Page 173 of After the Burn

My pulse quickened. There was no going back now, even if I wanted to.

Wren pulled me through, and the gate closed behind us with a heavy metallic clang. The sound settled somewhere deep in my stomach.

Inside, everything looked even worse up close. The tanks were bigger, the men seemed dirtier, and the women were more beaten down.

A woman hauled two buckets from the hand pump. One man near her reached out as she passed and slapped her ass hard enough to make her stumble.

The others laughed.

Showing no reaction, she merely straightened and continued on her way.

My hands curled inside the cuffs, and Wren gave the chain a tiny tug.

It was a warning.

But it was unnecessary. I had the sense to hold back, but that didn’t prevent me from daydreaming about how fantastic he’d look with a gaping dent in his skull.

Curtis led us toward what I assumed was the office, with Mike close behind. Neither bothered hiding the way they looked at me.

That was fine. Let them look. I was doing the same thing, counting and learning. At least fourteen men were inside the fence now. I was almost certain five were enhanced. Possibly six.

There were women everywhere. Cooking, cleaning, serving, and waiting on the next order.

A woman came out of one trailer. Her hair was wet, and her shirt hung crooked.

A man followed her a few seconds later, buttoning his jeans.

I looked away before my expression betrayed me. Not because I couldn’t handle seeing it, but because I couldn’t let them see how it affected me. My face would have clearly shown my rage, and if I wanted any chance of helping, I had to use all the cunning and smarts I had.

Wren’s expression didn’t change, but I could feel her fingers tighten around my chain.

Good.

She was just as enraged by this shithole as I was.

The office door opened, and a man stepped outside. He was maybe in his late forties and heavy through the shoulders. Gray threaded through a trimmed beard. His clothes were cleaner than everyone else’s.

He wore a black shirt and dark jeans. His fingers were covered with heavy gold rings, and he had a thick chain around his neck that looked out of place in the middle of an apocalypse.

He surveyed the yard like he owned the ground beneath every foot.

This had to be Caesar.

He looked at Wren first. “What does the beautiful homecoming queen want?”

For a minute, Wren looked confused.

“Such a shame,” Caesar said, smiling. “Oh well, not everyone has the same metal fortitude.”

Wren grabbed her head as if it hurt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He laughed. “It’s not important.” His eyes moved to me. “Well, what do we have here?”

Curtis grinned. “Told you.”

Caesar descended the office steps slowly, in no hurry, as if he were a king approaching tribute.

His gaze moved over my face, my clothes, then to the cuffs. “Gideon’s enhanced little lost lamb.”