long since it turned cruel. The clothes she’d worn since the night before were soaked through, and though they'd dried slightly against her thinning frame, the chill clung to her like frost.
• Her vision blurred as she scanned her surroundings. Few people passed by, not that she cared. Her only focus now was moving—further away, deeper into the shadows—so no one would find her. So they wouldn’t catch her again.
• She glanced over her shoulder repeatedly, confirming she was truly alone. For the past ten minutes, she hadn’t moved. Her head felt like it was being stabbed by a thousand tiny needles, and her toes—barely shielded by worn-out shoes with holes at the tips—had gone stiff, refusing to cooperate.
• Was it winter already? She wondered.
• “Damn it. I forgot North Metro’s a cold country,” she muttered through chattering teeth.
• She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. Her breath fogged the air, and every step sent a jolt of pain shooting up her legs. She winced but pushed on. Her mind flashed to the warmth of a place once called home. But she’d left that behind to chase someone her heart still ached for.
• The news that had reached her had shaken her to her core.
• "Xavier is dying. If you don’t get out and save him now, he won’t make it. Hurry, Bellamie. Hurry."
• That voice—that desperately pleased was what led her here. Searching every corner, following every whisper. But it had all amounted to nothing. The information she had was pitiful, just a scrap of an address that had delivered her straight into a nightmare of human trafficking.
• How foolish she’d been.
• No. This wasn’t the time to regret. Second chances didn’t come twice.
• Last night, Vore Club had been packed—tourists, regulars, all buzzing like bees drawn to the neon light. The chaos inside pulsed like a never-ending heartbeat. Daytime turned the ten-story building into a hotel, where guests rarely checked out until they'd drained every drop of pleasure. But when night fell, the lights blazed even brighter, and the music throbbed like a second skin.
• Bellamie had once been part of that world.
• She didn’t know what luck—or misfortune—had struck, but authorities from North Metro had raided the place, searching every inch. She’d been delivering drinks to high-profile guests at the time. That moment, that small window was her chance. She slipped out with the fleeing crowd, didn’t care if her shoes tore apart beneath her or if the rain soaked her to the bone. If she got out with the few valuables still clinging to her body—including the money she’d saved over the years—nothing else mattered.
• Freedom had never been simple in that place. Every attempt to leave was shadowed by a bodyguard at her heels. Layla—another drink server who also worked as an escort—had told her once: once you enter Vore Club, you’re bound to it for life. Unless you climb the ranks.
• Unless you became a Dancer.
• That was the name for them—the women handpicked for their beauty, trained to seduce and perform for the elite. They spent nights with strangers, and days pampered in luxury. And sometimes, if they were lucky, a patron would pay for their way out. But it was rare. Very rare.
• Bellamie didn’t care about any of that anymore. All she knew was that she had to get out.
• She had to go home. She’d been gone too long. Her only son—what had become of him? Was he safe? Was he kind? Had he grown into someone strong, or someone broken?
• She hated herself for how easily she’d fallen for it all.
• A car sped past, snapping her back to the present. She was out in the open now. Her eyes darted around. Her skirt, far too short, left her trembling legs exposed, and the skimpy top beneath the jacket—God knows whose it was—did little to keep her warm. She’d grabbed it during her escape, discarded on the street like a forgotten relic. It helped, barely. Just enough to make her look less like a runaway... and more like a beggar.
• She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a passing car window—and nearly flinched.
• Her appearance was a wreck.
• Especially her hair, which was tangled beyond repair, like it hadn’t been touched in days. Bellamie could’ve sworn she’d combed it neatly the night before. Then again, what did it matter now? All she needed to do was make it to the border and cross into the next district.
• Her personal code was safely tucked away in her wallet—the one thing she never let out of her sight.
• The warmth on her scalp was just enough to ease the chill she’d carried through the night. Maybe it was the sun finally peeking through the heavy clouds, or maybe just the heat coming off the road and passing vehicles. Either way, it gave her a little strength.
• If she could just find a spot that wasn’t so damp and dark—someplace she could rest her legs for a while—she was certain she’d have enough energy to keep going.
• Yes. That was a good plan. And maybe she’d find some dry, clean clothes along the way. She turned, scanning the street for direction, for a path she could take.
• That’s when it hit her.
• Her heart dropped—slammed hard against the floor of her chest.
• “There she is!”