7. Dove
seven
Dove
T he groan of metal against concrete jerks me awake. My breath catches and I scramble back, every muscle in my body screaming in pain. My hand darts to my shoe where I hid the knife—the one Magnus slipped me, the one he said I shouldn’t hesitate to use. Go for the jugular , he told me, like it’s supposed to be easy.
I want to believe I can do it—that when the time comes, adrenaline will take over and I’ll fight to survive. But whenever my fingers brush the handle, I freeze. The thought of sinking it into someone, of watching them bleed because of me… It makes my stomach churn. At best, I could slash them just enough to get away. Anything more and I’d be the one collapsing on the floor, knife in hand, paying the price for what I’d done.
Still, I wrap my hand around the handle. The cold metal grounds me, forcing my trembling body to still. Slowly I shift into position, readying myself for whatever’s next.
“Wakey, wakey, little bird.” An unknown voice reverberates against the walls. “Time for your next shot.”
The man’s shadow hovers above me as the cap of a syringe comes off.
Not this again.
I tighten my hold on the knife’s handle, waiting for him to get close. If I can get past these doors, maybe I can find Cole. He told me to stay put, but does he even know what they’re doing to me down here? Can I even trust him anymore?
The man stoops and grabs my hair, tilting my head to the side.
“No,” I croak out, my throat rough and pulsing with the pain of my infection.
He scoffs, squirting a bit of the liquid out of the syringe. It splashes on my skin, and my body moves of its own accord, taking out the knife and shoving it down into his shin. Almost immediately I drop it, my hands shaking after I stain them with tendrils of his blood.
“Fucking bitch !” he cries out, his grip on my hair loosening. My legs barely cooperate as I push off the ground and stagger toward the door. My fingers fumble with the latch, slick with sweat.
But the second I wrench it open, hope dies in my throat.
Someone else is here, hidden in the shadows of the hallway beyond my cage. We briefly make eye contact, and I see his expression. There’s no surprise there, as if he’s been expecting this. As if he’s been expecting me . He grabs me before I can even think to scream, his arms wrapping around my waist and hauling me back inside.
It’s pointless. Pointless. Pointless.
I can never get away.
“If you let this weak-ass girl stab you and run, you really shouldn’t be on this job.”
“Shut the fuck up,” the man I stabbed says, hissing in pain. “Bring her here.”
I fight against his grip as best I can, but I know it will just be another lost fight.
My body gives out, and I feel the pinch of the syringe somewhere in my neck before the fight drains from me completely. I want to curl up in a ball and cry, like I always do after they inject me. Only this time, I can’t. For the first time, I’m dragged out of the room like a fish out of water, granting me my wish. But this is far, far from how I wanted things to play out. I’m terrified of what—or who—might be waiting for me outside.
Low voices hum around me, silhouettes in red robes walking the dimly lit hallway. I’m dragged through a maze of long, cold corridors with a faint smell of church incense, then hauled up a bunch of stairs. Up and up we go, and more light—and fresh air—welcomes me.
Then I’m in a large, modern room with open windows overlooking a town. It looks pristine, a stark contrast to the dark basement where they’ve been keeping me. I’m placed into a soft armchair, my feet tingling from the change in temperature. It’s so warm in here.
“Do anything stupid, and we’ll throw you right back into the basement. Understand?”
I think I nod faintly, but I’m not sure. Behind me, heavy footsteps walk in—not just a pair, but many, enough to make me wish I’d used that knife on myself instead. Tears streak my now-warm cheeks. A hand slips beneath my chin, but I keep my eyes closed.
“What is this?” a stern voice asks in front of me. “Why is she this weak?”
There’s some shuffling behind me before someone says, “Someone probably gave her an extra shot…”
The hand under my chin retracts so abruptly that I have to keep myself from falling forward. And just then, just when my eyes glance aimlessly for a brief second—I see him.
My brother stands upright, wearing the same long crimson cloak I’ve seen on others, his buzz-cut hair and eye scar the same as when I last saw him.
So it was all real, then.
I look at him, but his gaze is trained ahead—void of any emotion, still, and unbothered. He doesn’t seem to care that I’m here, that I’m hurting so much. My heart feels like someone pulled it out of my chest, and I whimper in pain, with my aching throat and all.
“C-Cole,” I say, my voice broken.
An even sharper pain spreads across my face when the heavy back of a palm hits my cheek. My head twists to the side, hair sticking to my wet face, obstructing my vision. I look into the void, shocked, but the adrenaline makes me come to my senses quickly.
“No one asked you to speak.”
A low hum of approval rumbles from the man in front of me. I look down at his expensive shoes and the crimson cloak that covers half of them. Swallowing, I force myself to glare higher, tracing his body until I have to crane my neck to see his face. A white mask hides it, save for the two holes showing his ashy green eyes. Not as bright as Rowan’s, but muted, like they’re mixed with gray specs of dust.
Where have I seen them before?
