Chapter 3
Sleep is sporadic and shallow. The sounds of the workers keep waking me time and again.
Grunts and bangs, shrieks of climax—clearly fake—and the constant worry that Otyx would return, change his mind, and force me to sell myself or go back out on the street all keep me up.
The lack of a decent night’s sleep and the stress of what my life has become so quickly threaten to bring me to tears again.
I rub my eyes roughly with the heels of my hands.
No. You’re stronger than they are, more resourceful. You will survive. You will thrive.
The small voice in the back of my head sounds like my mother.
She may have let her pain and misplaced hatred consume her the last few years of her life, but before my father died, she shaped me into a strong, resilient, and stubborn young woman.
She taught me to never let my panic and fear stop me from doing what was right or what was necessary.
I reach into my dress and pull out the small silver cage.
I place it under my nose, close my eyes, and take a deep, calming breath.
A wave of resolve crashes over me. I can do this.
I can be the best damn pickpocket that skeevy man has ever seen.
Soon enough, I’ll break free to a better life.
A small knock at the door pulls my attention, followed by a key scraping in the lock. The door opens a crack and a head with long, dark hair, olive skin, and a kind smile pokes in.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” the head says to me in a soft, barely audible voice.
The head is followed by a small body, thin, like she hasn’t been eating properly.
The girl looks to be about my age, but it’s clear life hasn’t been kind to her.
Scars mar her skin. Bags sit heavy under her dark eyes.
One of them is a shade of green that appears to be a healing black eye.
My heart aches for her. But this is the Rookery, where showing compassion is showing weakness.
I sit up straighter on my sagging mattress, lift my chin, and square my shoulders.
“Master wants me to get you cleaned up,” she says quietly.
I snort. “Master?”
She nods. “Master Otyx.”
I almost gag. I’m surprised this building can hold that man’s ego.
He must be lacking in other areas to force his employees to call him “Master.” I climb to my feet and gesture for her to lead the way.
Might as well try to make the best of a bad situation.
At least I’ll get to bathe in something other than the freezing glacier lake.
She turns left out of my room, down the tight hallway.
She’s walking ahead of me, and I take note of what she’s wearing.
A corset, a transparent robe, a sheer skirt, and tiny undergarments.
She pulls her hair over her shoulder and my gaze snags on the collar around her neck.
It’s metal and looks heavy, with a lock at the base of her skull.
The skin around it is pink and raw. I swallow down my disgust and horror and, again, can’t help but feel a heavy sense of sadness for this poor girl.
It’s quickly overshadowed by determination.
I set my jaw and stand up straighter. I will not be calling Otyx Berttom master, and I will not wear a fucking metallic dog collar.
“How long have you been here?” I ask to fill the silence as she turns left again and starts down the stairs.
On the second level, she turns right down another slender hallway.
She directs me into the bathroom at the end of the hall.
Inside is a rusted metal tub, a small, cracked vanity, and a chipped toilet.
In this borough, this is downright luxurious, so I bite back any snide comments.
“About a year,” she finally answers, her head dipping. She fidgets with the sash on her robe, clearly uncomfortable.
A year? “How old are you?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Eighteen.” If my rude question offends her, she doesn’t let it show.
“I had one of the male artifacts fill the tub before I came to retrieve you, though I think it might be a little cold now. Not that water really gets hot here. Master watches every piece of coal or scrap of wood we use so we don’t get to warm up water very much.
You better hurry though; he is not a patient man. ”
“Artifacts?” I’d heard Otyx use this term as well.
She nods. “It’s what he calls his employees.”
I deadpan. “Gross.”
She chuckles.
“I’ve left some clothes out for you.” She points to the small vanity. My eyes widen as I look her up and down before I can rein in my expression. I quickly regain my composure and look away, fiddling with the stays on my dress, hoping I haven’t offended her.
You really need to learn to control your face, Vayna.
The woman giggles. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to dress like me.
