Savage Lands (Savage Lands #1)

by Stacey Marie Brown

  Whipping around, my hands pressed against the wall, sobs hiccupping up my throat.

  Naked. Shamed. Degraded.

  “Scrub,” he ordered, moving the attack down my legs and back up to my ass. I rubbed my hands through my hair, but every moment felt like moving through mud. My muscles failed, wanting to crumble to the floor.

  “Turn around,” he instructed, the water punching my stomach and moving lower. “Come on; I said wash.”

  My throat was thick with humiliation, trying to hold back the flood of sobs shaking my frame, quickly doing what he said.

  The water turned off.

  “See, you do as you’re told, and things go a lot easier for you.” He hooked the hose back up and motioned for me to follow.

  Shivering violently, I wrapped my arms around my breasts, trailing after him, my snarled hair sticking to my back, my raw flesh pricking and throbbing. My wet feet slapped the icy floor as I ducked my chin low, curving into myself.

  He took us into another room, which was a large storage room filled with prison uniforms, boots, and wool blankets. Red, gray, blue, and yellow outfits were stacked on the shelves. Unisex, but separated into small, medium, and large.

  “Here.” He picked up a set folded on the bench like they had been waiting for me, a pair of worn boots underneath. “Get dressed.”

  I picked up dull gray cotton pants, a matching top, socks, a sports bra, and beige granny-sized underwear. Quickly, I put on the items, noticing the number 85221 had been stenciled out on the back of the shirt, the numbers still damp from being recently painted on.

  The material was cheap, but so worn it was at least soft. I didn’t want to think how many others had used them before me, who had sweated, bled, and died in this outfit. The only thing on me new was the number on my back. My quaking bones didn’t care; they sought the warmth of being clothed again. The boots were slightly big and reeked of disinfectant, but every layer made me feel a little better.

  “This is your blanket and towel.” The man showed my number stenciled at the bottom of them. “If you lose them, sell them, or they get taken, it’s your problem. You get one blanket and towel. You have been warned, so no bitching if you ‘lose’ them.”

  I nodded, taking them from him.

  “Your kit is replenished every six weeks. If you run out before, that’s also your problem.” He handed me a clear bag filled with toiletries: toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, and soap.

  His words registered, but numbness left me blank of a response.

  “You missed dinner.” He whirled around and strutted for another door across the room, going through it, leading me out into a dim cave-type passage. “Wake up is at 06.30. Breakfast is at 07.00. Lunch at noon. Dinner at 18.00. Otherwise you are either in your cell, or you’re working. The more you work and follow the rules, the more privileges you get. Like first in line for food or better jobs.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “Cleaning. Cooking. Sewing.” He paused. “This place runs like clockwork. All humans contribute here. Or you go into the pit.” Leaning into me, he sneered. “And believe me, you don’t want to go in there. You won’t make it out of there. Not without wishing for death first.”

  I kept my face neutral, pretending his words didn’t scare me.

  The fae took me up a few flights of stairs, walking me past occupied cells.

  “Hey, sweet thing. You can bunk and fuck me.”

  “Come here, fishy, fishy.”

  “Watch yourself, human.” A woman spit at me.

  “I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

  “You will die chokin’ on my dick.” A huge, beefy guy grabbed his nuts, sneering at me.

  Catcalls, insults, threats. They barreled at me, hitching my heart back up into my throat, my teeth sawing down on my lip. The roller coaster of emotions and the trauma my body had gone through made me feel like paper. Every slur tore at the house of cards I was standing on.

  Against my will, my lip started to quiver. Dipping my head, my hair fell over my face, hiding my misery from their view.

  Don’t let them see any weakness. Keep it inside.

  The fairy stopped in front of an empty cage. A six-by-eight-foot box, it was smaller than my shower back at HDF. No bed or any furniture, only a hole in the ground you could piss in.

  The door squealed as he opened it, jackhammering my pulse, flooding my throat with acid, my feet stepping back. Fear had been with me every step of the way, but it wasn’t until this moment that I understood true terror. I stepped into this cage, and my life was over.

