by Sue Lyndon
“And even though you surrendered, they still destroyed all your ships after they took your cargo?”
“Yes,” Amorrga said with a sorrowful look. He glanced around the medical bay. “I can’t believe they killed all but three of us. I’d heard the Bexxanians were deadly, but I never imagined they might level such a brutal attack against us.” He shook his bloodied head, and the doctor treating him paused for a moment until the Verrsuan once again grew still. “I thought if we surrendered…” His voice trailed off.
“The Bexxanians are without honor,” Zamek said. “I promise your crew will be avenged. We will find this warbird and destroy it. If you’ll excuse me, I must contact the High Council on my homeworld. They must be made aware of the escalating situation with the Bexxanians.”
Amorrga caught Zamek’s arm. “Will there be a war?”
“I suspect so. The Bexxanians must be driven from this sector.”
“If there’s a war,” Amorrga said, “then I wish to fight.”
Zamek looked at the tiny Verrsuan male with surprise. He was no larger than an average-size human male. “Have you had warrior training of any kind?” The Verrsuan army was small, but they were experts in trade and possessed fast, large ships that had easily helped them dominate the interstellar trade markets. But unfortunately, Bexxanian warbirds were among the few alien ships that could outrun them.
“No, I have not had warrior training,” Amorrga admitted, “but I still managed to kill two Bexxanians who boarded us.” Bloodlust gleamed in his purple eyes. “I want to kill more of them. I need to kill more of them.”
Zamek didn’t have to ask to know Amorrga hadn’t just lost crew members to the Bexxanians, but he’d likely lost dear friends and possibly some family members as well. He recognized the level of bloodlust in the Verrsuan’s eyes. It was the same expression Zamek himself often saw when he looked in the mirror.
He placed a hand upon the Verrsuan male’s shoulder. “I will take you on as an honorary member of my crew until we reach planet Kall. If we come across any Bexxanians—and I assure you, we will be searching—you may join us in the fight. I’ll spar with you myself to help you prepare, and if we are able to board one of the Bexxanian warbirds, you will be free to kill as many Bexxanians as you can.”
Amorrga nodded his thanks and settled back down on the table where he was being treated by the Tammusha’s most skilled doctor.
Zamek departed the medical bay, a sense of purpose in his step. He might not know what to do with the human female he’d acquired, but he knew exactly what to do about the Bexxanians. Kill as many as he could.
As for Layla, he would visit her soon.
And he would bring the leather strap.
Chapter 6
Why hadn’t he returned?
Why hadn’t he followed through with his promise to make her suffer?
Judging by the number of meals she’d been served since her arrival, over fifteen days had passed since General Zamek had brought her to this cell. That was the other thing—he wasn’t starving her. Not in the least. Though she had no way of keeping time, she was pretty sure she was being served three meals a day. The quality of the food was good, too. She wasn’t being given scraps or rotten food.
She paced the cell back and forth rapidly, not because she was trying to work off nervous energy, but because she wished to stay fit and keep up her strength. Also, the constant movement kept her warm. At least the cells in a Kall brig weren’t small and she had plenty of walking room.
In addition to being spacious, the cell also contained a toilet, a shower, a sink, and a clothing refresher. She’d heard the Kall usually kept most prisoners in chains with little access to bathing facilities, so the conditions of her captivity surprised her. She made a point to shower once a day and toss her clothing into the refresher at the same time, if only because it gave her a slight sense of normalcy.
Once she finished walking, she started on a round of jumping jacks. In addition to staying fit, her daily exercise routine served as a welcome distraction. There wasn’t anything else to do inside this cell, other than sleep or stare at the walls or the ceiling.
She hadn’t spoken to anyone aboard this ship since the day General Zamek left her here. Her meals were delivered through a slot in the back wall. Someone pushed them through. She had no idea who. When she tried to speak to the person, they never replied. Sometimes she caught a glimpse of large red hands, but that was it.
Despite her efforts to remain sane, if she were being honest, the solitude was starting to get to her. A couple of times she’d caught herself speaking aloud, reenacting a conversation she’d had with someone long ago as her thoughts wandered into the past. And the loneliness made her want to cry sometimes.
She finished her jumping jacks and moved on to a set of push-ups. Yesterday she’d managed forty-five without stopping. Maybe today she would reach fifty. Yes, she was definitely starting to lose her mind. The old Layla had never cared this much about fitness.
A clanging noise at the end of the corridor had her scrambling to her feet. She backed up into the corner near the bed, the instinct to hide taking over. Even though she was lonely, that didn’t mean she wanted the general’s company. Not if he intended to hurt her. A shiver rushed through her as heavy footsteps approached.
General Zamak appeared outside her cell. When his steely gaze collided with hers, she found herself unable to look away. His jaw was clenched tight, and his eyes blazed with a determination that made her shudder.
Whatever his reason for visiting her today, she had a feeling it wouldn’t go well for her.
Had he finally decided to torture her?
She glanced at his waist, searching for a sword or battle-ax, but didn’t see a weapon at all. She didn’t see any knives protruding from his boots either. His hands were clasped behind his back, but when he stepped closer and his arms fell to his sides, her stomach rolled. Oh God.
