Chapter 12 #2
The ogre’s grip felt like it cracked the bones in the back of my neck, pain lashing down my spine.
The guard rushed me down several corridors, finally reaching a room the size of a small warehouse, buzzing with the hum of sewing machines and dripping with fabric.
Steam rose from one side of the room where dozens of people scrubbed clothes on washboards in huge barrel buckets, their faces beet red and twisted with misery.
Another group hunched over old-fashioned sewing machines as guards walked up and down the aisles, whips in their hands.
“Prisoner 85221,” the ogre grumbled to the guard closest to us. He was slight but alluring in a way I couldn’t define but felt in my gut. Dark hair. Yellow eyes. Demon. A powerful one.
“Put her on the machines.” He pointed toward the back at an empty spot.
The ogre pushed me hard, my body barely keeping upright as I slammed into a table of people hemming items by hand. They peered up at me, glaring at me as though the disruption was my fault.
“Get to your station.” The demon pointed to the chair. “Don’t dally.”
I righted myself, looking at the machine with aversion. This was not a skill I had been taught. I could drop a man with a pinch of my finger or wield a spear, but sewing was not in my arsenal of talents.
“I don’t sew.”
The room went silent, everyone stopping what they were doing, eyes landing on me with shock. Their expressions of “oh shit” made my stomach sink to the ground and my neck tingle with fear.
“Excuse me?” The demon stepped up to me, tapping the switch in his hand against his palm. “Did I ask you if you could sew?”
My throat bobbed.
“Answer me, 85221.” His voice sounded like spikes covered in chocolate—smooth, delicious, but dangerous underneath.
“No, sir.” My response croaked over my lips.
Crack!
The whip sliced across my face without warning, and fiery pain burst from my eye to my chin. A scream pitched from my gut, my bones thumping to the ground from the force as I fell in a lump.
“Say ‘I’m sorry, Master.’”
Not able to catch my breath from the agony throbbing through me, I couldn’t respond. I cupped my cheek, blood gushing from my split skin, my face feeling like it had been lit on fire.
Crack!
The whip belted across my torso, striking my still tender gunshot wound, anguish clawing up my throat.
“Say it!”
The words barely escaped my mouth.
“I didn’t hear you. I want this entire room to hear you.” He cracked the switch against my ankle.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I spit out, blood pooling on the floor.
“Get up,” he yelled at me.
From head to toe, every muscle seemed to go limp, traumatized by the assault.
“I said get up, human.” The demon whipped my legs, forcing another yelp to get stuck in my throat. “Last time I ask nicely.”
Grinding down on my jaw, I staggered to my feet, wobbling, but lifted my chin. It trembled with agony, but I bit back my pain and emotion.
“Unless I ask you a question, you do not speak except to say yes. Understand me?”
“Yes, Master.” The bitter taste of copper glided over my tongue as I spoke.
“Good.” His yellow eyes glided down my figure. “You have a warning, 85221. Next one, you will end up in the hole. Now go to your spot.”
My face throbbed, still leaking blood, but I turned around and went to the station, sitting down behind the sewing machine.
“Idiot,” a girl in a gray/human uniform hissed at me from the station to my right.
Keeping my head down, I ignored her. I had been beaten up many times in my life, bloody and bruised, with several stints in intensive care.
This was different. There I felt powerful.
Resilient. I could fight back. Here, I was deprived of humanity, robbed of anything that made me believe I was strong, leaving me feeling weak and defenseless.
Fumbling with the machine, I heard a small cough to my right. At the third cough, I glanced over. A petite Asian girl with dark, silky hair tied back past her shoulders wore a yellow uniform. Her large, dark eyes drilled into me with intention, her head bobbing slightly to her hands.
She moved slowly, with purpose, threading the machine, her delicate fingers tapping on things, subtly showing me how to do it.
Tracking her movements, I copied them step by step. She would guide me with slight smiles or a shake of the head, her gaze always darting to the guards, watching so we didn’t get caught.
Every time one passed us, her head would snap back down to her work until they walked off, then she’d return to helping me.
The fact she was willing to risk punishment to help me, cared to assist a human, made my heart swell with gratitude, which confused me. A fae was helping me while the human on my other side spat and glared at me, leaving me for the wolves.
The room was a mix of sexes and species, though I noticed a bigger ratio of humans here. This was probably all they thought we were capable of. Servant work.
Hours went by, and I worked until my ass, fingers, and back throbbed along with my cheek and stomach. A healer had come in and crudely covered the reopened injury along my ribs and put cream on my face, bitching I was getting blood on the clothes I was mending.
While others munched on moldy cheese and bread and drank a small cup of water from a dirty communal bin for lunch, I had to keep working, only getting one bathroom break before the dinner bell rang.
Because of the lack of food, crippling pain, and loss of blood, I could barely stand when we were free to leave.
“You all right?” A soft voice barely made it to my eardrums as I gripped the table, pushing myself up onto my legs, my body complaining and revolting against me.
Turning my head, I spotted the girl who had helped me.
She was no more than five foot two, her persona cautious and shy, probably hoping to dissolve into the walls.
She didn’t seem like someone who’d be at Halalház.
She nodded at my face. “Be careful of Hexxus.” Her dark gaze slid to the demon who had beat the crap out of me.
He must be the top dog in here by the way the other guards bowed to his word.
He had whipped three more people by the end of the day.
“He gets energy from torturing people. Thrives off it. He actively seeks it out. Try not to give him a reason.”
“I wasn’t trying to.” I hobbled for the door.
“You won’t have to.” Her voice was so soft I barely heard her over the jabber and movement of people heading for the mess hall. “It will find you.”
“Find me?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Danger and violence want you.”
My head turned to the tiny girl who barely looked older than seventeen—not that you could tell a fae’s age by looking at one.
“They hover around you.” Her black eyes almost made her look like she had no irises. “And you welcome them.”
A figure clipped my shoulder, causing me to stumble. “Get the fuck out of my way,” a woman snarled, shoving past me. “Watch yourself, new fish.”
It was the human woman who had sat next to me. Blinking, I watched her graying-blonde bun move through the throng, her brown eyes glaring at me. What the hell was her problem?
“See,” the girl said next to me.
I sighed, turning back to my fae companion.
“I’m Laura,” I lied.
“You can call me Lynx.”
“Well, thank you, Lynx. For helping me.”
“Don’t die.” She blinked at me, then turned and walked away.
“O-kay.” I shook my head and let it go. My mind focused on actually getting food this time. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t last more than a week, and I had a feeling I had only experienced the fluffier side of prison life.
This was a game of survival, and winner took all.