  My head started to shake back and forth, tears building behind my lids, fear convulsing down my limbs.

  “Kicsim,” my father’s voice whispered in the back of my memory. “You don’t get much say in the way you die, but you can choose how you do.” His fingers brushed my chin up, his bright blue eyes staring down at my nine-year-old self, his face filled with adoration. “Always hold yourself with honor. Especially in death.”

  “Go,” the guard’s voice snapped, tearing me out of my reverie.

  Lifting my head, I stepped across the threshold, the slam of the door behind me jolting through my entire body. I jerked around to face him.

  “Welcome to the House of Death, 85221.” He winked at me, strolling away, slipping out of view. “Sweet dreams.”

  I stood there, hugging the scratchy wool blanket to my chest, the howls and screams echoing off the walls, cocooning me in distress.

  Fear had wiggled deep into my stomach. There were so many words to describe what I felt: terror, shock, anger, panic, isolation, and heartbreaking loneliness. All I wanted was to go back to that night—stay up on the perch high above the world and make love to Caden.

  Unrolling the blanket, I set it on the ground and curled up on it. I stared out at the other cells across the way and cried until my despair took me from the conscious world.

  Chapter 11

  Sleep held me for brief moments in its mouth before spitting me back out again, raw, chewed up, and brutalized from the nightmare inside and outside my head.

  The cries, bangs, and movement never stopped. It would quiet down enough to let you fall into a false sense of sleep before something would jolt you awake with a gasp. The four sides of the building rebounded noise across the courtyard like a rubber ball bouncing off the ground, which was another level of torture, another way to break us down.

  I wasn’t the only one crying myself to sleep, but I tried to keep my grief tucked into my blanket, finally drifting off again before a shrill bell bolted my eyes open, my head jerking up. Panic puffed air through my lungs. Confusion swung my gaze through the bars. Across the way, I noticed inmates stirring, figures moving to their doors.

  “That’s the wake-up bell.” A small voice came from the corner of my cell.

  “Az istenit!” Shit. Fuck! I scrambled back, my spine smacking into the wall, my eyes searching the dark for the owner of the voice.

  I thought I had been alone in my tiny cell.

  “The door will be opening soon,” the male voice said, making my gaze bob and weave around, trying to make out any shape in the corner. Was I already losing my mind?

  “Show yourself.” My back stayed pinned to the wall, my knees up to my chest.

  “Hell, Bitzy, this one is demanding. Not even a please,” he muttered.

  A squeak responded to him. I slammed my head into the hard stone. What the hell was going on?

  “Where are you?” My pulse thundered against my neck.

  A deep shadow shifted in the corner, and a small man dragging a broom behind him stepped into the dim light streaming into my cell.

  A sharp inhale burned up my throat as my eyes locked on the being. His huge nose was the first thing I noticed, dominating his heart-shaped face, his ears slightly pointed. Brown eyes, brown hair and beard, the man was less than a foot tall, wearing what appeared to be a large orange nylon pot scrubber as shorts or possibly a tutu, and a stitched sock for a shirt.


  “Are you…” I gulped. “Y-you’re a brownie, right?”

  I had heard about them. Seen pictures, but had never seen one in person. Istvan made sure sub-fae were kept out of HDF by poisoning them like rats. Brownies inhabited houses and helped with tasks around the home. However, I heard they did not want to be seen and worked at night or when no one was around.

  “Yes. And you are a human. Good thing we have that all cleared up.” He rolled his eyes, peering over his shoulder at a figure nestled in a doll-sized backpack on his back. “The naiveté is strong with this one. Won’t last long here.”

  “Oh, my gods.” My hand went to my mouth, my gaze latching onto the tiny, hairless creature on his back. It somewhat resembled an aye-aye, with its bat ears and huge eyes. Less than four inches big, it had three long jointed fingers on each hand. It was both cute and scary. “What is that?”

  “What is your deal, fish? You act like you’ve never seen a brownie or an imp before.”

