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“The third rule is…” Twelve sobs, her voice breaking with pain. “...To n—never steal from my Masters—”
She’s barely finished her sentence and Leon is bringing down the whip. The bloodcurdling scream that erupts from Twelve’s lips has me choking on my own sob and blinking away the tears threatening to fall. I have to remain strong. It seems even more important now than ever before.
“The fourth rule is to respect my fellow Numbers. We’re f—family.”
Another lash, more tears. She’s crying harder now. I feel her pain,hatingthese men on her behalf because she's too brainwashed to do the same.
“And the final rule?” Jakub prompts, his jaw tight, his words tense.
“To n—never break those four rules, but if we do, then to expect s—severe punishment.”
My gaze is drawn to the Cat-o'-nine-tails that Leon clutches in his hand, tiny droplets of blood dripping from the leather. Drip. Drip. Drip. I can’t take my eyes off it, or how his hand is gripping the handle so tightly the veins in the back of them are protruding against his skin.
“Oh God,” I murmur, dragging my gaze to Jakub who shifts in his seat.
He looks at Konrad who’s been quiet all this time, to Leon who’s breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, then back to me. “Contrary to what you believe, this punishment isn’t the norm but itisnecessary. Twelve understood the rules, and shechoseto break them. This is the consequence.”
“It’sbarbaric,” I hiss, my gaze cutting to Twelve who’s barely able to keep her body upright. Blood trickles from the lashes across her back and nausea rises up my throat.
“We provide a home, shelter, food, and warmth. The Numbers are well cared for, they perform in The Menagerie doing what theylove, and they fuck our clients because theywantto, not because we force them to,” Jakub continues.
I don’t buy that for one second, but I don’t question it. Too shocked to do anything but sit here and listen to his bullshit lies. Jakub turns to Renard, who has been waiting in the shadows. His expression is tight, but he’s not foolish enough to express whatever thoughts are going through his head right now.
“Sir?” Renard asks, waiting for instruction.
“Take Twelve to her quarters. Lock her in.”
“Yes, Sir,” he nods, flicking his gaze between Jakub and Konrad.
Konrad’s nostrils flare, and I’m not sure what’s going on, but it’s clearly some unspoken conversation that I can’t interpret. “After the meal I will send Thirteen to deal with Twelve’s wounds.”
Twelve sobs, her heartbroken words tumbling from her lips. “No, please, I need you,” she cries.
“And that’s precisely why I’m sending Thirteen. Do not covet what isn’t yours,” Konrad grinds out, reiterating rule number two. “What happened here today is onyou, Twelve.”
“Take her to her room,” Leon orders, dropping the Cat-o'-nine-tails on the floor and taking his seat back at the table. He leans forward and brushes his fingers over my knee, the darkness in his eyes abating, and for the tiniest moment I see something odd in his piercing green eyes. It’s as though he’s seeking my reassurance.
“Don’t touch me,” I sneer, flinching away from his touch. I don’t want him to touch me.Ever. He snorts, sitting back in his seat, that fleeting look replaced with hardness.
“You heard Leon,” Konrad adds.
“Yes, Sir.” With a dip of his head, Renard unlocks Twelve and guides her from the room. She cries out with every step, her pain punctuated with sobs.
Silence descends as we all watch them leave, broken only by the light steps of another woman approaching the table. She passes Renard and Twelve, stopping briefly to whisper something into Twelve’s ear, a look of practised calm on her face. I watch as she caresses the bare skin of Twelve’s arm, my eyes zeroing in on how she appears to be rubbing something into Twelve’s skin. No one but me appears to notice the strange exchange, but there’s no denying the air of calm settling over Twelve despite her horrific injuries.
As Twelve leaves—the door to the Grand Hall shutting behind her and Renard—the woman approaching smiles gently, her attention fixed on me. She’s dressed differently to the others, her clothing hides rather than reveals. She’s wearing a cream silk shirt, tucked into a floor length navy skirt. Her light brown hair is hanging in a loose ponytail and her heart-shaped face is pretty but not stunning like the others.
“This isThirteen,” Konrad says, getting to his feet.
She gives him a gentle nod of her head, and he welcomes her with a kiss to her cheek. Leon and Jakub follow suit as they all greet her like she is more than just a Number. Then I remember what Nala had said. Thirteenisdifferent from the other Numbers. Unlike me, unlike the others, she isn’t a possession, she’sfamily.
That thought makes my heart squeeze in pain, remembering my own.
