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“Sounds like a plan. Lead the way,” I say, sweeping my hand out in front of me.
I can’t wait to feel Garrick, Graham, Gavriel, and Gideon’s blood staining my hands.
Mera
When I’m thrown backinto my cell, I’m instructed to think about our conversation. But considering they weren’t willing to meet me in the middle and give me any of my desired concessions, I told them they’d have to find themselves another patsy. It’s not like I was planning on helping them in the long run, but I could’ve fooled them for a little bit and bid some time until Julius and the guys found us.
I just wanted to make things a little easier on Luca. He’s not going to survive much longer under these conditions. Not with the injuries he sustained.
Maribus and Percy are leering at me, ogling me like two deviants. “What are you looking at?” I snap, sick and tired of the way they undress me with their eyes.
“Today’s your doomsday,” Persy says, smirking.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I query, a sudden sense of gloom towering over me.
“It means,” Maribus begins, “that since you’re unwilling to be helpful, you’ll be up on the auction block in T minus five minutes.”
“We’re just waiting on your handler to make an appearance, and then we’ll be watching the bidding war as it begins. Don’t worry, we’ll wave as you’re driven away,” Percy snickers.
“Yeah. We hope you enjoy your waiting fate. We’d hoped to get a sample of what you have to offer, but it seems the bosses are ready to use your destiny as a warning to their sister. You’re the first of the convent girls to undergo an auction, the rest will be taken later if she doesn’t turn herself over.” Maribus licks his lips, then asks, “Are the other girls as tasty as you are to look at?”
My skin crawls because some of those girls are as young as five. I knew these guys played in an entirely different ball field than normal people, but I never imagined they were as repugnant as they are.
“You're disgusting,” I spew, trying to hold my gag in.
“And you’re a mouthy little thing,” a new voice states, entering the room. “Don’t worry, I was warned and know how to handle bitches like you.”
I’m not sure what shocks me more, the fact that it’s a woman who’s here to grab me and offer me up to a pit filled with vipers, or the fact that she has the gall to call me a bitch considering we’re the same gender.
Whatever happened to women empowerment, sticking together, and having a sister's back? It’s almost as if we’ve turned back time and are living in the medieval era where men ruled and women bowed to their every demand.
Only catty, self-deprecated, and insecure females call other women a bitch. It's hypocrisy. I detest being demeaned by imbeciles. Clearly, this woman wasn’t hugged enough growing up. Her heart is dead and her personality is sorely lacking.
“And you are?” I ask, crossing my arms regally across my chest. I’m not going to show her how her presence affects me. Because there’s something seriously wrong with this woman. It’s as if she’s dead on the inside, and the only reason she’s upright and moving is due to her skeletal flesh. It’s unnerving and terrifying.
“Not your place to know. It’s time,” she issues, snapping her fingers at dumb and dumber. “She’s up on the block in ten minutes. Let’s move.”
As soon as the two grab my arms, I have to get one last barb and insult in. I bark and say, “Good dogs.” I feel a pinch on my arm and the pain lets me know I’ll be sporting a bruise there. Jackholes.
“We may be dogs, but at least we’ll get treats for our obedience. You, however, will have to beg and perform for every scrap,” Maribus predicts, a radiant smile crossing his face.
“Your mother must be so proud,” I chide.
“She is,” the woman leading the brigade through the corridor says. “He’s my pride and joy. Aren’t you, Maribus?”
“Yes, Mama,” he answers, his shoulders squared and his chest puffed out arrogantly. “I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to her.”
I bet he is. How sad and pitiful is that? “You have got to be kidding me?” I squeak, appalled that this woman is A-okay with her son being in this type of detestable association. The only response I receive from my outburst is a sideways look. This time however, I’m not upset by the lack of rebuttal.
What could’ve happened in her life to make her so convoluted, calculated, and demented? And as that question streams through my mind, I can’t help but wonder what sort of debased values she instilled in her son.
Some women and men shouldn’t be allowed to procreate. As doors slam shut behind us as we keep going, a frigid, foreboding feeling follows me. I have a bad feeling about this. It feels eerie and my skin gets nippy. Goosebumps mar my flesh causing it to pebble. I’m not a fortune teller, but even I can identify a bad omen when I sense it… and sense it I do.
What’s the irony in that? It’s the same grim notion that went through me when we met the Fitzgerald’s at the warehouse. I just hope that I’m not the one who experiences the miasma heading our way. I need my luck to turn around.
Now that I’ve made up my mind about giving in, turning a new leaf, and exploring life, I’d like the chance to do so.
I want Luca.
