Chapter Two, Worst Man Alive
The strange woman was loud. She had refused to be silent since waking up and looked like a violent rainbow. Bright enough to make me squint.
I presumed she was in her early twenties at best, which was why I kept my eyes firmly on her ever-running mouth, and not on her clothes. Even if she was too much for a man who’d been stuck in the dark and quiet.
Her legs were covered in black fishnets, and her ‘outfit’ was some form of lace underwear thing. Tiny shorts, a low-cut top, and most of her tanned skin on display. I had no idea what she’d been doing before her kidnapping, but she’d clearly been enjoying it.
Enjoying it far more than I’d been enjoying myself lately. Even more so now that I knew I’d missed my thirty-fifth birthday last month because I was too busy being in a dungeon.
I barely remembered what day it was anymore. That part of my brain—the part that kept track of weeks, months, birthdays—had gone quiet somewhere along the way. Didn’t feel important.
But I could feel the passage of time in other ways.
My clothes didn’t fit right anymore. My shirt hung loose across my chest, the collar stretched, the fabric stiff from dried sweat and dirt.
My pants sagged around the waist, and the belt I’d come in with had disappeared somewhere along the line.
Maybe the masked bitch had taken it. Maybe I lost it when I passed out from dehydration that first week before she remembered she had to water me.
She’d said sorry. Told me that she was more used to having a cactus than a flesh plant. Said she forgot flesh plants needed water.
I was sure she was psychotic. She wasn’t a killer like I was—it wasn’t just a way she made money, or a thing she’d fallen into after growing up with a father who ran a gang.
My new cellmate asked for my name, pulling me out of my head. I didn’t give it to her. She didn’t need it.
It made no difference who I used to be.
After a few more moments of babbling, I stared at her again.
As she spoke about the men who would come to collect her.
The ones I presumed were the reason she was here, seeing as I doubted it was her fault.
It was hard to listen when I was so… bored.
Tired. When I felt nothing like the man I used to be.
The stubble on my face never grew into a full beard, but it itched constantly.
My nails were too long. Dirt had packed under them and stayed there.
My skin looked gray in the low light, like I’d been dipped in ash.
Nothing like the usual sun-kissed shade I had, thanks to my mother being from St. Kitts.
Not that I could remember much about her anymore either. She’d been dead longer than I’d known her. Sometimes, when it got extra dark and quiet, I could hear her singing to me. Soft little lullabies about heaven and happiness.
But I didn’t believe in heaven, and happiness was not something men like me got to have.
Even my mind felt slower as the stranger kept talking and talking. Thoughts took longer to form. Words came out wrong sometimes when I spoke, like I’d forgotten how to be around people. Like the language itself was rusting.
The version of me that walked into this place hadn’t been clean or whole, but he’d still been something. A man with direction. A plan. A purpose, however dark. I didn’t know what I was now. Not exactly broken. Just dulled down to the bare minimum of being.
And the worst part? It didn’t scare me.
I should’ve been panicking. Screaming. Plotting revenge.
Instead, it just sat inside me like everything else.
And I knew why.
Because I deserved it.
That wasn’t some dramatic self-loathing bullshit. It was just the truth. I was a terrible person. Not in the abstract way, either. Not in the way that made you drink too much or say the wrong thing in fights. I’d done things. Really messed up things. The kind you didn’t bounce back from.
I killed people for a living. Not in combat. Not in war. Just for money. Whoever paid the most got the cleanest job. I never tortured anyone. Never dragged it out. That was the only line I ever drew. But it still made me a killer.
I didn’t feel bad about it. I never had. I just took the payday and moved on to the next target.
So, no—I wasn’t surprised someone wanted me gone. Maybe it was a family member of someone I killed. Maybe it was a former client tying up loose ends. Or maybe it had nothing to do with business at all. Could’ve just been some sick freak collecting strays.
Didn’t matter.
What mattered was that I was here. Buried in a hole in the ground, next to a girl who clearly didn’t belong in one.
She wasn’t like me.
Not just because she still wouldn’t shut up.
But because there was something still alive in her.
Something that hadn’t been numbed out of her yet.
Her voice cracked when she asked questions.
Her hands kept twitching like she didn’t know what to do with them.
She looked at the walls as if they might move if she stared long enough.
