We were in some kind of abandoned warehouse—rusted beams, flickering lights overhead, empty crates and coiled wires scattered around. The space was vast but suffocating.
“Shut up!” I snapped at her, my throat dry and voice cracking. “You’re not helping!”
Bianca turned to me, disheveled and wide-eyed. “Thalia, I don’t understand—why are we here? What’s going on?”
I stared at her. “You’re seriously asking that? You’re Troy’s precious little sister—or should I say, wife? You’re always beside him, whispering into his ear. How can you not know anything?”
Her lips parted, shocked. “I don’t know—I swear. I didn’t do anything!”
“Of course you didn’t,” I scoffed bitterly. “You just played your perfect little role while I got shoved into hell.”
Before she could respond, a steel door banged open and two men entered. Tall, masked, with weapons at their sides. One of them sneered, clearly enjoying the fear in our eyes.
“You two need to keep it down. Not that it’ll matter soon,” he muttered.
“What do you want from us?” I demanded, trying to steady my voice even though my legs were trembling.
“This isn’t about you,” the other man said. “This is payment. Someone has to bleed for what Troy did.”