by Ryan Casey
Aoife sighed. She didn’t want to give this woman anything. Didn’t want to throw her a bone. “You were a member of a fucking vicious cult. What you did to people was unforgivable. And what you’ve gone on to do has only proven I should have finished the job.”
“I don’t think you really believe that.”
“What?”
“Deep down, in your bones… I think it keeps you awake at night, what you did. At first, I thought you were this monster. I thought you were this savage. But you’re not. And in a way… that makes it better, for me. Because I can see how I can hurt you. I can see exactly what I can put you through. Before I kill you.”
Aoife looked into Grace’s green eyes, and she thought about what she’d done.
The pain.
The screams.
And she thought about how right Grace was, about the guilt. As much as it pained her to admit it.
“I’ve felt guilty in the past,” Aoife said. “I’ve… I’ve done things before that I’m not proud of. And I’ll own them. But your people started this war. Your people started this. If you didn’t want to risk what’s happened, then you should never have done it in the first place.”
Grace shook her head. “You just don’t get it, do you? Or you just don’t want to get it. Christopher wasn’t the be all and end all of the group I came from. He was the leader. And there were people on board with him. But some of the people there were just following orders. Some of them were weak. Some of them were scared. And he preyed on that.”
Aoife shook her head. ’Cause Grace was right. She didn’t want to hear that.
Because it was a morally reprehensible move in the first place.
Knowing what she knew now—what Grace told her—it made those screams even harder to unhear…
“I see you’re suffering,” Grace said. “And that’s enough for me. Right now, that’ll do. But unfortunately, we’ve both found ourselves in the shit here. And the way I see it, that leaves us with only one choice.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We need to get out of this place. And if we’re going to get out of this place… we need to work together. We get out of here. We escape. And then when we’re out of here… I’ll kill you myself.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
William Bennett never liked women.
Especially since the first woman who was supposed to care for him—his “mother”—abused him and abandoned him when he was just a little lad.
Yeah. Hard to garner any kind of respect after something like that.
He’d persevered, though, you know? He’d grown up. He’d had girlfriends. But the same thing always happened, time and time again. No matter how nice he was, no matter how good he treated ’em, they always ended up betraying him. Stabbing him in the back. Time and time again.
Yeah, that sort of shit chipped away at your faith and your trust in the fairer sex.
But as far as he was concerned, they were good for one thing, and one thing only. He didn’t have to go into detail with what he meant.
But the women they’d captured every now and then… they’d allowed the boys to release a bit of frustration.
And they’d allowed him to release a real load of frustration.
In an unconventional way, sure. But in a way that had always worked for him.
It started with one prostitute seven years ago. A crazy sex game gone wrong.
But he felt a buzz when it was done. Sick as fuck, sure. But a weird kind of buzz covering up the evidence. And getting away with it, too.
An unknown girl. Someone nobody searched for.
The following six times, it got easier and easier.
He remembered where he was when the power went out. A New Year’s treat. Only he’d slipped up. Got caught stuffing her body into the boot of his car.
He remembered that fear. That fear of seeing that couple staring at him, and him staring back at them, and knowing that his game was up. Knowing that he had to do something drastic if he wanted to escape this.
And then he remembered the crashing sounds, the lights going out, and the whole world changing, all over again.
He smiled at the thought. God on his side. Clearly someone up there wanted him to continue his quest.
And that’s exactly what he’d done.
Established a good little group of tough survivors. Blokes with similar interests. Okay. The rest of them not quite as savage as him, but they’d come round to his way of thinking. They were already halfway there, anyway. They knew what he got up to. They had to know it was weird how suddenly the women went missing.
They knew exactly what was going on.
But standing here, looking in through the crack in the door to the room where the women were, he felt a smile creep up his face.
Two of them.
Two of them landing right on his doorstep in one night.
One of them beautiful.
One of them… well. Not beautiful at all.
But it was that lack of beauty that drew him to her even more.
That ugliness that awoke something inside him.
An animal urge.
An urge to dehumanise her, even more than whatever crazy-ass fire wounds she’d suffered had already damaged her.
He took a deep breath, swallowed a lump in his throat, and listened as they spoke together. As they tried to figure something out. Tried to escape.
He smiled at the hope in their muffled voices.
There was no way out of this for them.
And it was only going to get worse for them.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Aoife sat in that seat, binds around her wrists, ties around her ankles, and she tried to get her head around Grace’s suggestion.
“So let me get this straight,” Aoife said. “You expect me to work with you, to get out of here? And then when we get out of here…”
“I kill you. Yeah.”
Aoife shook her head. She had to give it to Grace: she was bold, and she was clear in her intentions. She wasn’t fooling her into working with her to survive, only to stab her in the back. She was actively suggesting getting out of here and then finishing whatever business hung in the air between them.