She’d been terrified when she woke up, but it was the kind that came from not knowing what was happening. Not the kind that came from knowing exactly how bad things could get.
She didn’t move like someone used to violence.
Her limbs were clumsy, her knees kept buckling, and her fingers trembled whenever she wiped her face.
Even now, sitting in the dirt, she looked like she wanted to disappear into herself.
She pulled at her tights as if they were supposed to shield her from the cold.
Rubbed her arms like she was trying to erase whatever was touching her skin.
She wasn’t a criminal. Not even close.
Whatever brought her here, it wasn’t anything she’d done.
The woman who opened the door and strutted inside? She was a different story.
She didn’t look at me this time, even though I knew she would want to play a game. Her attention was all on the rainbow.
“So, Blue,” she stopped in the middle of the room, spinning a switchblade between her fingers, “tell me about yourself.”
The girl froze. Brows pulled, head cocked. She seemed no more scared, only a little unsure.
“What, like my hobbies?” Blue swallowed hard as my jaw tensed, fists clenching. “Or my bra size?”
The masked bitch chuckled. It wasn’t like the questions were entirely random.
This was just how she started her games.
She liked to keep her victims on their toes.
Questioning everything so they had no clue when they were going to be treated sweetly with a hot chocolate, and a shower.
Or when they were going to be waterboarded for an hour and have their skin burned with a cattle prong.
“What’s your favorite color? Food? Animal?” My captor’s voice wasn’t loud. Just sharp. Like a needle being jabbed into your ears. “I want us to bond so I can work out how best to deal with you.”
Blue blinked her big brown eyes as my spine stiffened. “What?”
“I’m not speaking Russian. Tell me about you before I start to get annoyed at your lack of cooperation.
” She stopped spinning her blade, instead holding it flat in her palm, pointed tip eager to taste blood.
“Or I’ll bring Yakov in here. He’s more of a prick than I’ll ever be.
He won’t mind jabbing lots of pointy things into you. ”
Blue curled her arms tighter around her knees and lowered her gaze. Her mouth parted slightly, as if she were still debating whether it was a joke. Or who Yakov was. Then, quietly, she spoke.
“Rainbow,” she said. “That’s my favorite color because I can’t choose just one.
My brain thinks the other colors will be left out.
And I like milk chocolate, but only plain or with caramel inside.
Um… Then I like grilled cheese, but with tomato soup.
And… dogs.” She paused after each one, as if she were waiting for it to be wrong.
There was a second of silence before our captor laughed again.
“Okay, I can see what I’m dealing with. A pretty little thing that’s soft.
Sweet. Not violent, and not like me.” Her head bobbed.
“You’re just like I thought—a shiny toy, desperate for some dark sprinkles on your rainbow sundae. ” She winked.
“Sure, I like sprinkles.” Blue glanced at me, very clearly in a way that said, what the fuck is wrong with this lady?
Our captor slipped her knife into her jeans, pulling a key out of her leather jacket instead. I stopped breathing for a second as she lowered herself down, trailing the key along the girl’s arm.
“Behave yourself, Blue.” She slid the key into the other girl’s wrist cuff, unlocking it with a click.
The second her cuff was unlocked, Blue bolted. No plan, just panicked running towards the door. Her feet barely hit the floor before our captor’s leg shot out, and the poor thing face-planted hard enough to see stars.
I had to give her credit. It was worth a shot, even if foolish.
“Shit,” she groaned, rolling over, ready to try again until a gloved hand clamped on her arm and she was yanked up like she weighed nothing.
“Nice try,” our captor said, shoving Blue towards me. Her back hit my stomach, and she huffed, using my arm to steady herself as I pretended not to hate the fact I was being forced to watch another game I had no energy for.
Or that a woman was touching me when I was filthy, bruised, and so damn tired.
“Didn’t think you were that stupid.” The masked bitch said.
“Bad call on your part,” Blue muttered, catching her breath. My pulse was hammering in my throat as I felt her breathing all over me. “I’m full of bad decisions.”
Our captor paused a moment, head cocking. She was silent for a beat until she yanked a black leather case from her pocket, throwing it our way. “Unlock him and make a smart decision. Before I decide to stop being nice to you.”
For a moment I thought I was hearing things. So sure in fact, that I was hallucinating, that I didn’t even dare let hope blossom in my chest.