Chapter 9
Don’t look at the sunglasses.
Don’t look at the sunglasses.
Don’t look at the sunglasses.
“Princess.” He leaned his head down, his breath curled across my neck. “I’ve missed you.”
“Is someone speaking to me?” I looked up at the rows of cells. “Hm. No. I can’t hear anything at all.”
“You smell like strawberries.”
That was my Lanc?me lotion.
Dig sneezed and then sneezed a second time. “Fuck.” He shook his head and looked around. “Is there a cat in here?”
“No.”
He inhaled.
“Excuse me!” I waved to an officer successfully gathering his attention. “I require a different group.”
The officer pulled out his baton in case I made trouble. “Nah.”
“I cannot be in this group. Dig Graves is in this group.”
“Exactly.”
“I cannot—”
“We asked him which inmate he plans on giving the most gruesome death too and he said you.” The officer patted his phone on his belt. “I can’t wait to see what the inside of a De Astor looks like.”
“Well, I would like to be paired with the young man Tommy. I, uh, very much dislike him. The motherfucker.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Oh, but I do, his football shirt greatly offends me. I prefer the other team.”
“That’s a basketball shirt.”
“If I obtain a medical certificate from my doctor, can I take sick leave and reschedule my attendance in this battle?”
The officer left.
Perfume of leather and metal crept to my nose from the direction of Dig Graves. His physique cast a shadow that licked over my breasts and hips and half of my face. This close, we shared breathing air.
I stepped to the side. He followed me.
The chains around his wrists rattled.
“Aw, how sweet, Princess. You dressed up pretty just for me.” My dress was silk. His voice was velvet. “Is that a custom altered dinner dress from Georio’s last spring line? It's fucking nice.”
Don’t look at the sunglasses.
A wicked laugh scampered from his lips. “Don’t bother running, you’re not going to get far in those heels.”
Don’t look at the sunglasses.
My heart was on a roller coaster. I breathed through it.
A girl was placed in our group donning Birk boots which I was almost certain would be my size. Made from leather and shaped well, perfect for hiking—or running away from madmen.
“Excuse me, new friend.” I waved to her. “Yes, you. I was wondering. Would you like a trade?”
She began an excavation in her nose. “What?”
“I'd like your boots. In exchange, I offer you my heels, they are Remi’s, last season, but they’re worth eight hundred dollars.”
“I don’t want heels.”
I hovered the box between us. “I have shortbread. Five pieces—oh.”
A large hand with a chained wrist crashed down onto my shortbread box and snatched all five pieces. Dig Graves. I did not watch but heard him funnel the biscuits into his mouth and crunch them down.
“I no longer have shortbread.” I tucked the box under my arm since I would not dare litter. “I have only my heels. Would you please take my heels?”
The girl scoffed. “What am I supposed to do with dumb heels in the Execution Battle?”
“Stab someone with the heel?”
“I’m going to stab you in the face, just like I did to my grandma. I don’t need a heel to do that with—ah!”
Dig Graves lunged forward and wrapped his chained wrists around the girl’s neck. He twisted once and a resounding snap stopped her wriggling. She fell into a slump on the floor, her neck bent at an awkward angle, her eyes open, stuck in shock forever.
I pursed my lips.
Breaking a neck took incredible effort and strength. A skill that could only be performed that perfectly if the perpetrator had much practice.
“Listen up you pieces of Soulless shit!” Dig Graves shouted loud enough to recede the tides of the world. “Anyone comes near the Princess, I’m going to become a damn good chiropractor. This girl? She’s mine.”
His voice was like a hand between my legs.
“I also have an announcement.” I waved to everyone with a large smile. “I have no affiliation to Dig Graves. I am not his.” I needed his fingers under my skirt. “And I most definitely do not want him.”
“She’s mine!” he shouted.
“I’m not his.”
“She’s mine!”
“I’m not his.”
“She’s mine!”
I turned to Dig Graves, deeply annoyed at the interruption of my conversation, ready to berate him, though he was far too busy, getting beaten by officer batons.
