Hitchhiking into Hell - Chapter 9: Chapter 9

The door slammed shut behind us with a sickening thud. Hank and his crew swaggered in, their laughter rough and eager, filling the cramped space with the stench of cheap booze and sweat.
"Party hard tonight, boys. We roll out at dawn."
One of them leered at Daniel, nudging him with a boot. "Still got some fight left in ya? Maybe we'll set you up with another round."
Then it was just Zoe and me, tossed into the basement like unwanted scraps.
The air was thick with dampness, the stone walls slick with condensation. A single bulb flickered overhead, its weak light barely cutting through the gloom, casting long, jagged shadows across the floor. Straw crunched underfoot, stale and rotting.
Zoe collapsed beside me, her body a canvas of bruises—deep purples and angry blues, even fingerprints around her throat.
She broke down, sobs wracking her frame.
"Those animals! Absolute fucking monsters!"
Between gasps, she confessed. She'd come to the Sichuan-Tibet Highway as a hitchhiker for her livestream—some viral stunt to boost her follower count. A company had approached her with a deal: follow their script, play the part, and the payout would be huge.
"They promised it was all staged. Said they'd be close by, ready to jump in if things went south. And I was streaming the whole time! I thought—if anything happened, my viewers would call for help. But then… the feed cut out. No signal. Nothing."
I pulled her close, my stomach twisting. We were the same. The moment we'd agreed to play the hitchhiking girl, we'd stepped into a trap.
The exact. Same. Trap.
My voice was hoarse when I finished for her.
"Let me guess—your calls went through at first. Then the company's emergency line went dead. And the drivers took your phone."
Zoe went rigid. The horror in her eyes said it all.
We clung to each other, crying until our throats were raw. Finally, I wiped my face. Tears wouldn't save us.
From what Hank and Scarlett had let slip, this place was a pit stop for truckers to indulge their worst impulses. A whole damn operation.
City recruiters lured girls onto the road. Truckers snatched them. And then? Profit.
The drivers were both customers and accomplices—bound by blood and secrets. No one would talk.
But one thing didn't add up. Why the insistence on livestreams?
And those women in Vanessa's group—were they really all patients? Or had they been groomed, just like us?
"Zoe, listen. Crying won't fix this. We need to get out."
Her breath hitched. "How? We can't even get past that door."
Then I thought of Daniel. There was something different about him. If we had any shot, it was through him.
I stood and shouted at the guard. "Hey! Tell Scarlett I want to talk. I've made my choice—I'll stay. Entertain the guests."
Zoe recoiled. "Evelyn, have you lost your mind?! These people are demons! I'd rather die than let them touch me!"
I didn't explain. I wasn't even sure my gamble would work.
Minutes later, I was dragged to Scarlett's office. She was on the phone, her voice slick with false charm.
"—relax, I checked her phone. Last call wasn't to the cops. No loose ends. And don't forget our cut from the video sales."
Ice shot through my veins.
So that was their game. Vanessa's group had sold our livestreams. Another way to cash in on our suffering.
Disgusting. Vile.
But if they thought I'd play along quietly, they had another thing coming.