Fourth Debt

by Pepper Winters

  Cut waved the blade in my face. “Rather interesting piece of equipment to have down your jeans, Nila.” Running the sharp edge over my collar, his face darkened. “Not only are you a troublemaker, but you’re also a thief.”

  Placing the dirk down his own waistband, he smiled evilly. “I’ll remember that for future payments.”

  Standing in a black bra and knickers, I squeezed my eyes. Nothing was going as I’d planned. Where was my courage—the belief that I would plunge that blade into his heart the moment I had the chance?

  My chance was gone.

  “Get rid of the bra,” Cut said. “Unless you want me to use the knife to help you.”

  My hands flew between my shoulder blades, grabbing the clasp.

  Bonnie coughed. “No, I think not. Keep your undergarments on.”

  My eyes soared open.

  “What?” Cut scowled.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Seeing a naked gutter rat will ruin my appetite.”

  Cut chuckled. “You have the strangest ideals, mother.”

  She sniffed. “Excuse me if I prefer to enjoy my meal without being repulsed.” Swatting her cane at the chair again, she added, “Sit down. Shut up. And reflect on what you’ve done.”

  Jasmine nudged me forward, playing the perfect role of enemy.

  The cold tightened my skin, flurried my heart, and pinpricked my toes as I bent my knees and sat. I bit back a cry as thousands of nails kissed my butt and thighs.

  My legs shook as I lowered myself slowly, doing my best to stay aloft and hovering over the sharp, stabbing needles.

  “Stop fighting the inevitable, Nila.” Cut stepped behind the chair.

  I tensed.

  Then I screeched as he pushed on my shoulders, pressing me cruelly onto the nails. Pulling me back toward him, he wrapped an arm around my chest, hugging me from behind.

  His breath wafted hot in my ear. “Hurts, doesn’t it? Feeling thousands of pins slowly sinking into your skin?”

  I couldn’t concentrate on anything but the millions of tiny fires slowly worming their way through my flesh.

  Bonnie stole my wrists, yanking my arms forward and pushing them against the spiked armrests. The entire chair bristled with armament and agony.

  “Stop!” I fought her, but Jasmine took her grandmother’s place, forcing my arm against the nails and wrapping the leather cuffs around me.

  She couldn’t make eye contact, fumbling with the buckle. “This isn’t to kill you, so the binds won’t be tight. It’s merely to keep you in place.”

  Tears ran unbidden down my cheeks as every inch throbbed with pain and tension. I couldn’t relax—I kept every muscle locked, so I didn’t sink further onto the spikes.

  “Don’t fight it, Nila.” Jasmine tested the cuffs before rolling away. “It’ll get easier.”

  Easier?

  Every inch of my skin smarted. My sense of touch went haywire, flicking from my back to forearms to calves to arse. It couldn’t distinguish which part hurt the most. I couldn’t tell if certain areas bled or pierced or if the nails were blunt with age and only tenderising instead of stabbing.

  Either way, it was awful. As far as torture equipment went, I wanted off the chair immediately. I would take the First Debt again because at least the pain came in waves and was over quickly—this…it would strip my mind, throb by throb, until I was a quivering mess of agony.

  Panting, I breathed through my nose. My scattered mind bounced like a wayward squash ball, not letting me tame my anxiety.

  Cut chuckled as he dropped to his haunches before me. “The beginning is the easy part.” Rising, he pecked my cheek with a gentle kiss. “Just wait and see what’ll happen as the clocks tick onward.”

  He looked at Bonnie. “How long did we say, mother?”

  Bonnie checked a dainty gold watch around her wrist. “Elisa suffered two hours during dinner.”

  Cut grinned. “Perfect. Make it three.”

  I slammed back to the present, coughing with a rattling explosion. My fingers rubbed the healing scabs dotted like constellations down the back of my thighs, back, and arms. The sores had switched from blazing to itchy as my body healed, but the remnants of the nails had marked me far more than superficially.

  Even now, days later, I still felt the numerous stings.

  I fell asleep with phantom nails stabbing me and woke up hyperventilating, dreaming of being trapped in a coffin lanced with millions of needles.

