by Keri Lake
“Same thing all men with power intend. Hoard it. Let me get rid of this.” He shuffles off somewhere with the blood-soaked cloths, and the sound of whispers reach my ear just as before.
Frowning, I peer in on Titus, whose mouth doesn’t appear to be moving. I tiptoe to the next door, searching through the small window, only the dim light from my side of the door offering an obscure view of beyond.
The profile of a man on his knees, in prayer, seizes my attention.
My heart slams into my throat.
No.
Chapter 12
“Will?”
Unlike Titus, he isn’t chained to the wall, and at the sound of his name, he snaps his head round and jumps to his feet. Frowning, he strides toward me, coming to a stop in front of the window, bruised skin and the purple plum of a swollen eye making me cringe. “Thalia! My God, you’re alive!”
A tremble of fear moves through me, yet at the same time, unspeakable relief washes over it at the first familiar face I’ve seen in weeks. “What are you doing here?”
“A week ago. Our transport was intercepted by marauders. They killed off my partner, and I got shipped off here.”
“Did they do this to you? The marauders?”
“No. The guards here.” The moment I swing my attention toward the one who shuffled off, he adds, “Not Tom. He’s been good to me.”
“What were they having you transport?”
“Not sure. They were steel containers.”
Steel containers. Like the one that held the mutation?
“From where?”
“The convent. I volunteered, thinking it’d be a chance to see you.”
Oh, my God. The mutations were coming from the convent? The same freaking convent I was almost shipped off to?
“Jack told me … he said your transport had been compromised by marauders.” The troubled tone of his voice makes me think he’s believed me to be dead for weeks.
“What? How …” How would he know that? The truck crashed. “And you were intercepted, as well.”
“Not entirely by chance.”
“You went in search for me. Will, do you have any idea how stupid that was!”
“Their useless search parties produced nothing.”
“Miss Thalia?” The sound of the guard’s summon snaps my spine to attention, and I back away from Will’s door to avoid suspicion. “Remus told me to come fetch you. Said you’re to bathe before bed.”
Giving a quick nod, I glance back to Will, before striding toward the awaiting guard and back up the stairs. My mind spins with how Jack would’ve come to the conclusion that we’d been attacked by marauders. The obvious is the dust storm. But, perhaps, if they searched the nearby cave, they would’ve found the remains of Gwen and the Ragers. The stolen equipment from the truck might be another clue, albeit less conclusive with scavengers roaming the desert. I suppose it makes sense that Jack would suspect marauders.
It’s not until I’ve reached the top of the stairs that the guard’s summons hits me. A bath. To clean myself.
Preparations for what Remus has planned.
I exit the stairwell to find a second guard waiting for me, and with a jerk of his head, I’m expected to follow. I glance back toward the front door, where more guards stand by. Not that I could, or would, run now that I know Will is one of the prisoners here. Whether I make my acquaintance with him known to Remus is yet to be seen. My thoughts skip back the events of dinner, the jealousy in his eyes when he forced his guard to undress based on him having given me a look.
No, it’s better they don’t know. For now, I’ll keep it to myself and seek out opportunities to check on him.
“Where do I bathe?”
“The only bath in this place is in Remus’s room.” The guard leads me beyond the corridors of cells, toward the back of the prison, where we stop before thick, ornate wooden doors. After a series of knocks, he opens both doors onto the room on the other side.
Exhaling a nervous breath through my nose, I take in the surroundings. A large, ornate bed, on which Agatha lies sprawled in a sheer gown. A structure in the corner that reminds me of a tipped cross, with cuffs dangling from each end. A wall of tools on the far wall holding objects I’ve never seen before that send a shudder across my bones.
My staring is broken by the click of the door, when the guard retreats, closing me inside.
“Jesus Christ, you look like you were ravaged by an animal. Were you ravaged by Titus?” The air of humor in Agatha’s voice makes me think she hopes so.