The Execution Battle had not started and so violence was not yet permitted. The officers let him know of his crime through a beating and in turn, Dig Graves let them know what he thought of it by laughing.
I stroked my finger in the air. “Officers, do you not think the greatest punishment of all would be not to let him into the Execution Battle? I think that’s a good idea. Maybe just leave him here and not let him join in on the fun. Hmm?”
They didn’t listen to me and continued thrashing him, each crack of the baton forming a song against his constant laughter.
I hoped they paralysed him.
Beside me, the girl in the Birk boots lay across the floor in her untimely and justifiable death.
My lower lip stuck out as they dragged her body away. I wanted those boots. Oh, wait, should I be sad for her death? I wasn’t sure. I scrunched my face together, seeing if I could conjure sadness. It didn’t work.
Before the Execution Battle, each inmate was allowed to pick one item to take in with them.
It could be anything.
Typically, of course, items that would assist in their survival.
Weapons. Most chose blades, short or long.
Hunting daggers. Machetes were popular too.
Axes a close third. A man chose a chainsaw, which, after brief conversation with a girl next to me we both agreed was ridiculous as he would surely run out of fuel.
Dig Graves stood behind me in the line, whenever I stepped forward, he moved close, acting as my shadow. His scent of leather mingled with my strawberry lotion. I think he stroked my hair. I did not turn around to look.
He sneezed loudly. “There’s gotta be a cat around here.”
In front of me the woman collected her spear. Very medieval. Very nice. She strode out of the prison to join the rest of our group toward our transport.
Now next in line, I held out my hand to the officer. “Sunscreen, please!”
The officer blinked. “What?”
“Sunscreen.”
It took him a moment to register. “You want… sunscreen?”
“Oh yes, very much. 50 SPF, at least, if possible.”
Still transfixed on my words he did not turn around and fetch me what I had asked for. “You need a weapon.”
“Oh, no thank you. I need sunscreen.” I pointed to where a smudged window high up let in filtered light. “It will be sunny today and I know the arena is outside. Sunscreen, please.”
The officer heaved out a sigh. “Girl, listen to me, I usually don’t give a shit about what people ask for, but come on, everyone in here wants to maul you. You need a weapon.”
“If I don’t wear sunscreen, I will get sunburnt. Sunburn gives you cancer and wrinkles and spots. I do not want those.”
“You need to protect yourself.”
“I am protecting myself. I am protecting myself from UV damage. Do you know that all people should be wearing sunscreen? Everyday. Even if you work inside, the UV can still get through. Skin cancer is the highest cancer in the country and very easily avoidable if—”
“Girl— ”
“Don’t interrupt her!” Dig yelled at him. “If she wants the sunscreen, give her the sunscreen! Skin cancer is a big fucking deal!”
I got my sunscreen.
We were ushered down a corridor and one by one set into a windowless van. I held my sunscreen securely so that no one would steal it and waited in line to be seated and handcuffed. I searched the seating arrangements trying to devise a plan that would not put me next to Dig Graves.
“Excuse me.” I summoned an officer. “I must urinate.”
He ultimately decided I did not need to and ignored me.
Across the way, Tommy stood in his own line going into a different van.
“Tommy!” I whispered loudly to him, trying to get his attention. “Tommy!”
Finally, he heard me, offering only a sneer.
I waved my sunscreen. “You should put some on. It will be hot today.”
He gave me the middle finger and turned away.
From behind me, Dig Graves blew on my ear. “How’s your pussy?”
I swatted at his face no longer there and did not turn around. “I do not answer rude questions.”
“I was asking about your cat.”
“Ah.” My shoulders fell and sadness skulked into the corners of my heart. “My dearest Cauliflower now has arthritis.”
“Fuck! You got her on meds?”
“Yes.” I sniffed. “But I think she’s still in pain.”
“You have to do those hot baths.”
“I do the hot baths.”
