The question had been a formality. Deep down, I'd already known.
Three years.
For three years, I believed I'd been kidnapped and dumped in that godforsaken wasteland. I tried everything to reach Jacob, my fiancé, to beg him to save me.
I had his tracking device on me the entire time. The one he'd made specifically for me.
On those nights when Ivan and Kathy had beaten me until my body was a canvas of bruises, when I lay bleeding and wide-eyed in the dark, unable to sleep through the pain, I would run my fingers over the tracker embedded in the belt. Over and over, tracing its edges like a prayer. And I'd remember the way Jacob had looked at me, his face so gentle, so full of warmth, when he said:
"As long as you wear this, no matter where you are in the world, I'll find you."
So I never took it off. Not once. Not even when Ivan and Kathy saw how expensive the belt looked and tried to rip it off me to sell. I took the beating. I took every blow they gave me. But I never let go.
Now I flung that belt at Jacob's feet. The tracker was still inside.
"Your gift. I'm returning it."
Jacob glanced down. His breath caught.
"Why is there... so much blood on this?"