  I hadn’t. Here was another moment that made me realize how sheltered my life had been within the walls of Leopold. Fae dominated our world, but except for fairies and a few shape-shifters, my encounters with them had been minimal.

  “Fish?”

  “It’s the term here for a newbie. You’re a fish out of water. Fresh meat.”

  I’d been called worse things.

  “Who will soon turn stinky, your corpse rotting and smelling up the joint.”

  Oh.

  “This is Bitzy.” He nodded at the thing on his back. The animal thing tilted his head at me, its lids narrowing. “Bitzy, this is Fishy.”

  Bitzy’s huge eyes blinked at me, and it squeaked, then picked up its three-pronged hand, curling two of them down, leaving the middle one.

  “Bitzy,” the brownie exclaimed through a chuckle. “Sorry, Bitzy can be a bit of an asshole.”

  “And you are?”

  “Oh, I’m totally an asshole.”

  The first smile tugged at my mouth. “I meant your name.”

  “Opie.”

  “I thought brownies didn’t like being seen.”

  “Oh, good! I love stereotypes.” Opie waved his arms around while Bitzy flipped me off with the other hand. “Sure, we’re all the same. No individual personality, and next you’re gonna say I should enjoy cleaning.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “For fuck’s sake!” He stomped his foot. “Would you like washing up after people? All their shit—literally. And humans are the worst. Lazy. Selfish. Think everyone else should tidy up their mess for them. So don’t for a moment think I will be cleaning after you.”

  “Then what are you doing?” I flicked my fingers at him, trying not to smile.

  He glanced down, his arms dragging the broom back and forth across the floor.

  “Damn it!” He chucked the sweeper to the floor. “I have anxiety issues, which makes me clean, but I hate cleaning, so then I get more stressed out, which starts the damn cycle over again.”

  I tried not to smile as he fidgeted with the scouring pad he wore as shorts.

  He was anything but invisible, his outfit screaming for attention.

  Boom!

  The sound of all the prison doors opening at once thundered through the building, vaulting me up to my feet. People strode past my door, heading in the same direction.

  “Breakfast, Fishy. Better hurry and wash up. They only make enough for one serving per person here. And some take what they want.”

  Meaning many didn’t get to eat.

  I looked back at Opie. “Why are you helping me?”

  “Helping? I drew the short broomstick on who got the newbie’s cage. Usually, it’s full of vomit, piss, and tears.” He snorted, his booted foot tapping at the broom. “And take what I said as a strong warning.” He smirked as Bitzy took one of her long fingers and slid it across her throat.

  Okay. Wow.

  “Move it!” a guard yelled from below, scrambling me up onto my feet, heading out of the cell.

  “Don’t forget this. You will get a lashing if you forget it.” Opie held up my toiletry kit.

  “Thank you.” I took it from his small hand, tucking it under my arm with the towel.

  “Oh, you really are fresh meat.” His brown eyes rounded on me with pity. “Like a baby bird.”

  “I’m tougher than you think.”

  “Oh, Fishy-Fish.” He clicked his tongue. “You just think you are.”

  In the sweep of bodies, I was hustled down the catwalk. Across the courtyard, I could see other levels with prisoners all heading in the same direction wearing the various colored uniforms—gray, blue, yellow, and red mingled on each floor. I grew agitated at the stomping of feet, bodies shoving me from behind and whispering threats in my ears as they pushed past me.

  All the prisoners on my level were led to a large lavatory down a corridor. I wondered if every level had their own, keeping numbers manageable in the space.

  One side held rows of toilets, the other side open showers, and in the middle were sinks with unbreakable metal mirrors. Guards with guns, tasers, and several sets of cuffs stood at the entrance and exit.

  Another realization hit me quickly—the bathroom was not only unisex, but everything was out in the open: no doors or our own space. Our training room had unisex restrooms, but we still had privacy—curtains on showers, doors on the bathrooms. And you could go back to your room if you didn’t want to shower there. There were levels of cushion. Safety.

