Page 14 of Ash Storm

Reka

“On your knees if you want something to drink,” Thick Mustache threatened in strongly accented English.

Water.

It was hard to look at anything other than the large water bottle held so carelessly between his fingers, but Reka forced herself to look up. She was sorry to see Thick Mustache’s face had healed, the scratches under his eyes much less visible now than they had been that morning.

She stood on trembling legs, refusing to hold on to the wall behind her.

It had been thirty-six hours since she’d had anything to drink and her mouth and throat—every cell in her body—felt dry.

“On your knees,” he repeated.

Behind her, Chloe shifted slowly from her sitting position to her knees. Her slim shoulders were hunched and her head hung low, her face mostly covered by a curtain of blond hair.

Reka’s heart broke to see her bubbly, lively friend like this.

“On your knees,” the man said again, this time staring straight at Reka. “Or your friend won’t get any water, either.”

Chloe didn’t turn to look at her, but she didn’t need to.

Going down onto her knees on the hard floor was an easy decision.

Her pride wasn’t worth a second of Chloe’s suffering.

She purposefully kept her eyes low and averted, hoping Thick Mustache would take it as a sign of submission, but mainly so he wouldn’t be able to see the depth of her anger—how badly she wanted to hurt him.

Junior passed two little metallic cups through the bars of their cell, of the kind they’d seen so many of while at the Grand Bazaar … could it really be only yesterday?

It feels like years have gone by.

Each cup was half-filled with murky water.

Thick Mustache said something to Junior that made the younger man roar out in laughter. For once, Reka was glad she didn’t speak Turkish.

The men went out again the way they’d come. Reka put her cup down on the ground, careful not to spill any, then approached Chloe and gently took the cup out of her shaking hands and guided her back to the spot in the corner where she’d spent most of the day.

“Sit down, Chloe. Here,” she said, handing her the cup. “Drink.”

Chloe drank, listlessly at first, then greedily, quickly emptying the little cup. Reka eyed her own cup, wondering if she should be drinking it, or saving it for later.

The thought almost—though not quite—made her laugh.

Here you are, literally dying of thirst, and still thinking of the future.

Drink it now, you fool, before you spill it.

She picked it up. It was so small—nothing like the pint-sized glass she liked to put next to her bed at night before she went to sleep.

Don’t think of that.

Just don’t.

She took a hesitant sip. It tasted … it tasted delicious. It tasted like life. She could have drained the whole cup and then a dozen more just like it, but she forced herself to drink slowly, feeling her energy levels rise with every sip.

She stopped after four small sips and walked back to Chloe, placing the cup in her friend’s hand.

“Here, drink a bit more, Chloe.”