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Arden turns his attention to Beast next. “The debt you and Grim owe is squashed. We appreciate your help. Now if you’ll excuse us.”
Beast blows out a sharp breath before meeting my gaze. “I understand what you’re feeling, mate. I get it. No hard feelings, okay?”
I don’t reply. I can’t.
4
Cyn
The early morning sun filters through the gaps in the iron bars of my cell, heating the walls enough to bake off the last remnants of chill from the drop in temperature overnight.
Unfurling my stiff body from a night of restless sleep, my aching joints creak in protest as I roll my shoulders and stretch to the ceiling, basking in the warm sunlight that spills through the window. My body responds with achingly sluggish movements, but eventually I ease out all the kinks, preparing my mind and body for another long day making diamonds under the watchful eye of Soren’s soldiers.
The only time I’m free from their shadow is at night when I’m locked away for seven hours with nothing but a meal of plain couscous and a few pieces of meat, if I’m lucky. It’s my one meal of the day, and I eat every morsel knowing that I’ll need every scrap of energy to survive my time here. They ration water throughout the day, and I feel constantly thirsty, only giving me enough water not to be dangerously dehydrated but never enough to fully quench my thirst. Licking my dry lips, I long for the cool, salty air of the Deana-dhe’s island. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel the ocean breeze on my face, smell the stormy sea as it batters against the rugged shoreline. I can even feel their lips against my bare skin, their touch a different bruising than that inflicted by Soren’s hand.
“Where are you?” I whisper, pressing my fingers to my lips, remembering how they’d kissed me, how they’d pressed needy fingers against my flesh and desperate tongues against my skin. I’d come, not under the influence of diamonds, but by their skilled hands.
I knew then that I was wholly and completely theirs.
The sound of footsteps echoing down the tiled hallway outside my cell jolts me back to reality, and I scramble to the corner of the room, knowing that I should empty my bladder now or risk having to do so in front of one of Soren’s men.
Striding over to the bucket, which hasn’t been emptied since I arrived here, my stomach churns at the scent. Being forced to eat and defecate in the same room is a degrading experience that I refuse to think too deeply about.
I sigh and resign myself to using it once again. Gathering up my skirt, I push my knickers past my knees, and use the wall to balance, emptying what little I have in my bladder, pulling up my knickers just before a key slides into the lock. The fact that I’ve nothing to wipe myself with is another intrusive thought I push to one side. Poor personal hygiene is the least of my worries right now.
“You will survive this,” I murmur to myself, a mantra I repeat every time I feel despair creep in.
Blowing out a shaky breath, I step into the centre of the room and wait for the guard to step inside my cell.
It’s Half-skull, a nickname I’ve given the guard who accompanies me everywhere around the complex. Not a very imaginative name, but apt given he has half of his face tattooed with a skull. I might not know his real name, but I’ve paid enough attention to understand that the less your face is tattooed the lower the ranking you have within the Skull Brotherhood. Half-skull is higher in ranking than many other Skulls I’ve seen.
“Soren wants to speak with you,” Half-skull says, his lip furling up at the stench of shit and piss, his emotionless gaze meeting mine.
I nod, following him out into the hallway. Since arriving here, I’ve barely spoken a word, not because I’ve reverted to the mental space that stole my voice as a child, but because I don’t want to share my voice with men who don’t deserve it.
The less I say, the stronger I feel.
We walk past the other cells, the air corded with the scent of sweat and fear. The bowels of this complex are where the women the Skulls abuse regularly are kept prisoner. Most nights I hear muffled crying from the neighbouring cells, and I wish more than anything that I had access to my herbs and flowers so that I could help ease their physical and emotional pain. But I don’t, and all I can do is hope that they can survive until we’re all set free.
“You’ll be dealing with an issue Soren has this morning instead of your usual job,” Half-skull says as we take a right at the end of the hallway and climb up a set of stone steps to the ground floor of the complex.
I dip my head in acknowledgement only because if I don’t at least do that, he’ll have no reservations about hitting me until I respond, and I’d rather start the day without another swollen eye-socket to contend with.
Like every morning, we pass through the now familiar building towards the east wing. I’m not versed in architectural structures, but the building has a Moroccan vibe with horseshoe arches, coloured mosaic tiles and carved stucco across the walls and ceilings. In another life, under different circumstances, I’d find the building beautiful.
From the little I can gather from overheard conversations and my own vague knowledge, I am somewhere in the Sahara Desert, miles from the nearest town. It’s the perfect location to avoid any sort of authority, and allows for many nefarious activities to take place without fear of being caught, or at least have enough warning to prepare for an ambush.
Which is great for the Skull Brotherhood, and terrible for me.
My throat tightens, knowing that even if the Deana-dhe find out where the Skull Brotherhood are keeping me, they’ll have no way to approach the complex without being seen.
“Hey, witch, want to sit on my broom?” a gravelly voice shouts as we pass by the courtyard that’s central to the building and appears to act as a thoroughfare for the members of the brotherhood to access other parts of the complex.
Half-skull chuckles, greeting his inferior Quarter-skull with a smirk that would look handsome if his eyes weren’t utterly soulless.
“You know she’s off limits,” Half-Skull says, tossing a look over his shoulder at me, a hungry look in his eyes that makes me want to wrap my arms around myself and cower from his attention.
I don’t do that, of course.