He was holding a thick leather strap.
She gasped and tried to back farther into the wall, but there was nowhere to go. Her stomach flipped over and over as she peered at the strap.
I intend to make her suffer.
The words he’d spoken in the courtroom came back to her now.
The general was a fierce Kall warrior, over seven feet tall and built of solid muscle. She wouldn’t stand a chance against him. How hard would he beat her and for how long?
He called out a verbal command and the door opened. He strode inside and the door immediately closed behind him, locking them in together. The room no longer felt quite as large as it had moments ago. General Zamek’s presence dominated the space, making her feel a bit claustrophobic, and she found herself struggling to take in air. He stood tall before her with an aura of cruel intent surrounding him, looking like the physical manifestation of wrath itself.
“Come here, human.” His deep voice reverberated through her.
She ought to obey him, but her legs wouldn’t budge. She stared at him as a full body tremble descended upon her.
“Please,” she whispered. “I-I need a moment.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “A moment? I’ve left you alone for eight days and now you suddenly need a moment?”
Only eight days? Apparently, she’d counted wrong.
She opened her mouth to respond but couldn’t form a single word, as her mouth had gone too dry. She pressed her lips together and pushed herself out of the corner, walking around the bed on shaky legs.
She glanced up and once again peered into General Zamek’s dark eyes. He looked more forbidding than he had in the courtroom. There was something about his manner today that made her blood run cold.
Standing before him, she lowered her head and awaited his next command. Her shaking increased when he started to circle her, and she felt the heat of his gaze burning into her.
She swallowed hard and prayed this ended quickly, though she had a bad feeling he meant to drag her torment out.
His next words
shocked her to her very core.
“Remove your clothing. All of it.” He came to stand before her and gave her a dark but expectant look. “When I make you bleed, I want to see it.”
“Please. Please don’t...” Her voice trailed off, and she brought her arms up and hugged herself as a sense of helplessness fell over her.
“Remove your clothing,” he snapped. His eyes flashed with barely contained fury and his grip tightened on the strap.
“Th-this wo-won’t bring her ba-back,” she stammered. “Please have mercy.”
He closed the space between them and poked her stomach hard. She glanced down to see what he was doing. “One.” He poked her again. “Two.” Another poke. He continued, poking a different spot on her stomach as he counted, until he reached, “Ten.”
Realization dawned. Ten. Michael had stabbed Shessema in the stomach ten times. She felt sick.
“Please know how sorry I am. But you must understand—I wasn’t the one who hurt her,” Layla whispered, “and I don’t condone what Michael did. Will beating me really make you feel better?”
His eyes flashed and his nostrils flared. His gaze dropped to her shirt. A second later, he grabbed the neckline and ripped the fabric from her body, shredding the garment.
“No!” she cried, jumping back. She scrambled around the bed, back to her corner, where for some absurd reason she felt safest, and tried to cover her nudity. She was wearing a bra, but still, she didn’t want to take any of her clothes off around him.
When her eyes landed on the remnants of her shirt on the floor, she almost burst into tears. She didn’t have a replacement and she doubted he would provide one. Maybe she ought to just remove the rest of her clothing, lest he rip her pants and undergarments off her body too. Given his strength, she knew he wouldn’t find it a challenge.
He rounded the bed, trapping her in the corner. “You will regret your disobedience, human, I assure you.”
“My name is Layla,” she said. “I’m a fucking person, and I didn’t have any part in what happened to your wife. This is wrong. Can’t you see how wrong this is?”
To her astonishment, his expression wavered. For a second or two, something akin to remorse shone in his dark eyes. But anger and determination soon fell back into place, and all traces of possible regret vanished. His face hardened.
“Remove your clothes,” he said, “or I will tear them from your body.”
A sense of betrayal filled her, though it was completely ludicrous. Somehow, she’d thought she might get through to him. She’d also been lulled into a false sense of security since he’d left her alone for so long. Being kept in the nicest cell in the brig had also given her hope that maybe, just maybe, General Zamek wasn’t as cruel as she’d originally thought.
“Very well,” she whispered as her hands moved to the front of her pants. She removed her pants and placed them on the bed. She trembled as she reached around to unhook her bra, then allowed the undergarment to slide off her arms to join her pants on the bed. Keeping her gaze low—she couldn’t bear to look at the general right now—she stepped out of her panties and tossed them aside.
Completely naked, she stood cowering in the corner. She felt vulnerable, stripped of her defenses. He held all the power, and she couldn’t stop him. She would have to endure.
She felt the wet warmth of her tears coating her face. She couldn’t help it, though she wished she could face General Zamek with bravery and take this beating without screaming out in pain. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but she suspected more tears would soon follow and she wouldn’t manage to remain quiet. He would witness her sorrow and hear it. And that’s exactly why he was doing this—because he was a monster who wished to see her suffering.
He stepped closer, so near she could feel the heat of his body. She sucked in a shaky breath, once again praying this ended quickly.
Without warning, he grabbed her arm and pulled her from the corner, dragging her into the center of the cell. He pushed down on her shoulder.
