“Is that all you care about?” Víctor shouted. “You don’t respect me!” He raised the stick again, and time slowed into a sick, stretched-out silence.
My phone was on the floor a few feet away. It must have slipped from my pocket when I fell. The screen was cracked, but still lit, and in that tiny glow I felt something I hadn’t felt in months: hope—desperate, fragile, but real. I lunged.
“Grab her!” Raúl yelled, and hands reached toward me, but pain lit something animal inside my chest. My nails scraped the floor, bending, until I felt glass under my fingertips. I dragged the phone closer, unlocked it by muscle memory, opened the chat, and found Alex—my brother, ex-Marine, ten minutes away. My hands shook so badly the letters blurred, but I typed anyway: Help. Please. Then I hit send.
Víctor was on me in a second. He ripped the phone out of my hand and smashed it against the wall. Plastic burst. The screen went dark. He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back until my neck screamed, and he leaned close enough that his breath brushed my ear. “You think someone’s coming to save you?” he whispered. “Today you learn.”