Chapter 3 Drugged woman

I didn’t know how long I had been locked in there.

There was a tiny, four-cornered room that barely deserved the name. A window no bigger than my palm sat too high for me to reach, letting in a thin line of light that mocked more than it helped. An iron bed occupied one side, its frame screeching every time I shifted my weight. A small table. One chair. A toilet bowl shoved into the corner with no privacy.

Time moved strangely in that room. The only way I kept track was through the food.

Once a day.

That was all they gave me. A few slices of bread, always dry. An egg that tasted stale no matter how fresh it looked. Tea that was more water than anything else. Every time the tray slid in through the door, I counted.

Three days.

I had been away from my daughter for three days.

That truth hurt more than the hunger, more than the cold seeping into my bones, more than the fear that sat heavy in my chest. Three days without hearing her voice. Three days without knowing if she was okay, if she cried herself to sleep, if she asked for me.

And still,. No one had said what they planned to do with me.

I knew I wasn’t innocent. I wasn’t stupid enough to pretend otherwise. I had stolen. Small things at first. Money here, valuables there. Things people wouldn’t miss until it was too late. I lied about it too, It had kept me alive for years.

Pickpocketing was a skill I learned young, taught by the best. I had been good at it. For years, I slipped through crowds unnoticed, hands light, movements careful. No one suspected me.

Until I made one mistake.

The one time I trusted someone else to move with me, to watch my back the way I always did for myself. That was the night everything went wrong.

I still didn’t know if I had been betrayed or if luck had finally turned its back on me.

What I did know was that the man I stole from wasn’t just anyone. He wasn’t a careless drunk or a distracted tourist. He was something else entirely. Gang. Mafia. Criminal.

Whatever name they chose to wear, it all meant the same thing.

Through Steve coming after me, I knew I had fucked up. Steve wasn’t just in a gang. According to the whispers on the street, he was in the gang. I didn’t fully understand what that meant, only that it was a title soaked in fear. To think he was once someone I believed I could have something with made it worse.

Footsteps finally came, dragging me out of the dark spiral of my thoughts. I had learned the pattern by now. The steps always stopped at other doors first, voices muttering, metal clanking. That was how I knew I wasn’t alone down here. When the sound reached my cell, the door was yanked open roughly.

It was a different man today. Thank God. I had had enough of those useless ones who thought being a prisoner gave them permission to be handsy.

“You still look beautiful even after being locked up, Indie.A shame you’re a thief though,” Steve mocked as he walked in, dropping the familiar tray of dry bread and a stale egg onto the table.

“When are you going to release me, Steve?” I asked, forcing my voice steady. “I need to see Lila.”

Even with barely any food in my system, my voice did not shake. I had survived worse than hunger.

Steve hummed and leaned against the wall, folding his thick arms over his chest. He looked at me the way he always did, interest buried under disappointment.

“Kill whatever fantasy makes you think you’re seeing Lila again, thief. You’re not.”

I stood up so fast my head spun. I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself.

“You can’t really do all this over some change, Steve,” I said. “I told you I’ll pay you back.”

He did not flinch. “The bag you stole didn’t just have money in it, Indigo.”

“And I’m telling you there was nothing else inside,” I snapped.

Steve’s lips curved into a slow smirk. “A liar through and through.”

That was the curse of lying too much. Even when the truth finally left your mouth, it sounded like another lie.

I groaned loudly, frustration burning my chest. “I swear on my daughter’s life that all I saw in that bag was a couple of dollars, Steve. There was nothing else.”

“Where is the bag then?” he asked calmly.

I opened my mouth to answer—and froze.

Where was the bag?

“I—”

“How exactly do you expect me to help you if all you do is lie, Indie?” he muttered, turning toward the door. “You’re not helping yourself.”

“Wait,” I blurted.

He paused and turned back, his face blank, indifferent.

“At least tell me what’s going to be done to me,” I begged. “I deserve to know.”

Steve stared at me for a long moment, disappointment etched clearly into his face.

“It depends on the boss’s mood,” he said finally. “You might be passed around to his men for their pleasure. Or worse, sent somewhere you won’t crawl out of. As long as he gets his goods back, nothing else matters.”

The iron door slammed shut behind him.

I slid down the wall, my legs giving out beneath me, fear wrapping around my chest so tight I could barely breathe.

The next day, I was dragged out of my cell.

A rough black cloth was shoved over my head, stealing my sight as hands guided—no, pushed—me forward. I stumbled more than once, my balance off, fear pounding so loudly in my ears it drowned out every other sound. When I was finally shoved into a room, the door slammed shut behind me, the lock clicking into place like a final sentence.

I stilled.

My pulse went wild as I tried to see through the cloth. It was useless. The fabric was thick, and my hands were still tied behind my back, my shoulders already aching from the strain.

Then another hand touched me. Softer this time, but no less firm. Fingers curled around my elbow and the cloth was yanked off my head.

I squeezed my eyes shut, letting them adjust slowly to the light. When I opened them, I was pushed further into the room. That was when I saw them.

Women.

So many women.

They looked like me. Worn. Tied. Dirty. Fear sitting plainly on their faces. But something was off. Where I was sharp, alert, trembling with awareness, most of them were slumped over. Eyes glazed. Heads lolling. Mouths parted slightly like they were half-asleep.

They were high.?

The answer came when a red plastic cup was shoved into my face. I looked up to see a woman staring at me blankly, her expression hard and empty.

“Drink this.”

Oh hell no, I thought. But I kept my mouth shut.

“I need my hands loosened,” I said quietly, forcing calm into my voice.

She stared at me for a long moment, like she hadn’t heard a word. Then she nodded once and moved behind me. She wasn’t worried I would try anything. Even though she was a woman, she was big. Solid. Built like she could snap me in half without trying.

The ropes came off.

Relief barely had time to register before she was back in front of me, pushing the cup toward my face again.

“What’s in it?” I asked, my eyes flicking to the women scattered around the room.

She did not answer. She pushed the cup closer until the smell hit my nose.

I gagged.

It was sour, bitter, wrong. There was no way I was drinking that. No way.

Think, Indie. Think.

“I’m pressed,” I said quickly. “I need to use the toilet before adding more liquid to my body.”

I watched her carefully, my heart slamming against my ribs. Please take the bait. Please.

After a moment, she nodded and pointed toward a door inside the room.

I moved fast, stepping over bodies sprawled on the floor, my chest tight. When I reached the toilet, I turned to lock the door, but she shook her head once.

Shit.

I had no choice.

I lifted my dress and pretended to relieve myself, tapping my foot against the floor, praying she wouldn’t notice the lack of sound. My hands trembled as I faked it, panic crawling up my spine.

I couldn’t stall forever.

When I was done pretending, I fixed my dress and walked back out slowly. She was still there. Still holding the cup.

I took it with shaky hands and brought it close to my lips. The smell alone made my head feel light, my thoughts sluggish.

What the hell was in this thing? And why were they giving it to us?

She watched me closely, waiting.

If I drank this, I was done. I couldn’t afford to be done. But what other choice did I have?

Just as the cup touched my lips, the door opened.

Her attention snapped toward the sound.

I did not hesitate.

I tilted the cup and poured the liquid into my dress, soaking the fabric, then quickly raised the empty cup back to my mouth. When she turned back, I handed it to her, my hands steady despite the terror screaming inside me.

She peeked into the cup, then nodded, satisfied.

I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Time to play the role of a drugged woman, Indie.