Page 3 of Secrets of the Six

But Carmen’s dead and I’m still trapped.

I rest my palm on the brick wall. Typically, I say something to her, as if she can still hear me, but tonight I don’t speak at all.

A glass shatters around the corner and boisterous laughs echo. The taverns are in full swing meaning I have no business being out in plain sight any longer least I want to tempt fate and end up fighting for my life. I’m heavily armed, but even I’m not naïve enough to believe I could defend myself against a group of men hellbent on taking advantage of me. Purging Carmen from my mind, I return to the main street and cling to the shadows until my apartment complex comes into view. If it's even possible, it looks worse than it did three months ago. I push through the main door and climb up five flights of stairs before I reach my lodgings. Casting a glance up and down the dimly lit hallway to ensure I'm alone, I slip the only key I have from the sole of my boot and insert it inside the lock. Before I can even twist the handle, the door creaks open slightly.

I abandon the key and reach for my pistol. With the tip of my foot, I kick the door open completely and my stomach drops.

My one-room apartment has been ransacked. Furniture is overturned, my cupboards are exposed and bare of all food – which wasn't much to begin with. Fear squeezes my heart when I see the area rug has been moved. I dart inside and pry up one of the creaky wooden floorboards where I stashed all my loot and to my horror it's empty. Someone not only destroyed my apartment, but they robbed me blind.

I'm not sure if I want to cry or go on a rampage and burn the district to the ground.

Despite burglary being lucrative, I rarely spent my illegally gained fortune for anything other than the sole purpose of saving up to escape Orlencia. To start a new life elsewhere. And it's all gone.

I rub the heels of my palms against my eyes and plop down onto the floor, an exhausted sigh escapes my lips. What a cruel twist of fate. The burglar has been robbed. I wonder if this is how all my victims have felt once they've discovered my crimes. But then again, they're all extremely wealthy and one missing bracelet or pocket watch might not be missed. Perhaps, they even believed they misplaced it and didn't waste another thought on the matter.

My loss, however, is immeasurable. I have nothing but the clothes and weapons I now carry. Even my pride has been stomped to the ground and barely has a pulse.

"Ines, you've been low, but never this low," I whisper into my hands, rage stewing in my belly.

Right on cue, my stomach growls and it's then I remember I haven't eaten in two days. The warden denied my food ration the day before my execution claiming I was going to die soon enough, so my portion could be given to another.

Using what little strength I have left, I crawl to my feet and double check the cabinets to confirm not a morsel of food resides here and I'll be forced to stalk the streets until I find something I can easily swipe. I don't bother locking the door behind me as I make my way back down to the main avenue.

Thankfully the rain has stopped, and darkness shrouds the sidewalks, so any attention I might draw from dangerous men prowling up and down alleyways has exponentially decreased.

I groan. I can't believe I'm back in this shithole.

I shove my hands into my pockets and press onward, unsure of where I'm headed. All the shops closed before curfew kicked in, which solidifies the notion that stealing my next meal will be a hard-earned task. Loud voices echo from my left, drawing my eye to one of the many brothels in the district. Most single, unwed women sign contracts with the Masters and Madams of those pleasure houses to have a bed to rest their heads and a warm meal to fill their aching bellies. I swore to myself years ago I wouldn't give my life in servitude because if I did, I would never escape Orlencia.

It's tempting to walk inside and barter my life. Tempting to have the illusion of safety, if only for a night. But once morning comes, I'd despise myself, and every foolish dream I'd ever had would dissipate as if it never were.

No.

I force myself to move forward. Maybe one of the bars tossed uneaten meals into the street. Before I was able to afford my apartment, I had to partake in scrounging for scraps in dumpsters. Seeing as I'm once again at a low point, I suppose I'll do what I must to survive to get back on my feet.

I turn down the next alleyway when spidery tendrils crawl up my spine, setting me on edge. My eyes dart up and down the misty street unable to shake the eerie feeling of being watched… but no one is following me, and there are no shadowy figures in the gloom. There is one thing out of place, however. Ahead on my left is an unmarked black carriage parked on the side of the road. Carriages are not common in the Brogratto, simply because none of us – other than the Masters and Madams – can afford them. When one is seen on this side of the river, it spells trouble.

I click my tongue, internally chastising my paranoia. I've been out of prison for a couple of hours. Surely, whoever owns the buggy can't be searching for me. I shake my head, once more feeling a fool, and force my feet to move. Still, I pass the carriage with a healthy dose of reverential fear, my instincts screaming–

Two men peel out of the alley to my right.

Before I have a chance to reach for my weapons, fingers dig into my skin, bruising me. I scream and flail as one grabs my legs and the second snatches my wrists. Everything is upside-down. A mess of dark colors and distorted howls. Yet despite my cries, even if there were hundreds of people within a stone's throw, none of them would interfere.

The two brutes drag me to the parked carriage, but not without a fight. I wiggle a foot free and land a well-aimed kick to one of my assailant's chests, but other than a guttural grunt, he's immune to my attack. One flings the buggy door open and together they toss me inside. I scramble for the door, but they slam it in my face and the harsh click of a lock seals my fate.

Chapter 2

Ines

This day just keeps getting worse.

The carriage windows are tinted and hinder my view of what lies outside. Wherever I'm going is to be deliberately kept a secret. I lift myself onto the tufted velvet bench and run my fingers across the soft, luxurious material. Considering I've spent the last three months sleeping on a stone slab with a blanket that didn't stretch to cover my frame, the dense fabric spurs me to hope – if Heaven is real – it's covered in velvet.

The buggy jerks forward, snapping me into action. I pound my fist against the ceiling and shout, "Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see." A voice from the darkness answers.

I jump and instinctively bring my hand to the blade strapped to my waist.