I cross my arms, as if that will curb the sting of her words.“I’m not stupid. I’m just confused.”
The woman across from me who’s dressed like a sex worker leans forward with her elbows on her knees, legs spread wide. “Let me spell it out for you, Cupcake. The Resistance is alive and well, and they’re rescuing us from the hellhole that is New Athens.”
“The Rebels are a myth,” I state matter-of-factly, even though my current predicament suggests the exact opposite.
“If they’re a myth, why are you in the back of a van with women who are willingly trying to escape?” The woman next to me is much kinder in her delivery than the others.
“I can’t leave,” I say. “I have a husband who needs me.”
“All women are replaceable to the Brotherhood,” the prostitute says. “Even you, Cupcake.”
I curse myself for drinking that wretched champagne earlier. Maybe this is all just a horrible dream or a terrible, alcohol-induced nightmare. “I need to go back.”
Someone scoffs. “Why is she even here? They should’ve given her spot to someone who would actually appreciate it.”
“You can start a new life—a life where you’ll be free,” the woman next to me says. I can tell she’s trying to be encouraging, but her words only distress me further.
“I don’twanta new life.” I grit my teeth to keep my chin from quivering. “I want myhusband.”
No one has anything to say to that. A few women sigh in defeat, some whisper to each other—probably about me—and we spend the rest of the ride in silence. Little do they know, I don’t plan on being captured by the so-called rebels, if that’s even who they are.
When that door opens, I won’t go down without a fight.
???
He doesn’t even flinch, catching my fist like he’s catching a ball thrown by a toddler on a sugar high. He smirks at me, and I’m overwhelmed by the violent need to punch that sly smile right off his now-unmasked face. I use my other hand to try to punch him again, ignoring his handsome, straight nose and boyishly freckled cheeks. He catches that one with his other palm before bringing my wrists together and restraining them with one hand while he uses his other to help the women down from the back of the van one at a time.
“Let go of me, you traitor!” I scream, everything I’ve learned about how to conduct myself going right out the window. But, if he’snot a part of the Brotherhood, he shouldn’t be afforded the same respect… I think.
His smile only grows. “Traitor, eh? I like the sound of that.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself! Only a coward would turn against his fellow man.”
I try to pull my wrists out of his grasp, but it’s pointless. His grip is an iron vise—strong and unyielding. And yet, it noticeablydoesn’thurt.
Something in his playful expression hardens, and I fear I’ve gone too far. He steps into my space, and while I try to lean away from him, it does nothing to keep him from leaning down and speaking into my ear, his voice a low growl. “Careful, darlin’. Treason, I can handle. Questioning my integrity, on the other hand, would be unwise.”
I bite my tongue, though it takes considerable effort. For whatever reason, this man seems to bring out the worst in me.
He pulls away from me, that smirk now back firmly on his arrogant face.
The surface beneath my feet sways, and only now do I realize we’re on a boat, surrounded by darkness. The reality of my situation comes crashing down on me all at once. Panic rises in my throat at the same time as the champagne bubbling in my belly. I vomit onto the floor, and unfortunately, onto Rebel Man’s boots, feeling ashamed and embarrassed despite my extreme dislike for him.
He mumbles something along the lines oftell me how you really feelbefore it all becomes too much, and the world goes dark.
???
I wake in a warm bed, snuggling into the blankets and refusing to believe that anything that happened in the last several hours was real. Sadly, refusing to believe something doesn’t make it so.
The unmistakable smell of campfire drifts past my nose, and I’m hit with such an intense wave of nostalgia I almost cry. It smells like when we went camping when I was a child; like smoke and pine and that fresh, outdoor smell. I keep my eyes closed tight, as if that will keep my new reality at bay.
Voices draw closer, one of whom I recognize as the man from last night. “I’ll take full responsibility for her.”
“That’s great, Maverick. Doesn’t change the fact that her being here massively jeopardizes everything we’ve built over the last decade,” says a male voice I don’t recognize.
“I disagree,” Rebel Man—Maverick, apparently—responds.
“Of course you do,” the same man as before says with an air of frustration.
