2. Rhett
The small nail I dug out from a crevice in the wall weeks ago scores the stone. It’s the only way I can keep track of how much time has passed, and it’s the third one I’ve found. The previous two ended up in one guy’s eye and another guy’s jugular. I kept this one though. I need something to keep track of the days.
I finish the two curves, the familiar scrape of the metal across stone always delivering a new kernel of despair. Another day without my little bird. I trace my carving, then my hand drops as I tip my head back and stare up at the wall covered in them.
Ninety-three little birds scatter the concrete, and I sit here like the disturbance that sent them flying.
I’m not surprised it’s been so long. I don’t expect Xoid to find me when Alistair would have been meticulous in where he decided to keep me. He had a long fucking time to plan.
He’s trying to break me, condition me. My skin has been carved, burned, and drowned. My mind has been tested for pain and endurance, but I know this is only the beginning of his plans for me.
Of everything that could hurt me, the real torture is watching Ana. I’ve not seen a hint of color on her in these long, agonizing months. Seeing her onscreen every day, whether in that wretched office or at training, makes me forget so much time has passed even though I can see her changing before my very eyes. I can see the slow spread of darkness in her heart, and I hope she keeps the strength not to let it go cold. The darkness can be wild and passionate, but ice will only ever be numb and unforgiving.
All that keeps my heart warm is the thought of getting back to her. The hope that she’ll forgive me for leaving her all this time and that we’ll be able to work through it.
Fuck,I love her so painfully it’s all that’s keeping me alive.
The black screen floods with color, and I shift, facing it. Ana is in Alistair’s office. She’s become so at ease there, and whether it’s through masterful composure or genuine familiarity, I can hardly bear it.
I believe she’s smarter than to fall for whatever Alistair offers. My only conclusion, seeing her so dedicated to him—training, practicing, conditioning—is because she’s preparing. Ana wants revenge, and my little bird has somehow figured out how to grab my uncle’s interest. It’s no easy feat. Being the president’s daughter wouldn’t have had him personally taking her under his wing.
No—she’s harboring a plan right under his.
It terrifies me. One wrong move, one slight slipup, and it won’t matter who she is. Alistair is not merciful.
Before all this, I wanted to keep her away from me to prevent what I’m watching unfold. Now I see that we need each other for balance. It’s never been clearer that Anastasia Kinsley was made for me and I for her.
I think he’s making me watch to get me to concede. But I know him. Saying I’ll be his weapon, as he’s always wanted, won’t reunite us. He’ll make me prove my loyalty, and that would mean giving up Xoid. Not just disbanding but turning on them all. Perhaps even killing them.
I will never.
The familiar sound of steel scraping stone signals company. I don’t move at all from the mattress on the floor, knee bent and head tipped back. The intrusion breaks my tormenting thoughts.
“You’re advancing today,” Micah sings. I’ve fantasized many ways of killing him. I’m not sure what I’ll settle on, but ripping the head off his shoulders has been a recurring thought. “Lanshall thinks it’s about time we push your cooperation.”
I don’t respond or even look at the sick bastard.
“What I wouldn’t give to fuck her,” Micah says, admiring the screen. “I think I will. After all my work here, it’ll be my prize from Alistair. You’ll be so broken you’ll be helpless to watch it too. My cock is hard just thinking about it.”
My fists clamp tight, and I’m seconds from lunging. There are brutes just outside the door, but I think I could get at least one good punch in to knock him out before they tackled me.
Killing him isn’t enough. I’m going to make him suffer for ever even thinking of Ana.
She stands, and I’m relieved to see Shadow still by her side often. When she leaves the office the screen goes black again.
“Let’s go, Everett,” Micah orders. He uses my birth name to make me feel small, back in the body of the boy who escaped this place once before, but I never give him the satisfaction.
When I don’t move, it only takes seconds for the familiar shuffling to advance toward me. The two guys haul me up, and I let them. My reactions only feed their desire to cause pain and suffering. So I give them nothing at all.
One pushes me to walk, and I grit my teeth, heading down the hallway that’s become too familiar now. We don’t turn toward the room Micah uses for electrocution and water torture, nor do we make the turn toward his chosen room to draw blood.
I don’t remember the feeling before aching bones and weak muscle. Between the torture and the shit sleeping setup of a thin spring mattress on the floor, the pain is constant, all over my body. I push through it to exercise in my stone prison daily anyway. I would go mad with the solitude otherwise.
To keep me from breaking, all I picture is a future I’m not confident I’ll ever see. It starts with Ana wearing my ring. She would make the most breathtaking bride. I feel her smile, all bright teeth and light in her eyes, as she meets me down the aisle. I think about how, out of all the wicked bastards in hell, it’s a miracle I got there, holding the most perfect, resilient, courageous woman in the world.
Most of all, I think about how she chose me back, and how after all this, I hope that hasn’t changed, no matter how selfish it makes me to want her.
