Chapter 5 Emery #3
“Yeah, people fuck like crazy down here.” Cameron laughs at the way I stare at the ground.
I’m no virgin, but holy shit, it’s not even dark yet.
“Do you blame them? Most of them aren’t leaving the trial grounds—well, besides in a body bag.
” He speaks so confidently, like he’s not worried about himself getting out at all. Let alone me.
I shake my head. “This is all so fucked-up.”
Cameron turns his eyes back on me, ignoring my amusement at what’s happening behind him. I hold his gaze.
“Is it, though? I don’t know about you, but I was a goner in society. This is the best thing that could’ve happened to me.” His grin falters. We reach our bed, and he sits at the edge.
His hands must be stained red like mine are. Likely more, given his habit of killing his partners alongside being a prized possession of the Dark Forces.
“What did you do?” I ask as I drop my thin blanket and pillow before sitting crisscross on the floor. As much as the floor will be uncomfortable, I’ll take the space it gives from my future murderer.
Cameron shakes his head. “I wouldn’t tell you even if I trusted you. And what are you doing? You’re not sleeping on the—”
“Yes, I am. I don’t want to be crammed in bed with you.” A laugh bubbles up from my throat. “And why don’t you trust me?”
His eyes darken and he looks around to make sure no one is listening to us. “Because that’s how people here gauge you. How they decide who they’re teaming up with and going after. You look like you have loose lips, spilling secrets like you would my blood.” Loose lips? I lift a scathing brow.
He brushes his fingers across my jaw, staring pointedly at my mouth. I narrow my eyes at him. He drops his hand, but not his gaze.
I nod. I suppose if you were vicious in the real world, then in the Under you’d be worth gold to have on a team. But on the other hand, what was your crime? Everyone disagrees with something. You’d be placing a target on your back no matter what.
“I thought we didn’t need friends, according to you.” I watch as he lifts his hoodie over his head, half his corded muscles exposed and on display. My palms burn hot against the floor.
“Yeah, we don’t. But we also don’t need more enemies.” He stares at me for a moment too long, making my fingers curl, before he pulls on the black standard T-shirt everyone else is wearing.
“I’m sure kicking other cadets in the face helps on that front.”
He barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “Oh, it does.”
I wash my face with cold water and grip the edges of the sink before looking up at my reflection. Strands of my hair are wet and cling to the sides of my face. Dull, weary eyes stare back at me. I take a steadying breath.
I just need to sleep. My life has been flipped upside down in a matter of forty-eight hours, but I’ll be fine. It’s better than prison.
As I’m leaving the bathroom, the lights cut out.
It’s a darkness I’ve never known. No windows, no stars, no artificial light from smoke detectors.
The air itself feels charged with malice.
The bathroom has the faintest glow coming from the only source of light.
I have to squint to see that it’s a small light installed into the ceiling, hardly casting enough to see in the bathroom. That’s all we get?
I freeze where I am and stare into the abyss of beds and soft snores.
Farther away I can hear more people having sex.
Damn, Cameron wasn’t kidding. Everyone’s living like it’s their last day.
It’s all a bit exciting, to be honest, the rush of not knowing what’s going to happen next has me on my toes.
All of which I’m sure will be more entertaining when I’m not half asleep like I am now.
Slowly, I start to walk in the direction I remember our cot being. I pass a few beds before I stub my toe on one. I wince and hold my breath so I don’t wake anyone up. After a few more cots, I debate on turning back and trying again from the bathroom.
“Lost, are we?” Cameron whispers from my right. I turn and can just make out his silhouette in the dark.
I fully embrace the shade he’s throwing and hunker down on the floor, glad that I at least have a shitty blanket and pillow.
I had to endure worse when I trained for the Russian operation my father devised, he had “matters” to take care of and therefore so did I.
Though I was the only one who had to sleep on stones so wet and cold that my entire skeleton ached for days after.
I shut my eyes and try to focus on the sliver of hope that I’ll one day be out of this hell. That I’ll be done with getting tossed from one shit situation to another.
Shuffling from above breaks my focus. I open one eye and can barely make out Cameron peering down at me. His sage eyes seem to reflect even the smallest fragments of light.
Does he think I can’t see him?
After he stares for a few minutes, I finally break and snap at him.
“What?” I whisper.
He’s quiet. Then he mutters, “You don’t need to sleep on the floor.”
“Better than being strangled in my sleep.” I let a soft laugh slip and roll to my side so I don’t have to look at him.
“Can you please just sleep up here so I don’t feel like an arse?” When I don’t respond, he goes on. “I’ll pick you up if I have to.” He moves to bend down and scoop me up.
Oh my God.
I sit up and glare at his dim figure. “I’d rather eat dirt. Now shut up. You’re going to wake someone up.”
It’s pitch-black, but nothing could keep me from seeing that grin pull at the corner of his lips. I don’t know what he finds so amusing about me. My brows knit together at the thought.
“Then eat dirt tomorrow, just don’t sleep on the hard floor. You’ll have enough of that in the trials.” He pats the mattress. I clench my jaw, losing the will to fight his offer as I consider how much my body aches already.
With brief consideration, I settle on grabbing my blanket and pillow and lying down at the very edge of the bed. It’s a twin, so there’s no spare room for two full-grown adults. One being a giant.
We’re smashed together, his front to my back.
I close my eyes and try to pretend this isn’t happening.
Try to pretend that I don’t feel the hard expanse of his chest warming my back.
He scoots in roughly, hand on my hip and pulling me close as if he doesn’t care that we’re flush against one another.
A small squeak escapes my lips that I’m sure at least twenty people hear.
“You’re welcome,” he chides. I feel the warmth of his breath on the side of my neck, his brawny arm slouched over my stomach.
Only a few weeks—I remind myself—until I most likely die in the trials. The thought makes me feel sick.
Suddenly, his warm body and the soft bed don’t seem so bad.