  Three hours in that chair had been the worst three hours of my life.

  I supposed I should be honoured that they went out of their way to destroy me. I’d proven to be an anomaly, a challenge they hadn’t anticipated. I’d screwed up their grand plans and set in motion things that no one should have to endure.

  And that was just the start.

  That night, after the Iron Chair, I succumbed to a rattling flu.

  I had no reserves. Barely eaten. Lacked sunlight and love.

  Living with such evil and negativity stripped my immune system, shooting me straight into chills and body aches.

  And there was no one to nurse me better.

  Vaughn was banished from my sight. Jasmine was missing.

  The rest became a blur as I’d huddled in a sweat-riddled bed and shivered.

  My room never rose above a chill. I had no energy to start a fire, and even if I did, I’d been given no fresh wood to start one.

  I was cold and hungry and desperately wanted to leave. I tried to remember what life was like before Hawksridge, before Jethro left, before my mother died. But I came up empty. All those happy memories were blank.

  Unknown Number: Fuck, I miss you. Knowing you’re okay…I can’t tell you how thankful I am. Is that the truth? Is she keeping you safe?

  My heart fell off its pedestal, splattering on the floor. I was okay. I was stronger than I looked, but I wasn’t as brave as I believed.

  I coughed again, wracked with sick shivers.

  Jethro, I want to tell you everything.

  Tell you what you mean to me.

  Tell you what they’ve done to me.

  I wanted to cry on his shoulder and share my burdens—to eradicate what I’d lived through, so I could let go and forget. Instead, I bottled it up and kept my secrets.

  Needle&Thread: Yes, I’m safe. She’s been wonderful. They haven’t touched me. Don’t worry about me. Just get better.

  Keeping the truth from Jethro was the least I could do for him. I shuddered, unable to stop the memories of what’d happened once I’d been strapped to the Iron Chair.

  The Black Diamond brothers entered an hour into my torture. They watched me with sympathy but didn’t go against Cut’s command to leave me be. Apart from Flaw, I hadn’t spoken to any of the brothers since the shooting. They’d been ordered to keep their distance, cutting me off from any ally I might’ve found.

  Dinner was served and I squirmed as my body weight pushed me slowly onto the spikes. The burn of each spread into one blanket of painful horror.

  Blood smeared the arms of the chair and I didn’t dare look at the floor to see if I dripped over the carpet. I was hot and cold, covered in sweat and goosebumps. My muscles seized; every twitch sent wildfire through my system.

  And then Vaughn arrived.

  His eyes met mine.

  “Threads!” He almost collapsed in rage. “Fuck! Let her go!” Charging up the room, V moved so swiftly and furiously, he managed to sucker punch Cut in the jaw before anyone reacted.

  “V, don’t!” Part of me loved that he’d landed one on Cut. The other was horrified. “I’m okay. Don’t get yourself—”

  “Stop hurting her, you fucking bastard!” V swung again but missed as Cut ducked and snapped his fingers for the Black Diamonds to grab V.

  “Leave him alone!”

  My screaming didn’t do any good.

  Commotion shot to mayhem. Men shoved back chairs. Fists swung. Grunts echoed.

  “Stop! Please stop!”

  They didn�
��t stop.

  Not only did millions of tiny nails trap my body, but I was forced to watch my twin beaten and kicked and left gasping by my feet.

  It’d only taken a few minutes.

  But the punishment was severe.

  I groaned, slapping my forehead.

  Stop thinking about it.

  After the Iron Chair, I’d been locked in my room with no bandages or medical salve. I wasn’t allowed to see Vaughn, and I’d tended to my injuries in a lukewarm bath that I lacked the strength to climb out of.

  I was exhausted.

  They’d found a recipe that could well and truly break me forever.

  Unknown Number: I’ll be back as soon as I can. Every day I’m getting stronger. Just a little longer, then this will all be over. I promise.

  I sighed, curling around the phone. My fever came back, dousing my insides with frigid unwellness. I had every intention of fighting back. I would make them hurt. I will make them pay.

  Somehow, I would keep my oath.

