“Last things.” He hands me three small pads. “Heating pads. Crack them, and they’ll warm you for a little while.”
I hold the gifts, but I’m unable to contain my panting breaths. “Why are you?—”
When I look up, Vincent is already scaling the ladder. “Good luck, Girly,” he calls behind him.
“Thanks, Vinny.”
He pauses, his back tensing through the hoodie, but it lasts for all of three seconds before he starts climbing again.
After a minute or two, the ladder is gone.
My stomach tightens. Fury roars up my throat.
“How ye feeling, Firecracker?” Rory yells down at me, his voice reverberating in the pit.
Feeling devilish, I shout, “How’s your ear feeling?”
The laughter of the others echoes.
I decide I might as well have some fun before they leave. My dark humor might just get me through the night.
“Oh, Rory!” I sing-song his name with a higher pitch. “When I get out of here, I’m gonna cut your dick off and play pin the tail on the Gaelic donkey with it.”
His growl is so rewarding. And so are the spitting laughs of the others.
“Not done yet, boys.” I hum while getting my bearings. “Hey, Jude, something special for you. I’ll bite your hands off this time and use them to slap your dick so hard, the piercings fall out.”
“Charmed, Babydoll,” he practically booms in his deep voice.
“Hmmm, Vincent.” I pick up the glow sticks and scatter them around further to get a sense of how big the pit is. “Since you took me from behind and couldn’t face me like a man, I think a round of rodeo pegging will do nicely for you.”
Should’ve figured he’d grunt and nothing else.
“Seth,Darling,” I lay it on thick, “you think I’ll show you mercy because you’re oh, so sweet? Guess again. I got anaxeto grind with you. Nice and slow.”
“Aww, shucks, you’re making me blush, Briella Darling.”
I roll my eyes with a huff, hating how nice his voice sounds. Shivering now, I’m half-tempted to use one of the heating packs, but I know I should save them. Besides, I have one final speech.
“Raphael.” Nothing but silence, but I know he’s damn well listening. “I’m saving the best for last. You won’t die quickly. You won’t even die by my hands. No, you’ll die by paranoia, by the slow, creeping certainty that I’m always just one breath away. Every time our eyes meet, you’ll wonder if I’ll gouge them out. Every time our hands brush, you’ll wonder if I’ll shatter your fingers one by one. Every time you fall asleep, you’ll wonder if you’ll wake up at all. I will be in every shadow, every whisper,every nightmare. I’ll haunt you in life and beyond the grave. How’s that forbecomingyou?”
I hold my breath, but I shouldn’t expect a response. Silence thickens the air.
“Likewise, Briella.” My heart skips a beat. “Likewise.”
“Fare thee well, sweet maiden,” Seth exaggerates.
With a final, hellish fume, I scream at them, making sure they damn well hear me, “You boys better pray I don’t get out of here. Because if I do, I’m pissing in every single one of your beds!”
I’m notashamed to say that I’ve spent a while curled up in the fetal position and clutching one of the heating pads to my chest. Everything is sore: muscles, bones, flesh, skin. Even my blood feels sluggish. I battle the urge to fall asleep. I can’t afford to take the risk. Not with the thought of rats, hypothermia, giant bugs, or anything else my imagination cooks up.
Somehow, I have to get out of here.Serving me. Any of my needs and desires. Five days.I replay the words in my mind, using them as fuel.
I remember what Raphael said about freedom. Fuckhisversion of freedom. Freedom with strings. It’salwaysfreedom with strings. Strings they use to make me their puppet.
They haven’t drugged you. They didn’t mess with your mind. Blood and skin and flesh. One brand. Not endless electroshocks. Punishing you, suppressing you for your very thoughts and feelings.
It doesn’t matter.
