Fallen Stars (Stone Bay Series Book 3)

Chapter 20

Day Forty

“Your friends areworried about you, Two Sixty-Three.”

At the mention of friends, I lift my head slowly and narrow my eyes at the masked guard.

“My friends?” A faint glimmer of hope coats my words, but not for long.

Booming laughter bounces off the walls of my cell as the guard presses a hand to his stomach. When he regains his composure, he shakes his head. “Poor word choice on my part, I suppose. Not friends. You don’t have any of those. I should’ve said visitors.”

The last shred of optimism vanishes into the void along with my shriveling body and withering soul. I collapse onto my side on the floor and pray for the ground to open and swallow me whole.

The hell mentioned in books and churches sounds like a vacation compared to my current prison. I’d take fire and brimstone over physical and sexual assaults any day of the week. I’d take anything over the isolation, humiliation, and unwelcome degradation. Anything.

I don’t respond to the guard. There is no point. Whatever I say will get spun around and twisted to poke fun at me and my situation.

“Your most recent visitor says you’re looking gaunt. They’re not pleased. Apparently, you’re not eating the food we give you.”

I don’t fucking care,is what I want to say.

Instead, I remain tight-lipped.

“No one wants to fuck a stick, Two Sixty-Three.”

Another guard enters the room with a tray.

“So it’s time to put more meat on those bones.”

I don’t want to gain weight. I don’t want to be more appealing to these sadistic motherfuckers.

If anything, I want this nightmare to end.

I’d rather die than do a damn thing to please these sick monsters.

The first guard grabs something off the tray and holds it in front of my face. A slice of bread with a thick layer of peanut butter.

My stomach quivers as the scent invades my nose. My fingers twitch in my lap, eager to reach for the bread, take it, and shove the whole piece in my mouth.

But I refuse to make it easy for them.

I may not have the strength or energy to fight, but I still have my mind. Although, that’s slowly slipping too.

Lifting my cuffed hands, I pretend to reach for the offering. I meet the guard’s gaze, display the weakest smile, and swat the food away.

“Always a thorn in my fucking side, Two Sixty-Three.” He shakes his head, fetches the bread from the floor, and folds it in half. “This is your fault.” He clutches my hair with his free hand and yanks my head back. “One day, you’ll learn it’s in your best interest to do as you’re told. Now”—he shoves the bread against my mouth and forces it between my lips—“eat your fucking food.”

I choke on the nasty bread as it’s plunged down my throat. The guard smacks my back with brute strength until I stop coughing.

One piece at a time, I am force-fed several fatty foods—peanut butter, avocado, cheese, scrambled eggs, bacon, rice. With each bite I swallow, my stomach gurgles and knots.

I have no idea how long I’ve been here, but I do know it’s been weeks since I’ve eaten anything substantial or nutritious. My body is no longer used to normal portions, variety or nutrient-dense food. It’s become accustomed to the water, crackers, goop, and meager helpings.

Once they appear satisfied with what I’ve eaten, Guard Two exits my cell. Guard One lingers a moment, walking a circle around me near the eyebolt. His menacing gaze heats my skin as his boots clap on the concrete.

My stomach churns for an entirely different reason.

When he reaches my right, he pauses. Before my next inhale, his fist connects with my temple.

Blinding light steals my vision as I fall to the floor. My head smacks the filthy concrete and another burst of light flashes behind my eyelids. A pain I’m all too familiar with throbs in the confines of my skull as a loud ringing floods my ears.

I stay down with the hope of not getting punched again. Not that it will stop his boot from connecting with my head, ribs or limbs.

Considering they shoved food down my throat minutes ago, I doubt they want to beat me until I puke it up.

“I will break you, Two Sixty-Three.” He takes a step toward the door. “You will be obedient by the time I finish my job.” Another step. “And when I’m done, you will thank me.”

Never.

The guard grips the handle on the door and pulls it closed as he steps out. But the door doesn’t shut completely.

“Boss just handed out an update,” a muffled voice says.

I lift my head and inch closer to the door. Close my eyes and focus all my energy on hearing the conversation just outside of my cell.

“And?” Irritation laces Guard One’s voice.

“We need to spend more time with the defiant detainees. Break their will and make them compliant.”

A growl echoes in the air. “Does he think we sit around with our thumbs up our asses all day?” He huffs. “Don’t fucking answer that.”

“I’m right there with you, man.” There’s a pause before he continues. “Either way, we need them ready in the next couple of weeks.”

“Maybe his ass should come down here and fucking help.”

“You know that won’t happen.”

“Yeah.”

The sound of metal creaking makes me wince as the door closes another inch.

“A couple weeks?”

“Yep. Then our little birds leave the nest.”

“Can’t fucking wait. This batch has been particularly stubborn.”

The other man chuckles. “Definitely testing our patience.”

More creaking fills the air a second before the door fully closes and the locks outside are secured.

“I anticipate Two Sixty-Three will fetch a pretty penny at the auction,” Guard One says loud enough for me to hear.

“If I had the money, I’d shell it out to keep that one under lock and key.”

With that final comment, the contents of my stomach make a reappearance.

I push away from the mess and move to the cleanest part of my cell. Slowly, I lower to the floor, lie on my side and draw my knees to my chest.

Auction.

In a couple weeks, they plan to sell me to one of the countless dirtbags that’s paid me a visit.

The backs of my eyes burn as my throat swells. Saliva pools in my mouth seconds before the first tear trails down my cheek.

“Please,” I croak out into the darkness. “Let me die. I beg you.”

I repeat the words over and over in my head until they are the only ones I know.

Let. Me. Die.