Chapter 7

The final bell rang on Friday afternoon. Ms. Pembroke stood at the front of the classroom, dressed in her usual black trousers and plain black top, reciting lines from a dull poem by D.H. Lawrence. The girls were barely listening.

Her eyes flicked to Millie, who sat near the front, absently twirling her pencil and crossing her legs. On any other day, Ms. Pembroke might have indulged in a moment of lust and surreptitiously lingered her eyes between her legs hoping to catch a peek of some forbidden fabric. But not today. Today, her focus was locked on the empty chair at the back of the room—Sarah Saad’s seat.

No one had questioned the girl’s absence. But Ms. Pembroke knew the truth. She had been messaging Sarah in secret all day, tracking her preparation for her train journey to Paris. Sarah’s father was taking her out of the country.

The second the clock hit the hour, she snapped her book shut.

“All right, girls, have a good weekend!”

Before anyone could react, Ms. Pembroke was already out the door, moving fast.

Sarah sat rigidly on the train, her hands buried in the folds of her black abaya. London blurred past the window, but she barely saw it. Her father was not with her, but her uncle would be waiting for her in Paris. She felt nervous—not just about traveling alone for the first time, or the sheer number of people around her, but about the impending doom that loomed over her. Would she ever see England again?

She gripped her phone, her thumb hovering over the hidden encrypted messaging app—the only thing keeping her tethered to her one hope, Ms. Pembroke.

Had she made a mistake? Should she have trusted her? Should she have gone to the police instead? Social services? But no—Ms. Pembroke had warned her against that. Too risky. Too many questions. Too much red tape. They hadn’t stopped her father from keeping her before, and he would only try again.

Still, doubt gnawed at her. Police officers had been everywhere—on the platform, in the carriage ahead. If she stood up now, if she called out, would someone help her?

No. She had promised her teacher. She would stick to the plan. She would trust Ms. Pembroke.

Karim Saad had been calling his daughter every half hour, relentlessly checking that she was still on the train, while messaging his brother in Paris. Soon, she would be in Egypt, and he would have fulfilled his duty to his family—finally free of this burden.

He grinned to himself. He could say Sarah had run away to Egypt to get married. No one would question it. No one would blame him.

Anyone who tried to investigate would find nothing—no proof of the threats, no trace of the fear he had carved into her. Last night, he had struck her across her bare ass, ignoring her please for mercy.

“If you don’t get on that train and go to Paris, you will get far worse.”

He thought back, and part of him hoped he could give her far worse ... but she was still a virgin ... and that mattered to the family. He thought back to the beating he had meted out to her as she had meekly protested, bent over his lap, her rump upturned her knickers and jeans pulled down to her ankles.

His palm had landed on her cheeks with a sharp crack against her skin, leaving a rosy imprint that grew darker with each smack. She had squirmed and squealed, her face flushed with a mix of pain and humiliation, her eyes watering with each stinging blow.

He had taken his time, enjoying the way her body responded to his dominance, the way she writhed and arched her back in pain. His cock had strained against his trousers, his need for her growing with every stroke.

When he had finished, her bottom was a canvas of red, each cheek bearing the marks of his hand. He had pulled her to her feet, his eyes straying down to her shaved pussy, thinking how soon it would be his cousin plundering her down there and wished it could be him.

“Now, go to bed, and remember,” Karim’s voice was low and menacing, “I will be checking your messages—your WhatsApp, your emails, social media, everything.”

He had leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. “Don’t even think about trying anything. You know what happens if you disobey me.”

Sarah hunched forward in her train seat, wincing as she rubbed the soreness where her father had beaten her, a cruel reminder of the life she was running from, here, and in Egypt.

She could not go back to him. Ms. Pembroke was right—she had to trust her. She was the only hope Sarah had of escaping his twisted, degenerate cruelty.

She shuddered, gripping her phone tighter as the fated train stop approached. There was no turning back now.