At full speed, I slammed into the wall, clawing at the windowsill, trying to pry it open.
But it didn’t budge.
And then, “It’s sealed shut, Hob,” the captain said, voice a steady, soothing drum.
A strangled cry burst from my throat. “No!” My voice was distorted with disuse, I sobbed. Terrified, refusing to give up. My fists met the glass in a flurry of desperation, trying to break it.
Utterly hopeless, a waste of energy I couldn’t spare, I was a wild thing caught behind glass. Betrayed by instinct that had demanded I seek the highest ground, I was left with nothing but to face my captors.
Spinning, fists clenched, I scowled through the blur of tears.
“Easy, Hob,” the captain cooed, advancing on me. “That’s it. Easy.”
Tears spilled over my lashes, and I adopted a fighting stance. Legs trembling with exhaustion.
He had the nerve to laugh.
I sucked an outraged breath between my teeth, ignoring the barb of hurt—the humiliation.
“Would you get a look at that!” the naked elite said as Marco joined us in the narrow hall, crowding me in. “She looks like an angry little wildcat.”
Breathless, Marco said, “The rest of the slaves are out of the building.”
Nodding, the captain took another tentative step. “Make this easy on yourself,” he said. Reasonable and calm.
I sneered.
Faster than I thought possible, he lunged. One hand finding an anchor in my hair, the other winding tight about my throat. The crook of his elbow pinching beneath my chin with bruising strength, adding pressure with nothing but a flex of his bicep.
And I was left struggling in his arms, fighting as hard as I could until my whole body shook with exertion and sweat coated my skin once more.
The captain wasn’t even winded when he pressed his lips to my ear and snarled, “Enough.”
I clawed at his tanned skin, trying to draw blood.
Adding pressure to the back of my head, he cut off my air. Squeezing until my head spun and black stars danced at the edges of my vision.
Until I stopped, yielding at last.
“General Tilcot, would you mind putting on some clothes?” the captain drawled, and turned. His chest to my back, he walked me out of the narrow hall. Giving no quarter.
General Tilcot rushed ahead. “Don’t start without me, Captain. I want to see what our wildcat looks like under allthis.” He plucked at my clothes with a grimace.
Dragging me back down the stairs, the captain stopped in front of a large pool of water with waist-high stone walls. Silent until Marco retrieved a matronly woman from another room.
With a single glance, she tsked her disapproval. “And just what am I to do with this mess, sir?” she said in a shrill voice.
Gathering my wrists, Captain Rawlings said, “Beau, this is Hob. My newest acquisition. Haven’t decided what I want to do with her just yet.”
And then he lifted my hands above my head and fastened them to chains hanging from the ceiling.
Left with no way to favor my injuries, stretched taut, I cried out in pain. Stiff without the benefit of adrenaline as a painkiller.
The captain shushed me and drew a wicked-looking blade. Careless and cruel.
Through the tears streaking down my cheeks, I glared. Silent when he turned that knife on my treasured clothing with little ceremony, not stopping until there was a crumpled heap on the floor and I was naked before an audience.
Beau gasped when my torso was exposed.
