Don't get... branded

"Get hold of that bitch now!" One of the guards thundered, clutching his left eye. He let his hand fall, revealing a fresh wound under his eye, which could be assumed was inflicted by the woman, given the venomous glare he directed at her.

Thompson turned to one of his subordinate. "What happened here?" He asked.

"Incompetent as he looks," the man laughed. "Though it is not a surprising thing, but another slave fooled Patrick. She has been in his care for a while now but hasn't been branded. Long story short, he found out, and here we are."

Thompson breathed out a laugh, his eyes finding Patrick, who stood with a mixture of anger and embarrassment etched on his face. His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed, making his wound seem almost insignificant compared to the rage brewing inside him. "Looks like Patrick's got his hands full,"

The man beside Thompson chuckled. "Serves him right. That woman did something we have all been aiming for." His gaze drifted to Theresa, her unusual hair color drawing attention. "Where did you find her?" He asked, his interest piqued. "That hair color is rare, I can already think of a few collectors who would pay handsomely for her." He paused, his eyes lingering on her face. "If she is as unblemished as she seems, the price will be substantial."

"And she will be." Thompson replied, locking eyes with Patrick who had been watching him. "Unlike someone, I prefer my investment to be handled with care." At his words, his colleague's expression darkened and Thompson flashed a brief disarming smile, which vanished in an instant. Taking hold of Theresa's arm, he pulled her along with him, while the other man followed.

"Tell you what, I will look after her and make sure she is safe from Patrick, if you are willing to share a bit of the profit." The man bargained.

"I doubt Patrick would dare touch my properties again"

"Come on, you know Patrick is not one to resist a better opportunity. And with her around, he will want to make a move"

Theresa seethed inwardly, her mind reeling from the humiliating reality she now faced. Though the events she had witnessed had left her shaken, she could not ignore the dehumanizing terms they had used to describe her. She knew it was only the beginning. As time passed, she would be reduced to even more demeaning labels. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. What other cruel twists did fate have in store for her?

The rusted metal doors screeched open once again, revealing a young woman in her late twenties with a slender build. Like the first, she frantically scanned her surroundings for a way out. She bore a scar on her back, eerily similar to the first woman's, but hers extended higher, curling up the nape of her neck. Branding itself was an ugly action, but the way it was imposed here was even uglier. Her scar was deep, the flesh visible, blood trailing behind her with every step. Tears stained her cheeks, mixing with the blood.

They knew they couldn't escape, that was the first thing Theresa saw in their eyes when their gazes met briefly. Yet, they refused to yield. What drove someone to risk everything, even death, for freedom? Theresa wondered if some cruel fate was toying with her, watching her suffer.

Tears blurred her vision as she continued to watch the two women search for an exit. They barely made it outside when a man emerged from the same door, gun and whip in hand, prepared to be used.

"You fools!" He bellowed. "Walk through that entrance, and be prepared to leave your living body behind!"

Patrick quickly intervened. "Don't shoot mine she has been paid for."

Theresa watched as the two women, just steps away from freedom, turned back in confusion. In less than a second, they were trapped again. But their eyes told a different story: they would rather die than return to the life within those walls.

The women were dragged back inside, thrown to the ground. "You filthy things," the man spat. "How dare you try to escape?" He kicked the second woman. "Grab her." He ordered his subordinates.

Just before they grabbed her, she hurled an object at the gunman with deadly precision, piercing his chest. The sound of the dagger sinking into flesh was followed by the man's pained yell. "You bitch!" He stumbled backward, clutching at the hilt protruding from his chest, momentarily forgetting about his target. She took advantage of the distraction to sprint towards Theresa and Thompson.

The man's gaze snapped back to her, his face twisted in rage. "Where is that bitch! Where is she?" He yelled, his voice echoing off the metallic doors. Upon sighting the slender woman, he raised his gun and pulled the trigger. The shot grazed her already bruised back, the bullet ricocheting off the door with a loud clang.

She winced in pain, turning to face her attacker. With a swift motion, she threw something else, a small rock, that struck the man's eye with a sickening crunch. He reeled back, his hand flying to his injured eye.

Her gaze locked onto Theresa, a fierce determination burning in her eyes. The man recovered quickly, his face contorted in a snarl. "You lowlife deserve death." He spat, raising his gun once more.

She stood tall, her eyes never leaving Theresa's, as the man fired four shots in rapid succession. Her body jerked with each impact, her face twisted in agony. As she fell to the ground, her gaze remained fixed on Theresa. "Branded..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

A faint smile played on her lips, a sense of satisfaction etched on her face. She knew she had won, even in death. She had inflicted pain on her tormentor, and passed on a vital message.

Theresa watched in horror as the woman's eyes closed, her body going limp. The sound of her own ragged breathing filled her ears, her heart racing with a mix of fear, sadness, and helplessness.

Her chest aches, her mind reeling with the brutality of what she had just witnessed. Why did she feel so numb, so defeated? Was it the woman's senseless murder or the cruel fate that had led her to this place. The woman's final words echoed in her mind. "Don't get branded."