Finally, after what feels like an endless trek with my heavy steps, we get to a door that grinds open. Inside I turn tight with anger at the sight of a teen, maybe seventeen years old, strapped to a chair. His mouth is gagged with a tight strip of fabric, but he’s not blindfolded. When he sees us, his wide, bloodshot brown eyes fill with pure terror.
“This is Jack,” Micah says, passing me.
The boy’s breathing picks up, and a noise of fear escapes him when Micah claps a hand to his shoulder, smiling with cruel amusement at his distress.
I’ve seen this before—captives. Both as a teen myself, still chained to Alistair, and from my work in Xoid. The only difference is ... Alistair’s captives more often than not leave in a body bag.
“Please,” the boy manages in a distorted muffle.
“I don’t know what he’s pleading for—do you?” Micah asks me.
He’s the type of corrupted soul who finds sick pleasure in this work. Innocent people’s fear is a drug to him.
Micah’s eyes fall bored at my lack of response. “Poor Jack here is merely collateral damage. His father owes us a lot of money and has had several opportunities to pay. Hate to tell ya, kid, but it seems your old man cares more about himself than his family.”
He reaches behind himself, pulling out a gun. After circling the kid he comes back to me, and to my surprise, I stare down at the gun he holds out to me as if it’s a grenade.
“You’re going to kill him.”
My blood runs cold. Of all the things they could do to me, this is the fucking worst. I can’t, won’t,kill an innocent kid.
When I don’t take the gun, Micah’s patience snaps. The two guys grab my arms to prevent me from attempting to block the strike of the barrel across my jaw. Warmth runs down my cheek with the explosion of pain. I blink back my vision, as I’ve done many times, and straighten when they let me go.
“Don’t make this difficult, Everett. Think of this like a promotion. Prove yourself in this role, and you can be reunited with ... what is it you call her? Ahh, right, the little bird.”
Fury rattles in my bones, but I suffer through it. There’s no use exhausting myself to entertain his cheap attempts at getting me to lose my shit. I”ll store everything to make my time with him as long and excruciating as possible when I finally get my chance.
“Take the gun,” he says, more of a serious command now.
I do. It’s a revolver, and the weight of it immediately tells me it’s not fully loaded. That would have been fucking idiotic of them—I’d have been out of here in minutes. I hope it’s empty. That this is just a test. But there could also be one bullet. Just one, to end Jack’s life, and no others to take out those highly deserving of a bullet through their skulls.
It’s a gamble. How am I to live with myself if I kill this boy before he becomes a man? He’s someone’s son, perhaps a brother. Maybe he has a girlfriend who loves him. Yet he’s here for someone else’s crime, and it’s so fucking tragic and despicable I can hardly contain my outrage.
“I had a feeling you’d need more motivation,” Micah drawls. “It makes this more fun for me.”
There’s a screen behind the kid, and it turns on.
Ana sits with her friend Riley in a cafe. I know this isn’t what they want me to see, and my eyes scan the rest of the room rapidly. It’s fairly quiet, round tables, mostly couples. Then I see him. A man pretending to read a newspaper, wearing a baseball cap pulled low on his forehead. He reaches to his side, and I know what he’s there for. Seeing the slight flicker of a gun licks a cold trail down my spine.
“Will it be a bullet in his head or hers?” Micah taunts.
The kid cries, struggling against his bonds, and muffled pleas spill past his gag.
I have to take a moment to blink. Breathe. Fucking think.My chest pounds as I try to calculate what to do.
The chamber could be empty. It could have one or even two bullets and I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference in weight. Still, I pass it from one hand to the other, trying to determine if it’s empty.
“Ticktock, Lanshall,” Micah says.
I want to aim it for his fucking eye. Would they risk giving me even one bullet for this? If I kill Micah, I think I can take out the men behind me, but my confidence starts to falter when I think of needing to free the kid from tight bonds. That won’t be easy with bare hands. By then, the place would have heard the gunshot and come swarming.
SHIT.
If I aim this gun at Micah and it’s empty, the kid and I will be in deep fucking shit, to his sadistic satisfaction.
It’s a gamble. A choice of instinct.
I watch the man onscreen click off the safety of his gun, hidden by the newspaper from where he’s tucked in a quiet corner, but in perfect view of the surveillance feed.
I lose it.
My breaths heave as I point the gun at Jack’s head.
He’s a good-looking kid. Short brown hair and deep brown eyes. I picture him as a smart type. Books, not sports. He has a bright future ahead of him and he should be heading for it, not staring down the barrel of a gun that could turn his prospects to sand in the wind.
“Five seconds,” Micah warns.
Jack turns frantic, and I click off the safety.
If there’s one bullet . . .
I could kill Micah at least.
I don’t think Jack is getting out of this even if I do, but I won’t be the one to take his life.
I could kill Micah.
My whole body is stone to keep me from shaking with the absolute fury of being in this sick, twisted position.
My finger presses a fraction on the trigger.
I could kill Micah.
It’s that thought that makes my choice sure. The barrel points unwavering on Jack’s forehead ...
And I pull the trigger.