7. Octavia
Something jagged and cold digs into my cheek.
I blink my crusted eyes, but for some reason, there’s nothing on the other side. It’s too complete to be described as darkness. I blink again, desperate for my hand to come into focus against the gravelly texture of the floor.
To my horror, nothing appears.
The next thing that registers is pain. That part isn’t unusual. I’ve woken up in pain every day for the past few years. What is unusual is the source of the pain. My head and body ache so badly, I hardly notice the ever-present scream of my injured knee.
I scramble up to sitting, surprised to find myself sprawled on the hard ground. I look left. Right. It doesn’t seem to matter. Ink blankets every direction in a disorienting haze.
That’s when I start to remember.
The donor performance.
Storming out of the cocktail party.
The annoyingly beautiful Russian man who followed me down the street.
Each piece of the puzzle weaves back into place with shocking speed, leaving me reeling through dry breaths. My fingers fly to the curve of my cheek, as though the gun that dented my flesh left some kind of residue. Bile taunts each breath.
When my eyes finally start to adjust, I don’t know what to make of the lines that jut across my field of vision. The stripes extend from floor to ceiling. Wall to wall. My neck strains from how violently I scour the dim room.
Oh God.
My head releases a punishing throb.
Is this…a cage?
Each beat of my heart vibrates against the shell of my ear.
My fingers scrunch on the floor, and a grainy layer of filth rubs off onto my palms. Shadows twist in from the walls, causing the room to feel even smaller than it seemed a few minutes ago.
You must know that nothing good happens when a girl wakes up in a cage.
“Shut up,” I hiss to myself, shaking the thought free before I start to spiral.
My hands brush the cool metal as I shuffle closer on my knees.
There has to be a door somewhere in here, right?
Be logical. They had to get me in here somehow.
If I could just figure out how long I’ve been knocked out, maybe I could figure out where I…
A low groan cuts through my panic, echoing from the darkest corner.
My jaw clamps shut.
The silence turns static in my ears as I wait for another sound. My heart races so fast, I’m sure it’ll burst from my chest with a gush of red. A rat, maybe. Or the metal bars are settling.
Cages don’t groan. People do.
My logical side is an asshole. I could pretend I didn’t hear a thing. I could play dead. I could lie down in the shadows as still as possible and hope for the best…
And provide whatever made that sound the perfect opportunity to get the jump on me. It could be another victim, I suppose. But it could also be something far worse.
I have to know. I need to lay eyes on the looming shadow and determine what level of threat it poses.
And remove that threat before it’s too late.
One palm slides forward, dirt and something oily digging into the pads of my fingers.
I crawl on all fours, as slow and silent as I can manage.
My shoulders and legs are bare from the ridiculous party dress, and I can’t stop the shiver that brushes over my skin.
On my next shift, something causes me to hesitate.
Because the shadows start to solidify—long limbs, massive chest, lulled head. A man’s body, and a rather big one, at that. One I don’t think I could win against on equal, mutually conscious ground. A man who could wake up and overpower me at any moment.
It’s almost as if someone sliced open my skull and dug out every fear I’ve taken care to conceal in the shadows of my psyche.
I force myself to close the distance between us, ignoring the way my hands shake against the ground.
My fingers brush soft cloth. I trail up the fabric, barely touching the figure.
Each breath comes faster than the last, blowing through the air with so much force I worry he’ll wake from the sound.
Don’t wake, don’t wake, don’t wake.
Something hard and metallic meets my flesh. Yes. I make quick work of the belt, unlooping the leather as gently as I can. It comes free with a tug, slipping through the loops and into my hand. I freeze, waiting to see if the jolt woke him.
He doesn’t move.
A shaky breath leaves my lips as I crawl up the man’s body, settling on his chest with one knee on either side.
A memory sparks before my eyes. Before I can shove it down, hot, sticky summer air swarms my cool skin. Everyone in the room was stripped down to their underwear, cots creaking as they tossed and turned on top of their sheets.
I would say the fluttering woke me—except I never really got to sleep. There’s nothing like a New York summer in the foster home to make a soul long for the cold dead of winter.
I lurched up at the noise, expecting the dark blur of a roach or the skitter of a rat, but the wings took me by surprise.
Wing, I should say.
