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“What happened?” I ask.
He keeps his head focused to the front. “You were just sold.”
“To whom?” I probe.
He pauses and I see his jaw clenching from beneath the rim of his mask. “Japanese.”
My breathing picks up to an erratic rate as the final wall in my mind shuts.
Kurr walked down into the lab where a small baby was crying. He pushed open the doors and found Courtney fiddling around with syringes and Bunsen burners while her foot furiously rocked the carriage back and forth.
“Why is he in here? Why haven’t you got one of the staff to mind him?”
“What?” Courtney spat. “Like how you minded my other son?”
Kurr chuckled, pushing his hand into his pocket before throwing his other up to her neck. He
clenched down on it roughly until her air pipe cracked under his touch. “I told you, you play nice here and the kid will live.” Courtney jerked her face out of Kurr’s grip, tired of his controlling ways but knowing she had no way to escape him. She was bound here for good if she wanted her son to live. Beast. Beast looked so much like Luce. When she looked down at the baby she had in the carriage, the baby her and Kurr produced because of his manipulated sexual propositions, she saw no resemblance to Kurr in him. He looked like her when she thought back to what she looked like as a baby. His blond hair standing in fine strands around his head. He had bright grey eyes that could match the deep Atlantic Ocean and dark, almost black eyelashes. He was, along with his brother, the most beautiful baby she had laid eyes on, and it didn’t matter who the father was.
MILLIE
My eyes remain shut as Tripp and Viking continue to lead me down the hallway. They pause at a bright green door before Tripp raises his knuckles and knocks three times. The door swings open and there in front of me is Kurr, the priest, and the rest of The 6. My feet remain lodged into the ground until someone shoves me from behind, so I step forward.
“Millie,” Kurr murmurs around the cigar that is hanging out of his mouth. He’s in his usual crisp suit and the burns on his face still look as angry as ever. The priest—who probably isn’t a priest, so I should start calling him by his real name, David—stands. My palms begin to sweat. Oh no, what if the Japanese sell me to him? My eyes drop to the floor as he continues his steps towards me. “You still witnessed something you should have never witnessed. I will find you, nun, and I will end every single bit of life that runs through that bony little body.”
His head tilts to the side and my fingers slowly float towards Tripp, who’s still standing near me. His hand flinches at our connection, and I yank it away from him quickly. I hate these people. Looking up at Tripp, I find his eyes already glaring down at me. Kurr’s voice disappears into the distance and the whole room begins to fall into tiny little pieces until it’s only me and Tripp. His heavy breathing matches mine as our gaze remains locked together, like he’s trying to put my broken puzzle back together, only he was the one who shattered it in the first place when he took me.
He steps backward, still watching me, and then drops down onto the chair that is closest to the door. His knee jiggles under the dark denim jeans he’s wearing, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Why is he staring at me in a way that has me thinking that maybe there’s a soul behind that mask?
As if in slow motion, Tripp breaks my eye contact and launches off his chair towards me just as a loud crack sounds out through the room and a heavy sting slams into my left cheek. I fly through the air until I land with a thud on the floor and the side of my head hits the ground.
“Answer me!” David roars from above me. I look behind him to see Viking, Joker, and Angel holding Tripp back. Kurr seems to think nothing of it; he’s too busy smirking smugly at me on the ground.
I touch my face, attempting to cover the hurt. I won’t cry. But I’ve never been hit like that before. The days of me shedding tears to these people are far gone. I won’t give them any more.
Rolling onto my back, I swallow, keeping my eyes locked on the ceiling. “What did you ask?” My throat clenches around the tightness. Turning my face to the side towards David, I look up at him and raise my eyebrows. “So? What—?”
The heavy sole of his shoe stomps down over my face and I’m out cold.
Tight fingers are clenched around my chin when my mind begins to resurface to reality. A light moan slips from my mouth in small, wheezy breaths.
“Millie? Wake up,” a deep voice commands from what feels like an inch away from me. “Millie? Hey!” He taps my cheek, and I twist my head away from the annoying motion. Everything slowly comes back to me—where I am, what’s happened—and my eyes snap open suddenly, my body swinging up and scooting backwards until my back connects to the wall. Tucking my legs under my arms and cradling them into myself, I scan the area to see the same room, but with everyone gone except for Tripp. I wince at the throbbing pain that’s pounding at the side of my head. Bringing my hand up, I rub my fingers over the bloody slit. “What happened?” I ask, dazed.
He curses under his breath before standing to his feet and walking towards me. Dropping back down to the ground, his hand grips my chin. Tripp tilts my head to face him, his eyes searching mine desperately. The perfect mix of thunder and sun all held in the flawless barrier of his blue depths. The grip he has on my chin loosens slightly as his eyes drop down to my mouth.
“What do you look like?” I whisper, more to myself than to him.
He curses again, releasing my chin and standing to his feet. “I’ve gotta fix you up before Hachiro Akimoto collects you.”
He turns towards the door and leaves abruptly, leaving my silent questions hanging in the balance. Exhaling, I rest my head against the wall and stare up at the ceiling. I’ve done everything right in life, so why am I getting punished? The door swings open again, snapping me out of my thoughts. Tripp walks back in with a little first aid kit and comes back to me, dropping down to his knees.
I bring my eyes to his. “I didn’t realize so many people wanted me dead.”
He pauses briefly before pulling out the pack of wet wipes. Ripping the packet open, his hand finds my chin again as he tilts my head to the side. The cool wipe touches my wound and I suck in a breath at the unwelcome sting.
“Why do you think everyone wants you dead?” he asks, dropping the now blood-soaked wipe on the floor. Picking up a new packet, he tears it open and cleans his hands.
I chuckle. “Oh, I don’t know.” The sarcasm is dripping off my tongue. “Maybe because I’ve been violated, manhandled, and—oh, that’s right—sold.”