Ignoring her, and the pearl necklace still dangling from her neck, I clear my throat. “You asked that I take a bath?”
“I didn’t. Remus requested it. He appreciates a clean cunt. Cleanliness is next to godliness.” With a lazy roll to the side, she climbs to her feet, the long sheer skirts of her dress flowing behind her. “C’mon. He won’t appreciate another man’s blood on you.”
My mind scrambles for a plan while my feet carry me after her. There’s nowhere to go, unless I choose to dive over a cliff. I could run and hide, but they’d surely find me.
I feel as if I’m back to square one. To the day of my ordination. My thoughts sink back to my father and the question of whether he’d have been disappointed in my choices. I suspect if he were here, he’d point the obvious. That at least in Szolen, I wouldn’t have been a prisoner. I would’ve fucked a number of men indiscriminately, but I would’ve lived like a queen afterward.
Agatha guides me to the bathroom that houses a large, white, porcelain tub, and stands off to the side. A jerk of her head toward my dress is my cue to remove it, and when I do, she tips her head in appraisal.
“You have a beautiful body, I’ll give you that. What joy he’ll take in spoiling it.” With a wave of her hand, she ushers me to the bathtub.
Titus’s blood smears across the porcelain, as I sit down on the cold surface, while she flips on the faucet. The water pressure is low, pouring out of the spigot at an agonizing pace, for the chill that races over my skin.
Agatha disappears behind me, sending my nerves flaring. Will she stab me in the back? My muscles twitch, when she places a freshly dipped washcloth to my shoulder.
“The items hanging from the wall in the other room. What are they?”
The answering snort echoes behind me, as she runs the cloth over my arm. “That’s right. You’re a virgin. Ignorant to the pleasures in pain.”
“There is no pleasure in pain.”
“I think you’ll be surprised.”
I don’t dare to ask the obvious question, of whether, or not, they plan to hurt me, since the answer will only weaken me with fear. The objective in this is to stay focused. One step ahead of them. “He hurts you?”
“He administers pain when necessary.” Fingernails curl against my scalp as she works the lathered soap into my hair, before she dumps a cup of warm water over it.
“When is pain considered necessary?”
“You ask a lot of questions, Dove. I think it’s best if you focus on yourself right now. Your hymen … do you know if it’s intact, or not?”
The obsession with that small bit of flesh is unnerving, but I’m grateful she’s not under some false impression, like everyone else who seems to associate hymens with virginity. This may be my opportunity to explain away the lack of bleeding, if Remus does get his hands on me and finds I’m not as pure as he thought.
“No. It was broken by manual exam. In preparation for my deflowering.”
“Deflowering. How very … holy.” Still running her fingers through my hair, she snorts. “This priest. Was he young, at least?”
“No.”
“And they call us savages.”
“Why me? Why doesn’t Remus get you pregnant? From what I’ve seen, he seems to care about you.”
“If that were an option, believe me, you wouldn’t be here. You’d have been sacrificed to one of the monsters, and we’d be basking in the earth’s bounty because of it. Thanks to Titus,
you’ve been spared, and Remus may get his beloved child.”
“It doesn’t take a virgin to bear a child.”
“No. But Remus seems to think you’re part of some divine prophecy bestowed on him to produce the purest race of humankind.”
Like Hitler 2.0. For Christ’s sake, it seems what’s left of the world is fast becoming a playground for zealots and psychopaths.
Once she’s finished washing me, she nudges my arm, and I stand in the tub. Cold air wraps around my skin, springing goosebumps, and I cross my arms over my breasts to hide the hardened peaks there. She takes hold of my arms, prying them away, and smiles down at my breasts.
“Remus prefers them smaller, but I suspect he’ll make an exception.” Soft fingertips circle my nipple, and I suck in a tight breath, looking away as she fondles me. Her touch trails down my belly to between my thighs, where she toys with the small patch of curls there. “You have a pretty cunt. For now. Once Remus is finished with you, it’ll be a battered mess.”