“Obviously not good enough if she’s still in pain.”
I spun around, ready to bash him with my sunscreen. “You awful person!”
“There she is.” His lips cracked into a grin.
The world fell away as I came face to face with Dig Graves.
In the cave of his black Grim Reaper hood the darkness arched over his skin as he if dwelled in permanent midnight.
A sturdy jaw, high cheek bones, a fine sloped nose and a perfect pink mouth that pulled into a haughty grin.
Freshly shaved. I inhaled a little deeper.
A soft tangle of black hair swept across his forehead.
Those fucking, heart-shaped, fucking, red, fucking, sunglasses glinted, showing me where his full attentions were directed.
There was a horrible handsome stuck to him, like a wild wolf or lightning strike that split trees in half. A majestic, primal, predatory thing. He licked his lower lip, savouring the bloody cut from where the officers had beaten him.
I was almost certain this man did not feel pain.
My forehead lined. “Do… do you cry?”
“I make other people cry.”
A copy of Pride and Prejudice was tucked under his arm. No weapon. He had armed himself with only the words of Jane Austen. I had a third edition cover in my bedroom on my bookshelf.
“Ah, so you will bludgeon people with a book.” I nodded. “There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, but I’m far too shaken to think of one. Good luck to you and your killing spree.” I turned around.
“I’m coming for you.” A promise. “When we get into the Battle, you're coming with me. I’m taking you to my place and we are going to figure this shit out together.”
“Thank you for thinking of me, but I decline your proposal.”
His breath, warm like a lover’s kiss skittered across the side of my neck. His cheek hovered just next to mine. I kept my eyes forward, pretending I hadn’t noticed him so close.
“You dripping wet for me, Princess?”
My lower lip wanted to tremble, but I bit down on it. “No, I used a towel when I got out of the shower this morning. I am adequate at drying myself.”
“I’m going to turn you into fucking tsunami.”
The beginning of his promise was already whisking in my belly. “I doubt that. I haven’t seen any weather warnings for tsunamis.”
“There are going to be weather warnings.”
“There are no weather warnings.”
“Change the fucking channel.”
“I cannot, the remote doesn’t work.”
“Put in some new batteries.”
“I’m out of batteries.”
“Go to the store and get new ones.”
“They only have double A.”
“Go to another store.”
“It’s closed.”
“Then order online—” He sneezed and soon ended up in a fit of sneezes, one right after another, so loud and shuddering he started a chorus. “Where the fuck is the fucking cat!”
We moved along in the line until it was my turn to hop into the van and be carted off to a headstone. I punctured my heels in, refusing to move. Magnus had not yet gotten me out of this predicament, but I was not too concerned. I had a plan.
“Excuse me! Officer.” I waved for his attention.
The officer sighed. “What?”
“It is my duty to inform that unfortunately I am unable to attend this year’s Execution Battle.” I sucked in a sharp breath. “My sweet aunty Beatrice has died.”
His face fell. “Your aunty died?”
“Yes.” I choked on a sob. “Her funeral is tomorrow. I will have to attend.”
The guard rubbed the back of his head. “Shit.”
Sniffing loudly, I nodded. “Yes, my dearest, sweet aunty Beatrice. We were very close.”
“Don’t worry,” the guard said, giving my shoulder a pat. “We’ll get you out of here so you can say your proper goodbyes.”
“Thank—”
“She doesn’t have an aunty,” Dig Graves interjected. “Both her parents were only children.”
I narrowed my eyes on him and his wicked grin. “How did you know?”
The guard lost his sympathy and prodded me. “Move on.”
I refused. “What if I got pregnant?”
“You’re not pregnant.”
“I could try.” I pointed my finger to a red-haired man further down. “Give me five minutes with—ah, no, not him. Hm. Not him either. Or him.”
Dig Graves lifted his chained hands. “I can get you pregnant.”
“Actually, I think I’d rather just die.” I clapped my hands with glee. “Come along then everyone! Let’s go and kill ourselves!”