“On your knees, human.”
She dropped to her knees as another tear escaped her eyes. She expected the beating to begin immediately, but he stepped back and she felt his dark gaze upon her. Her hair obscured her face as she lowered her head.
The only violence she’d ever endured was the one slap Michael had given her, and on the day she left him, when he’d grabbed her roughly and shaken her. She didn’t precisely know what to expect, but she knew it would hurt.
General Zamek started to circle her, his bootsteps echoing in the cell. Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he could hear it. The room was cold, and she shivered as goosebumps rose on her arms.
She cast a mournful look at her destroyed shirt. Keeping warm in the cell would prove difficult without the long-sleeve shirt. She’d been ripped away from her life on Earth and the only possessions she’d had were the clothes on her back. The general knew that. Ruining her shirt was especially cruel.
She tensed when he paused behind her and trailed the leather strap over her bare back. Her stomach bottomed out. Any moment now, he might start whipping her.
When I make you bleed, I want to see it.
This specific threat made her cold all over.
“Are you frightened?” he asked, and the sudden question surprised her.
“Yes, General,” she said, barely a whisper.
“Good. I imagine Shessema was terrified when your husband attacked her.”
He continued trailing the leather across her back and she shuddered. He bent down and reached for her hair, drawing it over her shoulder, better exposing her back for the lash. His fingers brushed over her flesh, eliciting more goosebumps. She was terrified of him but also strangely drawn to him in a way she didn’t quite understand. He was pure power, a magnetic force from which she couldn’t seem to extract herself.
She closed her eyes and tried to distance herself from him, tried to allow her mind to drift away from the present. But his enticing masculine scent and the warmth radiating off his huge, muscular body kept her grounded in the moment.
He rose to his feet and brought the strap down across her back.
The pain. Oh, God, the pain.
She fell forward on her hands, gasping at the agonizing sting. A sob erupted from her throat. He knelt before her and grasped her chin, forcing her gaze to his.
“Did that hurt?” he asked, his question surprising her again. He searched her eyes.
“Y-yes,” she replied in a shaky voice. Of course it hurt. The sting hadn’t yet faded and she half wondered if he’d broken the skin.
“Good. Your husband hurt Shessema very badly.”
“What would your wife think if she could see you now?” Layla asked, even though a voice in the back of her head whispered that she ought to remain silent. Risking his fury at this moment wasn’t smart. “What would your wife think of you beating an innocent woman?”
He snarled and grasped her hair, giving her head a sharp jerk. “Don’t presume to know what my wife would think. She’s not here. She’s gone and she’s never coming back.” A sorrowful look entered his eyes.
“Did you love her?” What the fuck was she doing? Why had this question slipped out?
A storm gathered in the general’s black eyes. He tightened his grip on her hair and gave her another shake. “What business is it of yours, human, whether or not I loved Shessema? She was my wife. We should have spent the rest of our lives together. We should have had children and grown old together. Your husband took away her life and mine as well.”
“I’m so sorry,” Layla said. “I’m shocked and saddened by what Michael did to your wife. I wish I could go back in time and stop him. But hurting me won’t bring her back.”
He released her hair and grasped her chin, causing her jaw to ache. “You were probably in league with your husband. You probably had full knowledge of his involvement with the human rebels. I know hurting you won’t bring Shessema back, but it’s what you de
serve.”
Anger sparked inside her. “You want the truth?” she asked in a desperate but biting tone. “Yes, yes I suspected Michael might be involved with the rebels, but I didn’t know for certain. When I questioned him about it, he slapped me and called me a bitch and told me to mind my own business.
“On the day he killed your wife, I left him because he’d gotten violent again. I was afraid of him, especially because he kept blaming me for the war and his son’s death. He killed Shessema because the Kall killed his son during the war. And now you intend to kill me—eventually—because he killed your wife. Where does it end? Where does the killing and the fucking misguided vengeance end?”
She expected him to shake her again or resume whipping her, but he stared at her instead, his gaze entirely unreadable. She wished she knew what he was thinking. She wished she knew the right words that would still his hand and make him understand the wrongness of his actions.
But was there any way to reason with a stubborn Kall warrior who was grieving the loss of a wife he’d loved? She was starting to think not.
His next words sent fear churning through her.
“If you had even the slightest suspicion that your husband was involved with the rebels, you should have turned him in. That makes you guilty enough. It makes you responsible enough for my wife’s death that you deserve all the pain that’s coming to you. And you deserve to one day die at my hand.” He gave her a cruel smile that made her blood run cold. “But you’re not going to die anytime soon.”
He stood and moved behind her, where he resumed trailing the leather strap along her back in a threatening manner. Then he brought it down across her back again. Hard enough to steal her breath. This time he didn’t pause to speak with her, he just kept going and going, bringing the strap down over and over.
The pain, the pain, the pain.
Chapter 7
Something was wrong.
Zamek stopped wielding the strap and took a step back. He’d struck the little human fifteen times, though not hard enough to break her delicate skin, despite his promise to make her bleed. But her back was covered in red stripes, and she cowered before him, on her hands and knees, as she sobbed.