An acidic lump of bile climbs my throat, and I swallow it back, along with the grotesque visuals stirred by her words. The feel of her hands on me is wrong, and when she shoves two fingers up inside of me, my arms fly out to push her away, my lungs filling with a gasp.
She quickly removes her fingers, tapping her thumb and forefinger together.
Checking to see if I’ve ovulated, no doubt. My grandmother often did the same with her patients, just without the unnecessary fondling.
“When did you last bleed?”
“Two days ago,” I lie. In truth, I should’ve started a little over a week ago, and I blame the fact that I’ve yet to on stress.
“Don’t bother to get dressed.” Agatha swipes up a brush from the sink and runs it through my ratted curls, tugging at my scalp with each stroke. Once finished, she tosses the brush back to the sink, where it lands with a clatter, and shuffles toward the door.
Eyes searching for something to cover myself, I snatch my discarded dress from the floor and quickly wrap it around me, just in time before the door swings open to Remus standing there with an expectant smile. His gaze darts to mine, then toward the dress half hanging from my soaked body. Behind him, an armed guard blocks any chance I might’ve had for escape.
“Two weeks,” Agatha says, voice tinged with amusement.
His shoulders sag, brows coming together in a frown as he swings his gaze from me to Agatha, who slips past him. “Two weeks? And what am I supposed to do until then? Keep my hands off her?”
Lasers of hate beam from Agatha’s eyes when she spins around to face him again. “You want to fuck her for pleasure, Remus? Fine. But you can sleep by yourself, if you do.”
He jumps in her personal space, hands balled to tight fists. “You know I can’t sleep by myself!”
Agatha smiles in victory, and to a large extent, I do, as well. Inwardly, of course. “Then, you’ll wait until she’s fertile.”
The exaggerated huff he expels reminds me of a puppet show I watched back in Szolen when I was a child, and I’m waiting for him to spin around dramatically with his arms outstretched, as if hands are propping them outward, and smack his face against the bed. Instead, he gives me a sidelong glance, eyes brimming with irritation. “But she’s so … beautiful. And I’m horny.”
Lips creased to a smile, Agatha drags her fingertip down his cheek. “I never said you couldn’t play with her.”
When both gazes swing toward me, my heart hitches, and I pull the dress up higher. I back myself toward the wall and, like a cornered animal, search my space for an opportunity to escape.
The guard steps toward me.
Remus holds out a hand, his smile every bit as slimy and fake as the tone of his voice, when he says, “Come here, Dove.”
Muscles keening with the urge to run away, and hands curled into tight fists at my sides, I shake my head. Prior to whacking the priest over the head, I’ve never hit a man besides my father, and only in play. I’ve never engaged in a physical fight in my life before getting myself kicked out of Szolen, though I’ve had a fair share of heated verbal debates. I can be sharp in tongue, but I’m no match for a man as ruthless as Remus.
As if elated by my defiance, Remus breaks into a full-on grin and gives the guard behind me a nod. By the time I turn my attention to him, he’s already launched his fist toward my face, and the crack of his knuckles against my jaw shoots a jolt of pain to my temples. I stumble backward, and the wall crashes into my spine, while circles float before my eyes. When the blurry world finally sharpens into one view, Remus is crouched in front of me.
“Your defiance is music to my ears. The more you resist, the quicker I paint your flesh in pain.”
I want more than anything to hear the crack of cartilage in his nose as I kick him square in the face. Tears blur my eyes as I stare back at him, the dull ache of the punch serving as a reminder not to act on my urges.
He reaches out a hand, and when I don’t accept it right away, he lifts his gaze toward the guard standing over us who lurches forward.
I reach out before I have to take another hit, and as Remus threads his bony fingers into mine, he waves off the guard.
From the time I was a child, I’ve always had a plan for my life. I’ve always known what I wanted from this world.
As I hobble behind Remus, who leads me toward the strange, angled cross at the other side of the room, all the plans for my future converge into one single objective: survive.