  But a little longer? It made time sound like it was nothing—such a flippant phrase, a small segment of moments—but to me, it was a never-ending eternity.

  I don’t have much longer, Jethro.

  Not judging by Bonnie’s antics. Every day she had something worse.

  I truly was Elisa, fading hour by hour, wasting away beneath torment.

  Swallowing more tears, coughing with wet lungs, I typed:

  Needle&Thread: I’ll be here waiting for you. Every night I dream of you. Dream of happier times—times we haven’t been lucky enough to enjoy yet. But we will.

  As if fate wanted to banish those dreams, to prove to me that I should’ve given up months ago, it brought forth the memory of what’d happened the day after the Iron Chair.

  I’d been summoned to the kitchen, believing Flaw had some good news for me or Vaughn had been given free rein. It’d taken my last remaining strength to shuffle to the kitchen. Perhaps, the cook would give me some warm chicken soup and some medicine for my flu.

  Instead, Bonnie found me. “Seeing as you refused to confess your sins on the Iron Chair, you will pay the opposite price.”

  “Confess my sins?” I coughed. “There’s nothing to confess. You’re doing this for your own sick pleasure.”

  She chuckled. “It is rather pleasurable, I must admit.” Coming forward, she wrapped her fingers around my arm and dragged me through the kitchen to a small alcove where herbs and small plants grew.

  My fever turned everything hazy. My blocked nose and stuffed sinuses granted everything a nightmare-like quality.

  Cut stepped around the corner, dangling something in his hands. “Good morning, Nila.”

  I stiffened, yanking my arm from Bonnie’s hold. Looking at them, I tried to understand what this would entail. Whatever swung in Cut’s hands glinted with wicked silver and barbarism.

  My skin still oozed from the Iron Chair. I could barely stand. “I’m sick. For once, have mercy and let me go back to bed.” I coughed to prove my point. “I’m no good if I die before you want me to.”

  Cut chuckled. “Your physical health is no longer my primary concern.” He held up the shiny mask, waving it from side to side. His golden eyes gleamed with haughty smugness. “Know what this is?”

  Nerves careened down my back. Their role playing and games slowly conditioned me to cower even when standing fierce before them. Jasmine wasn’t here. Daniel wasn’t here. It seemed that the older generation had taken control.

  “Stop wasting time.” I coughed again, looking for a way out of the herb alcove. “I don’t care for guessing games—” An explosive sneeze interrupted me. “I just want to be left alone.”

  Bonnie swatted the back of my thighs. “None of that backtalk, trollop.”

  My heart quivered in fright even as my stomach turned to stone. Standing up to them came with its own kind of torture—a fleeting aphrodisiac of rebellion followed swiftly by suffocating regret.

  No matter that I would do everything in my power to kill them, I couldn’t stop their power over me.

  They took my knife.

  I hated being defenceless.

  I hated being so weak by my body’s own design.

  Damn this sickness!

  Cut came closer. “This, Nila, seeing as you refuse to play along, is known as a Scold’s Bridle.” He held it up, blinding me as a ray of light caught the silver, turning everything white. “It’s given to harlots and gossipers for spreading lies. They’re gagged and their ability to speak is taken away until they’ve learned their lesson.”

  Every instinct bellowed to run.

  Who was I kidding? I couldn’t run with my lungs drowning in mucous.

  Cut moved behind me, bending around to hold the silver mask in front of my face. “Let me explain how it works.”

  I staggered sideways trying to dislodge his embrace. How had he trapped me so effortlessly?

  The flu turned everything gluggy and thick—slowing time down, using it against me.

  My eyes devoured the mask, already understanding. The textbook Vaughn had shown me when we were young had a similar instrument. Unlike the medieval item in the book, this was rather sleek and refined.

  It wouldn’t make it any more pleasant.

  Two holes for eyes, a hole for the nose, but the rest was solid silver. Where the mouth hole should’ve been there was a silver spike, fairly wide and sharp, waiting to wedge on my tongue to force silence or wretched gagging. The back was curved to cradle its victim’s skull, trapping their entire head in its nasty hug.