“Or you kill me,” Grace said. “I mean, I doubt that’s how it’ll go, I really do. You won’t get that opportunity. But let’s face it. I’d rather us settle our differences than die here, at the hands of these fuckers. Wouldn’t you?”
Aoife looked around at her. And just seeing her made her stomach turn again. Not out of pure hatred. Because of course, there was hatred. But there was something else there. Seeing her burned skin. Seeing those bright green eyes beaming back at her. A glimpse of the beauty that was probably once there.
It made her feel a glimmer of pity.
And it made her feel guilty.
“You’re right,” Aoife said. “Much as it pains me to admit it… you’re right. The last thing either of us want is for these fuckers to have their way with us. Not when… not when we’ve still got things to settle.”
She thought she saw something like a smile stretch across her lipless face, just for a second.
“Good,” Grace said. “I want to reassure you about something. I won’t stab you in the back. I’ll work with you. Because there’s far, far more I want to put you through than these men can.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” Aoife said.
“Then we do this professionally,” Grace said. “We do this practically. We get out. And then we finish what we started.”
Aoife didn’t want to agree. She felt mad even contemplating agreeing with her. After all, this woman wanted to kill her. She wanted to exact more pain on her than these blokes here could do.
But at the same time… the only way they were getting out of here looked like by helping each other.
If there was even a way out at all.
They could get out of here.
And then they could settle their shit.
It wasn’t g
oing to be easy. It was going to take a lot of willpower.
But it might just be their best shot.
“Then what’s your plan?” Aoife asked.
Grace’s smile widened just a little.
Then she unfurled her lipless mouth, and something dropped out onto her thigh, covered in blood.
It was hard to make out at first. But the closer Aoife looked at it, the more she realised what it was.
It was a blade.
“How…”
“One of the perks of being burned to within an inch of your life? You don’t feel stuff in certain places. Trust me, you feel a hell of a lot in other places. But here, the nerve endings, they’re all burned away. My mouth’s one area where that’s the case. It’s one of the few blessings of what you did to me. Makes me… stronger.”
Aoife looked down at the blade on Grace’s thighs, and she didn’t know what she was suggesting, what she was implying.
“I can’t reach it,” Grace said. “You’re going to have to scoot yourself over here. Lean back, grab it with your hands if you can. Then cut me free. Try anything—try to attack me first—and you’ll regret it. You don’t know how many more of these I have in here.”
It dawned on Aoife then that Grace wasn’t lying. The way blood trickled down her chin. The way she spoke, even more slurred than usual.
It wouldn’t stun her at all if there were a ton of blades in there.
“And you really trust me not to try something?” Aoife asked. “Really?’
Grace smiled wider. “I think you hate me just as much as I hate you. I think you want to settle this far, far more violently than this. For what I did to that man of yours.”
Aoife felt a visceral punch to the gut.
A reminder of the flames.
Of the cries.
A reminder of how much she hated this woman and how much she wanted revenge—proper revenge.
She dragged herself over. Pulled the chair along with her bodyweight, just like she had before. A few times, the chair toppled, felt like it was going to wobble over.
But she kept on going. Kept on forcing herself along.
Closer to Grace.
She reached the front of her chair and stopped, just for a moment.
Stared into Grace’s eyes. Right into her face.
“I could kill you,” Aoife said. “I could cut myself loose, and I could kill you.”
Grace poked a blade out of her mouth. So long and so sharp that Aoife had no idea how she’d fit it in there and kept it in there.
Then she pushed it back in. The sharp edge of it catching quite visibly on the side of her mouth, to no reaction.
“You want to risk it? You have no idea how many more of these I have. Or where else I have them. Don’t do anything silly, Aoife.”
Aoife felt her skin crawl. “Bitch.”
Then she leaned back, leaned towards Grace’s chair, leaned towards the blade.
Leaned a little too far, and fell right back, supported only by Grace.
She felt something, then. Something sharp against her neck. From Grace’s mouth.
“And now the tables are turned,” Grace said. “Now, it’s me in the position of power.”
She laughed a little, then moved the blade away.
Aoife scrambled for the other blade, the one on her legs.
Tried to grab it. Tried to pick it up.
And eventually, she got it.
Eventually, she felt it.
She went to pull it away when she felt Grace’s hands grab her.
“My wrists first.”
Aoife held on to that blade. So close to pulling it away. So close to ramming it into her thigh.
And then she moved it back.
Moved it along her ties.
Sliced and sliced and sliced until…
She felt it.
Grace’s hands fell free.
Tumbled forward as Grace pushed her away, then started working on her ankles with another of her blades.
