Chapter 29 Rescue Me
Rescue Me
…give me liberty, or give me death!
— PATRICK HENRY
When I woke, I was slung over a shoulder.
My eyes opened to find Miller’s backside staring me in the face. Cold air snaked around my bare arms and legs. My bound wrists dangled below my head.
The car trunk popped. He tossed me inside. A fresh heartbeat woke in the wounds on my back, pulling a moan from my lips. I retreated into my mind and lived in a make-believe world where things like this didn’t happen.
Tall trees…warm rain…smell of cypress…
He’ll come for you.
He’ll always come for you.
Lucas had a plan. He always had a plan. But I had no idea what to expect. Lucas Scott was not a hero. He was a realist. A pragmatist. He knew if he timed his rescue poorly, we’d both die, and in the interim, who knew how much more torture I’d be forced to endure.
The Hangman turned out to be some sort of luxury home transformed into a gaming hell.
Miller yanked me from the trunk and marched me to an opulently appointed room, all leather and mahogany.
A felt-covered poker table served as the centerpiece.
We passed by it on the way to our destination—a silver cage at the corner of the room, large enough for a single human.
Miller shoved me inside and slammed the door shut. The padlock secured with a click.
“See you tonight, sugar,” he said with a wink, then left me alone.
Until that point, I thought I could survive it, but being given to Jack Miller by the man who’d told me my life mattered more than anything to him did horrid, soul-shattering things to my psyche.
The core of me had cracked like safety glass struck hard, webs of fractures spreading out, distorting everything.
A single window provided me company, and I stared at the square of sunlight as it traveled across the room, the ache in my back dulling.
I dozed for a time, and as I drifted in the pain-free state of oblivion, the thought floated through my mind that I wanted to stay there.
It would be lovely, I decided, if the oblivion never spat me back out.
I was sitting in a cage awaiting a group of men who planned to gamble for the rights to my body. This was what my country had reduced me to. Currency. Something to be used and traded and wasted away.
And I wasn’t the only woman to have found herself inside this cage. I was one of many who had come before, their blood staining these bars, and my heart shredded to confetti as I imagined what had become of the rest of them.
I wanted to die.
Now, before anything else bad could happen.
But I wasn’t that lucky. I didn’t get death. I got slavery.
I startled awake sometime later at the slam of a door. The sunlight had faded, leaving me shivering in the dark.
Male voices filtered through the air outside my room.
At the squeak of a door hinge, low light flooded the room. Sconces along the wall came to life.
Two men entered, chatting, laughing. Chilling recognition settled over me as my mind replayed the various executions they’d performed, the people they’d tortured and killed live on air.
Miller joined next, his swagger oozing from his pores.
He gave one man a good-natured shove, and patted the other on the shoulder—a brotherly, affectionate gesture.
I wanted to throw up.
They ignored me, continuing to chat and pour drinks from the nearby wet bar.
Slowly, a handful of other Blood Colonels joined the room, and my hateful gaze tracked Paul Kingston as he sipped from a glass and chatted with his buddies.
I knew so few of the Blood Colonels by sight alone, but that man had killed Tekqua.
I hoped he died today.
Eventually, one of them peeked out the door and muttered a curse. “I can’t believe you showed. We finally got the house to ourselves, thanks to you. You should sentence private games more often.”
Lucas entered the room wearing a black long-sleeved tee and tactical pants. My heart went wild trying to beat out of my chest.
“You’re all shit card players.” Lucas accepted a glass from one of the others. “This was too good an opportunity to pass up.”
Several heads turned in my direction, and I shrank into the smallest corner of my cage. One of them—Nicholas Blake, maybe?—strolled toward me, leering. Revulsion boiled in my stomach, and I glared at him.
He held my gaze while his fingers curled around the bars. “You’re not the first Defiant to grace this cage, baby girl, but you’re definitely the prettiest.”
My jaw clenched.
“Nice little dress you got here.” His gaze traveled across my hunched body. “Looks like you’re asking for it.”
Rage spilled out. “For what? Dick? Do you even have one of those?”
His mouth quirked in a smile. “You need proof?”
“Nicky,” Miller said with a chuckle. “Should I remind you she’s not yours yet?”
“Bitch needs a lesson in manners,” Blake muttered.
“And one of us will get to teach it to her,” said another, chortling.
I hung my head as he retreated. If any of them tried to hurt me, I could only guess what Lucas would do, but there were five of them and only one of him.
