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And with that, he walks down the stands and approaches the rings. I lean back away from him as he comes closer. “You …” he mumbles, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Are one lucky girl.”
The devilish smile that follows makes me want to spit, so I do. I spit right in his face.
It doesn’t even faze him.
He just wipes it off and smears it on my leg before turning around and calling out to some henchmen standing in the corner of the room near the doors.
“C’mon. Help me get them back to their cells.”
Chapter Thirty
Accompanying Song: “Life In Her Yet” by Rag’n’Bone Man
Ella
We’re carted back to our cells, but I don’t even care. All I can focus on is Cage, whose lifeless body is hanging by a thread. The men who put us back in our cells don’t even seem to care. They release me from the chair, cutting the ropes, and place me on my bed. I can’t do anything; my body is still numb from the drugs.
None of the guys seem to care about our well-being. They’re henchmen of the men Graham was entertaining, so they’re quickly whistled back when the men start to leave. Graham sends them off with an amicable goodbye as if he enjoyed their time together. Meanwhile, his son is practically dying in the cell beside me.
When the drugs circling through my system begin to wane, I lift my head and call out for Cage. He doesn’t respond. He just lies there on the cold, harsh floor, completely still, covered in blood. So I turn my head toward Graham who’s about to leave the room. “W-why won’t you d-do something?”
He cocks his head and squints as he gazes at me. “He has to learn his lesson.”
“He’ll die,” I say, swallowing away the lump in my throat. “If you don’t h-help him.”
He smiles briefly. “Hmm … care about him that much, do you?”
I don’t answer; I don’t want him to know my feelings for Cage. He has no right to them or me or him.
He nods. “Fine. I’ll bring some bandages and a first-aid kit.” Then he turns around and leaves, closing the door behind him.
It’s eerily silent when he’s gone, and I’m left with a Cage I no longer recognize. His body is completely torn with gashes and bruises everywhere. Blood stains the floor, and he still hasn’t moved.
I’m beyond worried right now, tears welling up in my eyes.
Why did this have to happen?
We should’ve never tried to escape. It’s all my fault. I put the idea into his head.
“Cage … don’t give up,” I mumble, tears running down my cheeks. “Please.”
I hope his soul can hear me because I’m begging for him to survive.
The time it takes for Graham to come back is excruciatingly long, and when he does, I jump up from the bed and cling to the glass. “P-please, let me s-see him.”
I don’t care what I have to do to make it happen; I’ll do anything he wants me to.
Just as long as I get to see him. I have to see if he’s still alive.
“I’ll help you,” he says, taking something from his pocket. My heart swells, but then I notice the item in his hand. “If you pee on this stick.”
It’s a pregnancy stick, but I’m flabbergasted he cares more about that than his own son.
“Well? Tick, tock. He’s dying, remember?”
“Okay, f-fine,” I say.
He raises a brow, pushing me to the brink of despair.
“P-please,” I beg as Graham comes closer to my cell.
“Good girl,” he muses, tucking the stick into the box and pushing it my way. “Pee on it. Then I’ll give you the first-aid kit.”
I nod and snatch it out of the box, marching to my toilet. I don’t even give a crap that he’s watching; I just want this to be over quickly.
When I’ve done my business, I hold it up to show him. “D-done.”
I watch as he tucks the first-aid kit and bandages into my box and shoves it my way. “You know … begging suits you well,” he muses, and then he turns and leaves.
“W-wait!” I call. I still can’t get to Cage.
He shoves his hands in his pocket before opening the door.
Suddenly, I hear a clicking sound right behind me, and I know the room is open.
Brushing my tears away, I quickly grasp the items from the box and run through the black doors to Cage’s cell. I slide down on the floor next to him, throwing everything I’m carrying beside me. While Graham exits the room, I focus my attention on Cage. I place two fingers on his neck and feel a very faint heartbeat. I lean over to hear a soft breath. It’s there … but barely.
I pull him toward me, laying his body on my lap. I throw open the first-aid kit and dump the contents out in front of me. I’m struggling to find what I need. I’m not a nurse, but there must be something I can do.