“I’ll see to you soon,” Grace said.
But Aoife wasn’t waiting around.
She cut at the ties around her wrists with the blade.
Cut more and more frantically as Grace tried to break free of hers.
She kept on cutting, constantly aware that Grace could just bury a blade into her at any moment… and then her wrists fell free.
She reached for the ties around her ankles.
Cut through them, even more frantically.
And then, when she broke free of them, she turned to Grace.
Saw her going to stand.
Saw the blade in her hand.
Went to stand too…
That’s when Aoife heard it.
The door to the room, opening up.
Someone was here.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Aoife saw the door open, and every muscle in her body went numb.
There was a man at the door. Walking in the room. Not William, the apparent leader of this place. Someone else. Someone familiar.
The big guy. Kent.
He stood there, right by the door, and he had this animalistic look in his eyes. Almost like he didn’t see her as human. Saw her as something less. Much less.
He had a belt in his hands, too.
A belt with metal spikes along it.
Tied around his palm and the back of his hand.
“Well, well,” he said. “What do we have here?”
Aoife sat there, really still. She’d thrown herself back into her chair. Stuffed her hands around her back. Kept her legs right against the chair legs, so it still looked like there were ties around them.
And as far as she could tell, Grace had done the same.
What she hadn’t been able to do, was scoot her way back to where she’d been sitting before.
She was still right there, in front of Grace’s chair.
“What’re you two up to? The boss never left you like this, I’m sure of it.”
Aoife didn’t say a word.
Just stayed sitting there.
Hands behind her back.
The blade tight in her grip.
Heart racing.
Palms sweaty.
Shaking all over.
“Hell,” he said. “You’ve gone quiet. The pair of you have. You were a helluva lot more chatty when we ran into you.”
“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” Aoife said.
“Yeah,” Grace added. “What she said.”
Hearing Grace agree with her made her stomach turn. But still, it was something.
Kent walked over, across the large-windowed room, slowly. He had this smirk on his face. This smirk that seemed to grow even more the closer he got to the pair of them.
Tensing that belt around his hand, again and again, and again.
He reached Aoife. Stopped right in front of her.
She had to keep the blade tight in her grip.
She had to keep her legs close to the chair legs.
She had to make it look like she was still trapped.
She watched him stop right over her. Smelled his putrid onion breath. He was close. But he wasn’t close enough for her to jump up. To attack him. He’d have too much of a window of opportunity to stop her.
“Nah, you’re too quiet,” he said. “Way too quiet for my liking.”
He struck her on her thighs with the belt. Hard.
And every instinct in her body told her to shout. To let out a cry.
But she didn’t want to show her pain to this bastard.
Kent laughed a little. “Good effort. Really is. Maybe we can make a habit of this.”
He cracked the belt against her thighs again.
The pain was hot and sudden. Burning, stinging, aching really deep.
But still, she kept her cool.
Still, she kept her composure.
As calm as she could keep, even as tears stung her eyes.
He leaned into her then. Grabbed her hair.
And her instinc
t was to lift her hand.
To lift it and swing it at his throat.
He leaned into her face. Breathing that horrible breath all over her.
Smiling with those rotting teeth.
“The boss is looking forward to you,” he said. “He’s lookin’ forward to the pair of you. But he told me to have a little fun with you myself first.”
That creepy smile stretched wider.
His grip on her hair, harder.
He went to lift his belt, and she swung the blade towards his neck.
He stopped her.
Swatted away her hand, right in an instant.
The blade went tumbling across the room.
He looked over at the blade.
Then down at her.
Frown on his face.
Confusion, as the realisation kicked in.
“What…”
And then it clearly hit him.
He pulled back his fist.
Went to swing it at Aoife before she could bolt out of her chair.
Knocked her down to the floor.
She turned over. Head spinning. Ears ringing. Taste of blood in her mouth.
Looked around and up at him as she lay there on that hard, dusty floor.
He stood there with that belt in his shaking hand. Anger in his wide, bloodshot eyes.
“That was a bad move,” he said, tightening the belt around his hand. “A really, really bad move.”
He pulled back the belt.
Aoife braced herself.
And then she heard something.
A gasp.
The sound of flesh being pierced.
Of blood being gargled.
And a voice.
“She’s mine.”
She looked up.
Saw Grace standing behind Kent.
One of her blades buried deep into his neck.
She watched him slump to the floor, scrambling for his throat, desperately trying to stop the flow of blood.
Arm growing limper.
She watched him topple over.
Lie there on the floor, bleeding out, twitching.
And she saw Grace looking down at her.
Wiping her blade and sticking it into her pocket.
“Well,” Grace said. “How about we get out of here?”
Chapter Thirty-Eight