Chapter 13
No matter what happens to me. What they do to my body. What they take for their pleasure. I have to survive. For my sake and for Will’s.
Locked away in a cell, he has no chance for escape, which leaves me his only option.
I’ve guarded my virtue for far too long, and at the end of the road, I’m still grasping to hang onto it. And what will happen if I do?
If I fight Remus, I may die. My best friend might die.
With his soft, skinny hand, Remus guides me toward a set of tools that hang from a wall beside the cross. “As a gentleman, I’ll let you choose,” he says, running his knuckles through the hanging braids of each whip.
I’ve never been so much as spanked before, not even as a child when I did something wrong. I have no idea what these objects might feel like against my flesh.
While my head scrambles to disappear from all of this, Remus waits expectantly, tipping his head.
“Or I can choose, if you’d prefer.”
“Wait.” Too thin might break the skin. Too thick will undoubtedly hurt worse. I opt for the whip that looks like it’ll do the least damage and lower my head as I point to it.
“Excellent choice.” Taking my hand in his, Remus leads me toward the cross, where he yanks away my dress.
All at once, I feel vulnerable and cold, small and feeble. Weakness in my knees begs me to collapse, and a layer of tears blur my eyes as I stand before the object, now realizing its purpose. Both Remus and Agatha secure my wrists and ankles into the cuffs, which are attached to metal loops that have been nailed into the wood.
The unforgiving object doesn’t move as I tremble against it, my forehead resting against my outstretched arm. Every intimate part of me on display for his grotesque pleasure. In the stillness that follows, I try to imagine the sting on my skin. The chasing burn. Bruises from the small knots of leather at the end of each braid. I once saw a gypsy publicly whipped, after he broke into a house for some food. The crowd cheered, but all I could do was cry for the man and the horrific grooves left in his back.
A warm, shuddering breath falls against my shoulder at the same time as Remus’s soft, clawed fingers skate over my hips. “You are an exquisite canvas,” he whispers. “Creamy white skin. Flawless.” He squeezes the cheeks of my ass and moans.
The sound stirs a cold tickle of nausea in my chest, and I grimace at the wet steam of his breath that lingers when he steps away.
Mother Chilson’s voice echoes inside my head.
It’ll be o
ver soon.
I clamp my eyes shut, fingers curled into the metal loops.
Seconds tick, counting off to the moment when I’ll finally crack and break open.
In the deafening quiet comes the whoosh of leather slicing across the air.
A hard smack sets off a splash of tingling numbness, before a streak of fire licks my flesh. I cry out, knuckles burning with my grip of the loops. Tears trickle from the corners of my eyes, still screwed tight.
Remus moans again.
Another whoosh, another crack.
An involuntary scream escapes me, the burn of the first strike fading beneath the agony of the second. Every muscle trembles, tense and anticipating the third.
It comes again, this time on my bottom, and I snap my lips shut over the scream that begs for release.
I won’t give him that satisfaction.
More strikes.
My chest punches with every outcry I refuse to let go.
I think of my mother and brother, how much I miss them and our simple life back in Szolen. How complicated things became once I grew of age for the Daughterhood. I long to go back to those days of playing in the open fields, where we were safe and protected.
The strikes fall harder, as if he’s angry, and a layer of heat clings to my skin, like a wall of pain across my back and bottom. Another strikes the back of my thighs. Another hits where he’s already struck once, the tender flesh flaring with new pain.
I pray to God in a whisper, “Help me, Father. Please.”
I’m clinging so tight to the cross I don’t even notice where I’ve bitten my own arm until the coppery taste of blood hits my tongue.
I don’t even notice, at first, that the strikes have stopped.
Or that the protective numbness I felt seconds ago has given way to a more intense pain.
The sounds of pounding flesh are the only warning, before warm fluids hit my back, oozing down my raw and inflamed skin.
The sound of Remus climaxing is what finally breaks me, and I sob.
Chapter 14