“Trust me,” he mouths silently, before turning and walking out the door.
I’m immediately broughtto an upper level of the Coliseum by a guard wearing a breather mask that covers his entire face. I expected to be left in Vexar’s cell—at least until his meeting with Gaius was over—but that’s not what’s happening, and I don’t know what that means. Vexar was nearly certain I would be left in there until he’d finished his negotiations. Then again, we knew there would be variables. This must just be one of them.
Sempre gumby, and all that.
We reach a door, and the guard shoves me through itwith a grunt. The force is so unexpected that I almost fall and have to run a few steps to catch myself. “Dick,” I mutter as he slams the door shut behind me.
I’m hit with an overwhelming scent—something between jasmine and eucalyptus—and a thick, wet heat that settles in my lungs. My eyes go wide as I take in the room.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mumble.
The room is circular and grotesquely opulent, unlike anything I’ve seen in the Coliseum. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors wrapped in gold filigree cover the curved walls. A strange chandelier hangs from the ceiling, dripping with thousands of tiny, reflective beads that tinkle as they spin and collide. And, at the center of it all, there’s a steaming pool of water, surrounded by smooth stones.
It’s a bathroom. I’m in a fucking bathroom.
I shake my head at the wrongness. There’s no way Vexar’s had time to strike a deal with Gaius. It’s been like five minutes. So why am I in a bathroom?
My crimes should land me in the arena. That’s the penalty for breaking a law. When I was pulled from Vexar’s cell, I assumed I was being taken directly to a weapons room or something. That’s where I should be. But I’m not. I’m in a bathroom, and I’m pretty sure I don’t need to be clean to die.
I bite my lip and wince as my teeth find the raw spot I bit earlier. I don’t like how far things have already deviated from the plan, but I can still feel Vexar’s calm confidence, and that helps settle my nerves. Unless things go completely FUBAR, I’m not giving him the signal. If we fuck this up, we lose our chance at fixing things, and I can’t live with that.
Steeling myself, I step further into the room and nearly jump out of my skin as a hundred different angles of my face turn to look at me.Holy fucking mirrors.
I move towards the wall and frown at the nearly unrecognizablewoman staring back. Pale skin. An unkempt mess of dark hair that reaches my mid-back. Deep, bruise-like circles beneath my eyes. Good god, I knew this place was taking a toll on me, but I didn’t think the physical evidence would be so … shocking. I look sick. And hungry. I squeeze one of my nonexistent biceps and frown. A lifetime of work gone in a single year. Fuck this place.
The distant sound of voices pulls my attention as a mirror on the opposite side of the room swings inward. Two beautiful, towering women with dark blue skin slink through the doorway, their feet silent on the smooth tile floor. The women’s slender frames and long legs carry them to me in just a few strides. I’m expecting some sort of conversation, but instead, the taller one reaches out and grabs the shoulder of my uniform.
“Whoa,” I say, brushing her hand away. “What’s thi—” The other woman grabs at my dress next, clearly ignoring my protests. I duck out of her grip and step back. “What the hell?”
The taller one pulls her hands to her chest, making herself appear smaller, and whispers, “Please.” Her eyes are wide with the kind of terror I know all too well, and my ears start to ring as I take in the rest of her appearance. There’s a deep purple bruise on her arm and another on her neck. She’s favoring one of her legs. And she’s missing a finger on her right hand.
“Fucking hell,” I mumble, rubbing my forehead.
It’s clear they’re both terrified, and I don’t want them to face repercussions for my failure to comply. More than that, I don’t want to give Gaius another reason to be the sadistic fuck he clearly is. So, I nod and say, “It’s fine. Do what you came to do.”
As they disrobe me, the muscles in my jaw tense so hard my teeth start to ache. None of this is ok, and I hate it. Somehow, I got the golden ticket out of here while these women have to stay in hell. I want to tell them that I’ll come back for them, that theyjust need to hang on a little longer, but I can’t. I can’t say anything. I just have to hope they’re still alive at that point.
My thoughts wander to Roveen, and I feel sick. I don’t want to leave her behind. She’s going to think I’m dead, and unless she finds my message, she’ll have no idea what happened. This isn’t how I thought I would feel about leaving. I expected relief and excitement, but all I feel is dread. Dread and a deep fear that if today doesn’t go perfectly, no one will be leaving this place at all.
Before I’m led into the bath, I remove the bandage from my knee and set it on a nearby stone. When I’m in the pool, I double-check that we’re alone and whisper, “Do either of you know why I’m here?”
They answer me with wide eyes that quickly dart away. Clearly, they aren’t supposed to talk. So, while they work on my hair, I focus on channeling my anger towards the two people responsible for all of this. Gaius and Vexar’s mother. Gaius’s retributionwillcome at my hand, and when that day comes, Gaius will know the devil has come to collect his fucking soul. As far as Vexar’s mother goes, she’s already dead, and all she left behind is her legacy. A legacy that I’ll make sure is burned to the ground.
These women may not have a Prince Charming, but they haveme. And I’ll stop at nothing until I see them freed.
A few minutes later, I’m left standing naked, confused, and clean as the two women exit the room. They took my uniform, but they left the bandage. Carefully, I re-wrap my knee and wait with my arms crossed and a scowl on my face. It feels like an eternity, but eventually another woman enters with what looks like a garment bag draped over one of her four arms. Her pale gray skin glistens in the low light under a beaded dress that hugs her wide, muscled torso and leaves nothing to the imagination.
Quite the outfit.
She stalks forward andproceeds to appraise me like livestock, inspecting every inch of my naked body, lifting my arms, tugging my hair, and then staring at the bandage on my knee. I can’t read her expression, but when she reaches for the dirty gauze, I take a step back.
“Leave it,” I say loudly.
She doesn’t reply, but she also doesn’t reach for it again.
A few minutes later, I’m dressed in an outfit that is uncomfortably similar to the one she’s wearing. A beaded top and skirt. Revealing and impractical. The last thing she does is wrap a thin, gossamer skirt high around my waist. If the extra layer is meant to add additional coverage, it’s failing miserably.
“What about shoes?” I ask before she leaves.
