Page 33 of Into The Green

"Guards," another voice snapped, effectively silencing them all.

The door behind me pushed open and I heard footsteps and then the guard who I had known as a kid was there. "He didn't exactly specify how long 'a while' was," he explained, going over to the wheel and lowering me down, the feeling of relief so strong it was overwhelming. My feet touched down and I struggled to stand on my numb legs. A second later the guard was there, easing some of the burden of my weight. "Here drink some of this. It'll help the sting," he said, producing a flask and holding it up to my lips. I opened my mouth and felt the liquid burn down my throat. Done, he took it, tipped it, and poured it over my wrists, chest, and back. I heard myself curse, a long string of the foulest words I knew and somewhere off in a cell, someone chuckled. "It will keep it from getting infected," the guard explained. "That's how most die around here." He put the flask away and took more of my weight. "Come on, let's get you back to your cell."

As we walked, the guard paused to drop something into one of the cells. Curious, I pushed inward again and found nothing but compassion. "That's why you're here," I said. "Not because you are a sadistic bastard, but because you help them. Us," I corrected. "You make sure we are taken care of."

"Everyone needs someone to give a damn about them.

"What's your name?"

"Elic," he said, helping me into my cell and handing me a small bag of peanuts. "Rest up. You know he's coming back."

"Yeah, I know."

Alone, I ate a few peanuts and stashed the rest under a pile of straw in the corner. I took a deep breath and looked down, already knowing what I would find. Usually it was branded, but my father wanted to personalize it, drag out the misery. There across my chest from shoulder to shoulder, the word 'traitor' was carved into my flesh.

I knelt down on the hard floor, taking deep breaths to try to ease the pain, trying to find anything else to focus on except it.

But then I heard my father's footsteps again and the door was ripped open. "You stay the hell out of my head, boy," he said through a clenched jaw, his eyes raging.

I felt my lips twist up in a humorless smile. He must have felt me. Or maybe I left a trace of myself behind like the cold on the heels of a ghost. I felt a sick sort of satisfaction at that, at getting under his skin. The urge that overtook me then was almost overpowering. Despite knowing it was pointless, stupid, asking to be tortured further.

But I pushed up and charged forward, slamming into my father full-force and unexpected and, therefore, sending him and myself falling toward the floor.

"Idiot," I heard hissed from one of the cells.

He was right. I knew I couldn't win. I knew I would pay dearly. But nothing had ever felt more gratifying in my life as feeling my fist collide with his ribs. There was a cracking sound as his breath whooshed out of him and I knew I had broken at least one.

The victory was short-lived, however, as he shoved up and sent me flying onto my raw back, drawing a stifled scream out of me.

Then it was all fists and my father's evil eyes.

But not for long.

Several strikes later, I slipped blissfully into unconsciousness.

EIGHT

Cece

I wanted to pull my arm free, his grip hurt so much. As if sensing my thoughts, he stopped mid-stride and tossed me toward the ground. I hit with a grunt, rolling to my hands and knees to push myself up, trying to ignore the helplessness of the situation, the indignity of it. Then there was an exploding pain in my stomach that sent me sprawling several feet away onto my back again. I would have sworn I was completely air born for a moment.

I curled to my side, trying to breathe through the winded-sensation, never having been in real pain like that before, not the kind of pain that was inflicted on purpose.

"Get up," he demanded and I quickly took my feet, hunched slightly forward. "They won't want you dead, but there's nothing saying I can't have some fun with you first." The way he said 'fun' made my stomach turn, made bile rise up my throat. I had a feeling I knew exactly what kind of fun he was referring to. "You're too pretty," he said then, sounding amused. "Let's see what we can do about that first."

Before I could back away, his arm swung out, the back of his hand smashing across the side of my face. The pain was immediate, sharp, then throbbing and I knew it was probably already bruising. I stumbled back, tasting blood, and I realized he had split my lip with some gaudy, awful ring he wore.

"Nuh-uh," he said as I backed away from him. He reached out, grabbing the hair at the nape of my neck, curling into a fist in the strands, and pulling violently to the side.

I hated myself for it, but I let out a screech at the smarting in my scalp.

"Frank!" a clear female voice called out. Frank's hand immediately fell from my hair and he turned quickly, looking for the source of the call. Finding her standing several yards away, he bowed low at her. "You are to bring guests directly into the house," she declared, her young voice firm and chastising.

"Yes, yes of course, miss," he rushed to say, tripping over his words as he bowed again.

Even from a distance, the family resemblance was unmistakable. She had the same long blonde hair as Jade, the same bright eyes as Jasper. Her face, while of the same sharp features, was a little more rounded, a little softer. She was tall and slight and maybe in her late teens.

I wondered suddenly if either Jasper or Jade knew they had a little sister.