Joy's eyes swept the room, and her heart stopped.
The lobby was a war zone.
Sisters everywhere.
On the sofa near the entrance, one sister lay completely naked, sprawled across the cushions like a discarded doll.
Her face was slack with exhaustion, her lips parted, a thin line of drool trailing from her mouth.
Her body was also covered in bite marks—shoulders, breasts, thighs and her wrists had red rings where someone had bound her.
Joy recognized her. That was Sister Margaret.
The one who loved picking flowers and cried when she accidentally stepped on a beetle.
The one who blushed when anyone said anything slightly improper.
She was completely ruined.
On the bar counter, two more sisters lay tangled together.
One was draped over the edge, her head hanging backward, her hair brushing the floor.
The other was sprawled on the countertop, legs spread wide, her most intimate parts on full display.
Both were marked. Both were leaking fluids.
