“Wh-where am I? What did you do with my family?” she asked, her voice shrill.
“They’re not here. That’s not who the boys were after,” the taller man said as he shot a scathing look at the other one. “Come on.” He grabbed her forearm tightly, yanking her to his side. She let out a small cry as she lost her balance and went sprawling on the hard floor, the thud echoing down the empty path. The breath was knocked out of her as a pair of boots kicked her side, followed by a gleeful laugh.
“Get up, murderer,” the short one said before spitting on her face. Isla flinched, knowing a bruise was already developing where his foot had hit. “My men are dead because of you. And soon, you’re gonna wish you were.” A sick grin spread across his mangled, pudgy face.
So, this was her punishment for killing those men at the campsite—his crew, evidently. Hisfriends. She sagged further into the ground as together, the two men picked her up by the arms and dragged her across the hard floor. The stone rubbed painfully at her legs as she scrambled to get her feet under her.
They moved in silence. Following the twisted paths of the tunnel, they eventually came to a fork and went right. After another right, a brighter light flickered up ahead. Raucous laughter reached her ears.
A few moments later, they came upon the rounded entrance. Isla ducked her head to shield her eyes from the blinding sunlight. If it was this bright outside, at least twelve hours must have passed since she was taken from the inn.
Would her family have gone on without her, or stayed to find her? She hoped they’d continued on to Lockhurt. The most important thing was getting her father home safely.
Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see the group that was gathered there, and her heart stuttered. The small clearing outside the cave was full of men similar to the ones she had killed: ragged hair, torn clothing, scars and dirt riddling their bodies. There were at least nine of them laughing and drinking around a large fire with a hog on a spit, turning round and round over the flames. These were the men who wanted revenge against her.
Isla swallowed down bile, her hands growing slick with sweat, her heart pounding so hard she could see the edges of her vision trembling. She didn’t stand a chance.
But then, she thought of her father, who was even now fighting for his life. She thought of Arden and the agony he must be going through, having to take care of Papa while worrying about her disappearance. She thought of Bri, who said Isla was the bravest person she’d ever met.
She had to get back to them.
Isla brought her bound hands to her cloak, trying to feel for the shape of her dagger.What idiots, she thought as it pressed against her ribs. She discreetly reached in and rested her fingers on the hilt, careful to shift the cloak so it covered her hands. They had taken her other knife back at the inn, but must not have found the one in her hidden pocket. Luck had been on her side with that, at least.
The men stopped laughing when they saw her with the other two. A few whistled at her, shouting lewd comments that made her skin crawl. A couple of them spat at her feet, their faces twisted in disgust.
The tall man at her side threw her to the ground in front of the fire, a twinge ricocheting up her knees at the impact. She took the small window of opportunity to carefully move her blade to the rope at her ankles, sawing through it with as little motion as possible.
“Here’s what you wasted your time on, men. I hope she’s worth it. Since the rest of your crew went and got themselves killed, you’re joining me. Boss says he wants to find it within the fortnight. We leave first thing in the morning,” he called over his shoulder as he walked back into the cave.
With wicked smiles, nine sets of eyes—plus the shorter man still at her side—turned to her. “Time to have some fun,” the red-haired man snarled.
A shot of adrenaline raced through her veins, clouding the dread she had felt upon first seeing them. Shewould notgo down without a fight. She would do anything to get back to her family, to Bri and Hamil, to her town.
Life was full of sacrifices, but today would not be the day she became one.
The first man approached her with a hungry look, and she waited until he reached out and almost touched her. In one motion, she clenched the knife by the hilt and swung it with all of her strength, her arms still bound, until she felt it hit her target. A finger fell to the ground.
Not a single filthy finger.
The men burst into an uproar. Blood spouted from her victim’s hand as he fell to the grass, wailing. Red soaked through her boots and pooled against her leggings. She darted off the ground, her legs finally free.
Isla raced around the center of the clearing, running toward a thicket of trees where she could hopefully lose them and get far, far away. Men stepped in her path but, thank the gods, they were all drunk and slow to react. She dodged them easily and swiped with her knife when they got too close. She was faster and in better shape than most of them; perhaps there was hope after all.
Two hands came from behind and gripped her around the waist, yanking her off the ground and hauling her back to the fire.
“Let—go—of—me!” She screamed and threw her elbows into her assailant’s stomach. He grunted but didn’t release her, so she bent her leg and swung it backward, connecting with his groin.
That did the trick. He howled and loosened his grip, giving her enough room to wiggle free. As the giant of a man doubled over in pain, she kicked at his head with all her might. Caught off guard, he staggered backward, right into the flames.
Another round of shouts came from the group when the man caught fire. The reek of singed hair stung her nose and eyes as she stumbled back. Losing her balance, she wasn’t able to catch her fall before she landed face-up in the dirt. Two men loomed over her.
“On her back. How convenient.” One man with a missing tooth and an eyepatch smiled gruesomely. “Hold down her arms and give me that knife,” he ordered the other. She struggled, but the man easily plucked the dagger from her fingers and handed it to the former. The man at her head pinned her arms above her.
“My, my. You’re a piece of work. I always like a little fight. Where should I start?” A chuckle shook his shoulders. “Let’s see…you have such pretty eyes.” He held the point of the dagger to the top of her left cheek. Slowly, agonizingly, it pierced her skin, and a tear escaped her.
“Oh, you’re gonna cry? Did my friends cry for their lives when you killed them?” he growled, digging the knife further in and swiping up, hard.
Blinding pain tore across her face. She gasped and cried out as heat pulsed through her cheek, blood pouring from the gash. He had narrowly missed her eye. She twisted frantically against the man holding her arms down but couldn’t move.
