Muscle Guy shoved himself away from Katelyn as he jerked his head towards the closed door. Where a second ago a solid wall of chest had pressed into Rachel while strong hands gripped her forearms, there was suddenly nothing as she was jolted forward, her upper body twisting, the bindings at her wrist tearing through flesh.

When another explosion rocked the house, both men scrambled, ripping their pants off the floor, tripping over each other in their frenzy to get dressed. Not bothering to put on their shirts, they yanked open the door and bolted down the hall.

With the door ajar, Rachel watched shadows slice across the hallway as individuals shouted and ran in different directions. Someone, maybe Muscle Guy, shouted, ‘Leave them!’ when someone inquired what to do with the girls.

Another noise, this one outside and more distant, penetrated through the heavy fog and pain in her brain – a helicopter whirring overhead. She didn’t know what it meant, couldn’t bother to care. After all, she’d already learned – they all had – that hope was for fools.

The sound of more pounding footsteps, shouted orders, and frantic demands trickled down the hall, and then suddenly, several uniformed officers stormed the room, led by a short female with auburn hair. Mortified at being naked in front of all these people and suddenly terrified that she was only dreaming, she closed her eyes, her unleashed tears streaming as the lady commanded someone to get her down before rushing over to Katelyn, who’d drawn her knees up into the fetal position in the middle of the bed, her face and nose red, eyes bulging, lips and chin trembling.

Two officers worked the bindings on Rachel’s wrists to free her as a third stood behind her, ready to catch her when she was released. And as her body gave way to gravity, a voice in her ear whispered, ‘I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re safe now.’ The sweetest words, even if they weren’t true. But she let them utter the lies, and when they tried to wrap the silk robe around her, a howl of agony tore from her throat. As much as the pain was like molten lava spreading across her raw back, and as much as she wanted to shrug the robe off, to never have the sensation of silk against her skin again, she wanted to be covered up more and so she allowed it to stay on.

‘Anna?’ Her throat was on fire, and what emerged was nothing more than a raspy whisper of sound that no one seemed to understand, but she suddenly needed to know what had happened to her friend.

She wanted to ask again, but her neck could no longer hold her head up, and it fell forward onto her chest; in that moment, nothing mattered more than escaping this place. Seconds later, the auburn-haired officer was yelling for the paramedics. And then she felt herself being wheeled out into the hall, down the corridor, and into the front room where she’d first met the men who’d abused her. A crashing crescendo of commotion and noise and fear surrounded her, and it took several tries before she realized the woman was urgently asking her where the others were. ‘We need to find them so we can help them. Where are they?’