There’s nothing warm about them—just a cold stare that makes my skin crawl, a stare that pins me in place, making sure I know exactly who holds the power in this room. He watches me in eerie silence and I watch him back, completely oblivious to who he is and what he wants from me.
“Find out who gave her the extra dose and chain him downstairs,” he says, then leans against the desk, cocking his head to the right. Observing me. “Welcome to my town, Miss Finnegan.”
His town.
“We don’t have many females here, so you must excuse my men for being a little too… enthusiastic.”
I fist my hands in my lap to keep from shaking. “Your men are animals.”
He chuckles lowly. “They are, when they need to be.”
I swallow hard. “I already told them everything I know. You’re wasting your time with me.”
He ignores me, gesturing toward someone in the back. My brother approaches, pouring water into a tall glass. Following his commands like a loyal dog. I wince, hyper-aware of his presence around me, and this man—his boss—sees it, as if he wanted to get this reaction from me. Or to see if Cole is going to display any, but of course he doesn’t.
“We didn’t bring you here for information. I made the mistake of underestimating Rowan once, and I won’t make it again. It’s pretty clear he kept you in the dark intentionally.”
Salister. His name is Salister , my mind screams at me, conjuring up information I heard in passing between the men who came to my cell. And those eyes…
He’s… Cam’s father.
“Why am I here, then? Why are you forcing my brother—”
“Oh?” he asks, amusement sounding in his tone. “You think I’m forcing him? I’m afraid we’re well past that point now. Aren’t we, Cole?”
I fight back tears as I hear him say, “Yes, sir.”
The way he says it—coldly and with precision—hits me like another slap. There's no hesitation, no flicker of doubt. He’s learned to play their game, wearing Salister’s collar with pride. My heart tightens, struggling to understand what they could’ve possibly done to him to make him this way.
Salister’s eyes flicker with satisfaction. “I’m sure you two will have time to talk at some point. If he wants to talk to you, that is.” Pushing himself away from the desk, he casually walks over to the window, looking out at his town. “Tell me now, Miss Finnegan, have you ever been touched?”
“W-What?”
The question—so perverse, so invasive—takes me aback. My cheeks burn from shame and when I hear laughter behind me, they also flush with rage.
“I imagine Rowan fucked all your holes by now. Allow me to rephrase: have you ever been touched while being here ?”
I hold my breath tightly in my chest, not knowing what to answer. So he answers for me, staring out at the town with his hands behind his back. “It will happen again. And again. And again. Until you’re a shell of a human and you can’t make out where you belong in this world anymore.”
Knots twist my stomach and I whimper, leaning forward so I can get up and leave. Where, I don’t know, but I can’t stay here and listen to this. A sturdy hand pushes me back down from behind.
“The men who work for our cause are all under a celibacy oath. They can’t fuck you with their cocks. And they can’t make you suck them. But who doesn’t enjoy touching a warm, wet cunt from time to time? Hmm?”
Oh my God.
“Why are you doing this?” I push out the words between shallow breaths. “What do you want from us?!”
His fingers twitch as if itching to move, but he keeps his hands clasped behind his back, never wasting a breath or a motion without a good enough reason behind it. The calmness with which he explains things only makes his words that much more chilling.
“When people are allowed to govern themselves, they destroy things—destroy each other. We’ve seen it time and time again throughout history. Contrary to what you might think of us, all we want…” He saunters over to his desk. “Is peace. Order. And this system we have now has always, always led to chaos, Miss Finnegan.”
I tense. “If history has proved anything, is that democracy is the only way to—”
“ Democracy is a lie.” He snorts. “It’s inefficient. Corrupt. It gives you the illusion of choice, then slaps you in the face with the same system. It was built for the masses to comply—but that’s exactly the issue. They’re now going against it.” His eyes darken. “We have a plan for this country. A plan that might start with you and me—but one that will last for centuries. And if giving my men your cunt is what it takes to keep them motivated, I won’t hesitate to do it.”
I shudder at his words, finally understanding just how deep this nightmare goes. Rounding the chair I’m on, Salister disappears behind me. When he comes back, the knife I used in my cell this morning rests in his hands. My eyes bulge in shock.
“Every man must earn his keep here. And since you’ll be staying with us for a while, you’re expected to pay your dues. The question is, how will you be paying them?”
I grind my teeth, panic quickly growing inside me.
“Either give my men what they want, when they want it,” he says, “or kill the man who gave you this knife.”
The room is spinning. A rush of heat squeezes my chest, anxiety churning in my gut like stormy water. Kill Magnus… or let them use me, degrade me. Murder the only person in this shithole who gave a damn about me. In cold blood. To save myself. I want to scream, to claw at the smug, masked face staring me down and make him feel the same helplessness that’s eating me alive.
I shake my head, but I’m too terrified to give him my words.
I don’t want to make this choice. I sob, but he doesn’t falter.
“You want answers. You want warmth. And fuck knows you need a shower. All these things come at a cost. Give us something in return, and you can have them.”