  This had all been ripped away from me in a brutal blow. Standing there, watching the prisoners do their business, everything on display, made me feel totally exposed and vulnerable. Opie was right. I had thought myself so tough, but I had been sheltered at HDF.

  Locking in my emotions, I tucked my head down, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. My bladder ached, but my skin crawled at the thought of sitting on a seat so many had before me—dirty and pissed on. At HDF, I had a maid who kept everything pristine and a bathroom bigger than four of my prison cells.

  “Come on, princess.” An elbow knocked into my side. “You have to piss with us filthy fae eventually.”

  My head snapped to a petite-boned woman next to me dressed in a red uniform. About my height, the girl was gorgeous, around my age, with long blue hair braided down her back. She seemed confident and strong. I saw nothing soft in her pale navy-blue eyes, which changed like glitter in the light.

  I stepped back.

  Demon.

  My muscles locked up, my body turning defensive. Demons were high on our kill list. You could decipher their level of power by their eye color. Red and navy meant great power but were not the most dangerous. Yellow-green marked the emperor of all the demons. The King of the Unified Nations had those, his power unequaled. All demons’ eyes turned completely black when they were “on.” Black soulless pits.

  “Relax, human.” She rolled her eyes, brushing a strand of blue hair off her face. “I can’t hurt you in here.” Her head turned to me with a wink. “Well, not in the fun way.” Her gaze roamed over me. “Though it might be really fun to roll around with you.”

  “What?”

  “Fuck. You are a little lamb.” She shook her head, her voice gruff, contradicting her petite frame and pretty face. “Most humans who come through here are like offerings to a wild beast. A rack of lamb slathered in sauce.”

  “I’m not a lamb.”

  “Saying it doesn’t make it true.”

  “Two minutes,” a guard yelled out, causing me to jolt.

  She burst out laughing at me.

  “See you around, little lamb,” she snickered, strolling away, heading for the toilets.

  Anyone would be terrified in my position, being thrown in a place called the House of Death, knowing no one ever made it out. But no matter how scared I was, showing it meant weakness here. Blood in the water. And as the demon pointed out, it only made me nourishment for fae.

  The mess hall was huge, allowing all the prisoners in the space at once.
The cafeteria-style setup was along one wall, the line winding all the way around the room, guards stationed every few yards. Inmates already sat down and ate at tables in the middle.

  “Te geci! Don’t fuckin’ cut in front of me!” A man bellowed to several people ahead of me, shoving another man in yellow crashing into a table. The shrill clatter of trays hitting the floor had me stepping back, sucking in sharply. Guards moved to stop them as other inmates raced to take their space in line, causing more squabbles to break out.

  “Move!” Someone yelled behind me, jolting me forward, my nerves already a wreck. My stomach grumbled. The last thing I recalled eating was a few shrimp at the party, which was more than a week ago. Any nutrients since then had been through my veins or from magical herbs while I laid unconscious. But knots of stress and fear still twisted up into my throat, blocking my appetite.

  The gala already felt like a lifetime ago, where my evening had gone from hope to grief to hell in a few hours. When I put on that gorgeous dress complaining about the stuffiness of the party, little did I know soon I would be wearing a used prison uniform and sleeping on the ground next to a urine hole in one of the most feared prisons in the East.

  To go back and do it over. The notion tugged at my heart. But would I have traded one prison for another? Marriage to Sergiu would have been another level of hell. One I would have had to suffer through for years, breaking every part of my soul until I was an empty shell.

  The line moved faster than I thought. As I inched closer to the food, the scents of shoddy coffee, burned toast, and hot cereal drifted up my nose. Nothing smelled good, but my stomach still grumbled with the need to fill it.

  From my place in line, I could see the food dwindling to a few ladles of porridge.

  Grabbing a tray, I set it on the rail and slid it down to the worker scooping out the food. A shoulder slammed into me, a wide frame cutting in before me, shoving me back. I stumbled into a body behind me.

  “Hey!” I pushed back onto my feet, glaring at the guy in front of me.