Would any more Blood Colonels show? How many were stationed in this area?
Tears dripped from my chin, splashing onto my lap. The pain in my back was a constant friend now.
Chairs scooted across the floor. Chips and cards were distributed. A game of Texas Hold ’Em began.
“You playing to win, Scotty?” one asked.
“Is there another reason to play?” His voice was bored.
Cards shuffled.
Another one snorted, voice mocking. “Never been interested in playing before. What changed your mind, Scott?”
“Jack seemed to think she’s tighter than a drum. Isn’t that why you’re here too, Jamie?”
Kingston grinned widely. “First time for everything, isn’t there?” He raised his voice. “How do you feel about that, sugar? You feel special?”
My head shot up. Lucas sat facing me. His blue-green gaze was unwavering, making my heart race, my breaths deepen.
“Aw, she’s scared of you, Luke,” Kingston said.
“She didn’t seem scared earlier when she was begging on her knees for mercy.”
Miller chuckled and threw some chips to the middle of the table. “You’ve got that pretty face to hide behind. The whores don’t realize you’re worse than the rest of us.”
Lucas’s smirk promised pain. “I think she’ll figure it out soon enough.”
Couldn’t they see the bloodthirst behind his expression? Maybe he always looked that way around them, but his eyes shone with murderous wrath, and I silently begged him to do nothing.
He returned his attention to the game, and their conversation drifted.
They spoke of their irritation with the Defiance and speculated about the traitor.
They complained about their general, gossiped about lower-ranking Hunters, and bragged about the women they’d fucked.
Every once in a while, one would turn toward me and wink or leer.
Laser-focused on the game, Lucas didn’t look my way again. He became a shark in a pool of fish. The blinds raised, and his strategy aggressed.
A balding man who looked to be the oldest of them was the first to bust. He leaned back in his chair and shrugged, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Too bad, sugar. You and me would’ve had some fun.”
Lucas’s chips grew. His lowball sat untouched on the green felt. The blinds increased again.
Kingston busted next, followed by one other I didn’t recognize.
Tension drew the air taut. I stood, my fingers clutching the bars of my cage until my knuckles whitened and the tips tingled, but I still couldn’t see the cards on the table.
The grin on Miller’s face was pure delight. He raised, forcing both Lucas and Blake to drain their stacks, but then folded. Lucas won the hand, and Miller was short-stacked. He busted on the next hand, leaving only Lucas and Blake.
“Good thing I already had her,” Miller said with a rowdy laugh and drained his whiskey.
Hand after hand played, each man hedging bets, until Lucas raised in the third round. Blake lifted a brow, contemplating. He called. Play continued. In the last round, Lucas raised again. Blake did the same.
The two men stared at each other, neither smiling. The teasing and chatter from the others died.
“Seem pretty confident there, Scott,” Blake said.
Lucas didn’t reply.
My hands ached from their tight grip on the bars. My face pressed against them, cold metal digging into my cheeks. Luke’s eyes flicked to me for half a heartbeat, and he pushed all his chips to the middle.
Blake’s brows lifted, and he pursed his lips. “Alright, then.” He pushed his own chips to the middle. “Showdown.”
Lucas flipped his two cards. Silence stretched while Blake slid his own cards off the table. I held my breath.
Hands revealed, the men at the table burst into groans or cheers.
“You almost had him,” one said.
Who did he mean?
Lucas stared at the cards on the table, and Blake stood, a gloating grin alight on his face.
No.
The giant of a man stalked toward me. I retreated, my back meeting the frigid bars behind me. Sparks lit in my skin with the contact.
He reached for the key to the padlock, lying on a table out of my reach. “Mine now. Bet you’re wishing you hadn’t mouthed off, huh?”
I pressed further into the bars as the lock fell away and the cage opened. Blake tugged me forward by the rope holding my hands together. “No! No, please!”
“There’s that begging I love,” Miller called as Blake dragged me toward the door.
“No! Help me! Please!”
I fought and cried, but Blake only laughed. I tried to find Lucas, but Blake jerked me off my feet and threw me over his shoulder, rounding the doorway.
He took me upstairs, through a hallway, into a bedroom, and tossed me on the bed. Wasting no time, he pressed my knees open, but the rope around my ankles impeded him. I tried to kick him, and he caught my ankle, twisting until electric stabs shot up my leg.