Not yet anyway.” She points out all the lotions and potions that she said would help me look and smell presentable.
I’d only seen a handful of them before, a long time ago.
Before my mother stopped taking care of herself.
And me. The girl ducks out of the bathroom to give me some privacy.
I strip out of my filthy dress, place my necklace gently on the vanity, and sink into the lukewarm bath, shivering a little.
Still, it feels incredible. Grabbing one of the bottles the girl pointed out, I scrub the dirt, grime, and sweat from my skin.
I start to feel more human and less like a dirty street animal.
I finish washing and settle into the water with a sigh.
Maybe this won’t be so bad.
I hear boots come stomping down the hallway, but I barely register them. I’m too far gone in the blissful smells of soap and oils and the feel of clean water against my skin, even if it has gone completely cold.
“What the fuck is taking so long?” That voice snags my attention more than the plodding boots.
It’s Otyx and he sounds pissed. My blood turns to ice.
The door swings open with such force it cracks the plaster on the wall.
I try desperately to cover my naked body with my hands as Otyx stands in the doorway, scowling at me, his face almost purple with rage.
He stomps to the side of the tub and grips my hair in his bony fist, pulling hard, forcing me to stand.
A strangled cry escapes my lips, and I abandon trying to cover myself, instead reaching for the hand fisted in my hair.
His eyes rake over my naked form, causing me to squirm.
Everywhere his eyes touch feels like worms slithering over my skin.
I want to retch, I want to scream, I want to cry.
I want to get away from the hungry look in his eyes.
He pulls me closer, my face hitting his chest and I hear him inhale deeply, smelling me.
I look down and I can clearly make out the shape of his erection stretching his trousers.
“Get dressed.” He growls in my ear. “Now!”
He throws me to the uneven wooden floor, slivers sinking into my palms and knees, and storms out of the room, grumbling under his breath. Tears burn my eyes. The woman rushes into the room, grabs the towel she had left out for me, and covers my quaking body with it.
“Better do as he says,” she says gently, helping me to my feet. “You don’t want him to come back up here. Believe me.” She won’t look me in the eye.
I nod, wrapping the towel tightly around my bony body.
I blink back the tears swimming in my eyes.
Her gaze touches mine before she sweeps out the door again, leaving me alone with what just happened.
I try to stamp down the feeling of debasement, push away the humiliation and dread.
Part of me wants to climb back into bed and cry.
Another, larger part wants to fight back, follow him, and show him he can’t treat people this way and get away with it.
I don’t do either. I dry quickly, tie my hair back in a knot, and put on the dress the girl gave me.
It doesn’t fit. She’s much shorter and bustier than me, so the threadbare, beige dress only hits mid-calf.
I have to tie the bodice as tight as possible to hopefully prevent it from falling so low it would expose me to everyone I encounter.
I’ve had enough unwanted exposure for one day.
I slip on my old, muddy, and cracked boots, secure my necklace back around my neck, take a deep breath to compose myself, and walk out of the bathroom with my head held high.
I will not let a man like Otyx Berttom get under my skin.
I follow the woman down the rest of the creaking stairs to a door on the main floor at the front of the building with two men standing sentinel.
The front doors are directly to my left.
One quick jolt and I could be free. I could do it.
I could go back to the streets. There’s no real debt to repay yet.
Before a plan can fully form in my mind, she knocks gingerly on the door in front of us and scuttles to the other side of the hall behind me.
I don’t want to think about what Otyx has done to her to make her so afraid of him.
The door swings open, Otyx on the other side.
He looks me up and down, evaluating me. His lips pull back in a sneer, uncovering his rotting teeth.
I recoil before I can stop myself. He grumbles, sweeping past me out the front door.
I look at the girl, unsure of what I’m meant to do.
She makes a shooing motion with her hands, telling me I need to follow him.
I step out into the bright sunlight of the crowded street.
Everywhere in the Rookery is crowded. People live stacked on top of one another, all trying to get by.