The pigeon had only one flapping through the air. The other was bent at an unnatural angle, along with a broken leg on the same side. It must’ve crashed through the open window.
I watched it carefully from my cot, stark horror shaking through my spine.
A miserable cooing sound chirped through the air, piercing right through my sweaty chest. I’ve never felt so useless, waiting in silence as the creature twitched against the wooden floor, glowing in the moonlight.
The poor bird blurred in my sight as tears pooled, silently tracking down my face.
Always silent.
I knew better than to make noise and wake the others.
The twitching continued, slowing with obvious agony until I couldn’t take it anymore. I shifted off my bed. Padded my little feet over to the wall.
The belt maneuvers in my grip before slipping under a thick neck. The figure blurs beneath me. Something wet drips down my cheek. Not a tear. I don’t do that anymore.
But when I loop the leather through the metal ring and pull with all my might, the world suddenly tilts.
None of the other kids woke as I slid the loose brick free. However, they did wake at the sound of it coming down against the creature’s small skull with every bit of might I possessed.
He moves all at once. Shadows twist, and my spine crunches against the hard floor. My lungs ache from the sudden displaced air.
“Get off of me!” I cry, holding desperately to the belt wrapped around his neck as the several-hundred-pound man practically sits on my chest. Fight, Octavia! I wriggle and kick…
“You?”
In the stillness, that dark blur comes into focus. Wavy black hair. Severe features. The low, familiar accent lining his voice.
The Russian who followed me out of the theater.
Vasiliy.
“Get off,” I hiss, trying to take advantage of his confusion to shrug off his tight hold. He sits back onto his heels, making quicker work than I did of scoping out our surroundings. The belt goes with him, causing him to frown as one hand pulls it free from his neck.
“Did you do this?” He rubs his sore throat, voice sounding almost boyish with confusion.
It’s oddly disarming.
“Yeah.”
“Oh,” he says, looking down at the leather swinging across his chest like a necklace. Then his eyes flick back up to me. “Are you okay?”
Am I okay?
Buddy, I’m the one who nearly strangled you.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, before narrowing my eyes. “You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.”
He freezes, eyes widening briefly before bursting out in an obnoxious laugh. I tilt my head at the bastard, watching him run his hands over the leather belt in his hand.
“Was that the plan, zlaya?” The raw confusion dissipates into that teasing look of his. “I figured you just preferred your men collared and trapped between your thighs.”
Oh my God. I definitely prefer the dazed-and-confused version.
“Stop. This is serious.”
Vasiliy’s only response is to loop the leather back around his neck and pull it back through the glinting buckle. What the fuck is he doing? Before I find an answer, he leans over, consuming my personal space. I jolt backward onto my forearms.
The leather strap dangles down from his neck, resting on my chest as he stretches out on top of me, dominating every inch of space available in this tiny cell. “Better, zlaya?” he taunts, calling me that strange name again.
I look up defiantly, trying to pretend like I’m still the one in control. I should’ve killed the bastard when I had the chance.
“What is wrong with you?”
A glint of pearly white peeks out between his lips before they dip into a pout. “Why does there have to be something wrong with me?”
My eyes practically bug out. “We’re in a fucking cage! Haven’t you noticed?”
“I noticed.”
He’s not panicked. He doesn’t even look remotely concerned with the fact that we woke up in captivity.
A bad feeling settles in my gut, tainted with the sour taste of suspicion.
I don’t allow it to reach my face. With the belt still looped around his neck and swinging against my breast, I see an opportunity to turn the tables.
His confusing eyes tunnel into me, so full of bewilderment one second, and dry mirth in the next.
The leather groans softly as I wrap it around my fist.
Vasiliy’s lips crack, pleased I’m finally playing along.
I leverage the belt.
And slam my knee into his groin.
“Fuck,” he coughs, rolling over onto the ground.
A rewarding gasp sucks down his throat, causing my lips to tug into a triumphant smile. “Where are we, Vasiliy?” I hedge, scooting backward through the soot before rising to my feet.
“I don’t know,” he groans, still bent over across the floor.
The words anger me. It’s not like I have any better guesses, but the careless behavior is throwing me off. I’m the one who woke up first, and yet, I still feel like the one at a disadvantage.