  Cut rocked against my back, inhaling my hair. “You already know how it works, don’t you?” Bringing the mask closer, he chuckled. “Good. That dispenses unnecessary conversation.”

  “Lock her in, Bryan.” Bonnie shuffled forward.

  My heart galloped as the silver came closer. “No wait! I won’t be able to breathe! My nose is blocked.”

  “Yes, you will. Open wide.” Cut tightened his arms as I tried to run. “Do it. Otherwise, I’ll just hurt you until you do.”

  My lungs gurgled as Cut wrangled me into position. I thrashed and moaned, but it didn’t help. “Stop, please!”

  The world went dark as the icy metal settled over my face.

  “No!” I clamped my lips together, preventing the spike from entering my mouth.

  But Bonnie ruined that by swatting my shins with her cane.

  “Ahh!” The pain forced my lips wide, welcoming the silver wedge.

  I gagged and yanked away, only succeeding in slamming backward into Cut’s arms. The cool metal on my tongue sent spasms through my body. Water sprang to my eyes as I choked.

  His elbows landed on my shoulders, keeping me pinned. “Don’t struggle, Nila. No point in struggling.”

  I fought.

  But he was right.

  There was no point.

  All I could do was ignore my body’s begging to gag and do my best to breathe.

  Bonnie brought the back piece of the mask behind my head, securing it with a tiny padlock by my ear.

  The instant it was locked, the worst claustrophobia I’d ever suffered swallowed me whole. Vertigo entered the darkness, spinning my brain, throwing me to the floor. I gagged again.

  It terrified. It degraded. I was trapped.

  My nose blocked worse.

  My head pounded.

  My ears rang.

  My fear consumed me.

  I

  Lost

  Control.

  I screamed.

  And screamed.

  And screamed.

  Cut let me go.

  I no longer saw, heard, or paid attention.

  My cries echoed loudly in my ears. I gurgled and coughed and lamented for help. My blocked nose stopped oxygen from entering; I inhaled and exhaled around the silver tongue press, recycling my screams in a rush of poisoned air.

  I suffocated.

  I panicked.

  I spiralled into craziness.

  My w
orld reduced to blackness. Hawksridge Hall, with its sweeping porticos and acres of land, condensed into one tiny silver mask. Condensation rapidly formed from my breath. I gagged again and again.

  I lost everything that made me human.

  My screams turned to whimpers.

  I’m going to die.

  Each breath was worse than the one before. I fell to my side as vertigo got worse.

  Nausea crawled up my gullet.

  Do not throw up.

  If I did, I’d drown. There was no way out, no mouth piece. Only two tiny nose holes that didn’t provide enough oxygen.

  Images of the ducking stool came back.

  This was just as bad. Just as heinous.

  Claustrophobia gathered thicker, heavier, chewing holes in my soul.

  I can’t stand it.

  “Let me out!” The words were clear in my head, but the paddle pressing on my tongue made it garbled and broken.

  The faint sounds of laughter overrode the hiss and gallop of my frantic breathing.

  My hands shot to the fastenings, fighting, tugging. I ripped hair and scratched the side of my neck, doing my best to get free. I broke a nail, scrambling at the padlock. Screams and moans and animal caterwauls continued to escape.

  I couldn’t form words, but it didn’t stop me from vocalizing my terror.

  Bonnie kicked me, laughing harder. “I think an hour or two in the Scold’s Bridle will do you a world of good. Now be a good girl, and endure your punishment.”

  The tiny bell saved me.

  My heart asphyxiated all over again, remembering the dense heat, the overwhelming panic of the bridle. I never wanted to relive that again. Ever.

  You’re free. It’s over.

  I didn’t think it was possible, but the bridle was worse than the chair. Even remembering it caused the walls to warp, squeezing me uncomfortably tight.

  I had a new affliction: claustrophobia.

  Unknown Number: I sense you’re not telling me something. Remember what I used to call you? My naughty nun? God, I was such an arse. I fell for you even then. I think I was in love with you even before I set eyes on you.

  All residual fear and ailments from the past week vanished. Fear was a strong emotion, but it had nothing on love.

  Fresh tears cascaded over my cheeks.