I sigh. “She’s hurting and pretends she isn’t.”
“Aren’t you?”
I don’t answer.
The lock rattles. My body braces, muscles tensing. I stay where I am. There’s no point.
A heartbeat later, the door opens. Light floods the space, sharp and blinding. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Two pairs of hands haul me up by my arms and drag me out of the cell.
This time,two Caligos soldiers bring me to a different room. The fae handling me are also different.
The stone walls and floors are darker here. Large dried puddles of old blood cover the ground. Some splatter is dried on the walls. In the middle hangs a long iron chain. That’s where they bring me.
One of the fae collects my wrists in his palm and lifts my arms above my head. He joins me to the chain with iron cuffs.
It burns like a bitch. As if my wrists are inside a fireplace, flames licking at the naked skin.
The chain is hooked to the ceiling, and then part of it goes down to a hook on the wall. That’s where the second fae, a woman with red hair and forest green eyes, stands.
“Where’s your Big Boss?” I croak.
“Busy,” the woman answers. “There are more important matters than breaking whores.”
I snort a laugh, swaying. “More important than taking down Savage King?”
“Who says you’re the only lead?”
My heart tumbles out of my chest. I don’t show it. They’re lying. They must be. It’s part of the game to break me. My lieutenants are loyal first and foremost.
Like Tanaka was?an annoying voice at the back of my head asks.
I swallow, my throat tight and raw.
“Enough,” the man barks. “Lift her up.”
The woman obeys. She pulls on the chain just hard enough to get me on my tippy toes. My body is forced to stretch. It’s a disorienting feeling, to only be holding on to stability with my toes.
Instinctively, I want to push against the sharp pull in my shoulders. My wrists scream, but I grit my teeth and refuse to give my captors the satisfaction of crying out so early.
“Comfortable, whore?” the man asks.
“Very.” I manage to get the words out.
He smirks and pads over to the side of the room behind me. The woman watches me like a hawk. Unlike the man, she wears a neutral, guarded expression.
I startle when behind me the sound of metal hitting the stone erupts. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as the sound of metal scraping wood drags on. From the corner of my eye, I see the man as he rounds me. It’s a long, sharp metal rod he’s dragging behind him.
“Let’s see how long that continues,” he says with a sigh.
As if he’s annoyed he has to be here, dealing with me.
I wet my dry lips.
As minutes tick by, my shoulders start to burn. I try to shift the weight, but nothing helps. My toes barely scrape the floor. I think I may be losing sensation in my fingers.
Of course, the man watches me suffer, and the more uncomfortable I get, the more bored he looks. The woman remains neutral.
