God of Monsters (Juniper Unraveling Book 4)

by Keri Lake

  Will cries out again over the sound of Agatha’s moans that seem to escalate. Twisting my wrist to break free is futile in Titus’s steel grasp, and tears gather in my eyes as I listen to her violating my friend in the next cell. Jaw locked with the grinding of my teeth, I anchor my gaze on Titus, who hasn’t yet looked away from me. Unless I’m mistaken, there’s a sadness that swirls in the depths of his eyes, maybe a kindred understanding. Maybe she’s done this to him, too. The desire to hurt her coils inside of me like a poisonous snake ready to strike out.

  He’s right, though. If I fight her, I’ll undoubtedly end up like Lindsay.

  For the sake of Will’s freedom, and my own, I have to keep my wits about me.

  “Why doesn’t he fight her?” Spoken barely above a whisper, my words aren’t meant for Titus to hear, so it comes as a surprise when he answers.

  “It’ll be worse.”

  I’ve seen evidence of worse, so I don’t doubt him. Perhaps he’s seen things, too. Horrible things that even an Alpha can’t bear, let alone Will.

  Suffering seems to be the currency of this world. The unbalanced dichotomy of those who inflict, and those who endure. It’s a wonder anyone is of sound mind.

  Within minutes, it’s over, and Will’s sobs carry through the walls. I want more than anything to go to him and comfort him.

  Titus releases me, and with the click of the next cell’s door, I go back to pretending to fuss over his wounds.

  Fastening the buttons of her top, Agatha stops in the doorway, breathing hard. “I swear I’ve never seen someone so concerned with another’s wounds. Perhaps you should stroke his cock and make him feel like a man again, Thalia. It’ll be good practice for Remus.”

  A zap of pain strikes my skull when I grind my teeth so hard that spots float before my eyes. I keep my head turned, so she can’t see the tears running down my cheeks, and it’s not until she leaves that I realize I’ve dug my nails into Titus’s arm the whole time.

  Quickly releasing him, I back away and swallow hard, noticing the half-crescent grooves I’ve left in his flesh.

  Seemingly untroubled by it, he turns his gaze away and hikes up his knee.

  I want to tell him sorry, but I can’t form a single word and shuffle out of his cell. With a quick glance toward the entrance, checking Agatha is out of sight, I dart toward Will’s door and peer in, find him lying curled up on the concrete with his back to me, his pants drawn down to his thighs.

  It brings to mind the first time I met him, in elementary school back at Szolen. The other boys bullied him for his lack of athleticism and the fact that he preferred to draw, or paint, rather than play sports with them at recess. One afternoon, I found him sitting on the edge of the woods, sketching a black moon against a white sky. When I asked him why he’d reversed the colors, he told me not everything had to be as it really was.

  “Will,” I whisper, my voice heavy with tears. “Will, are you … okay?”

  “You should’ve let me be today in the courtyard, Thalia. You should’ve left me to die there.”

  “I’m sorry, Will. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

  He breaks into an agonized wail that tears at my heart. “I can’t take this anymore.” When he pummels his fist against his head, I curl my fingers into the window.

  “Stop, please! Please, Will!” I jog toward the entrance, where Tom sits. “I need to see Will. He …. I think he’s hurt. And sick.”

  “’Fraid I can’t do that. Agatha gave me strict orders to keep you out of that cell.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Didn’t say. And I recommend you don’t fuss about it, neither.”

  I suspect even asking puts both of us at risk. “She comes down frequently, then?”

  “Once a day. You better go now. I’m tellin’ you, if they haven’t already found out the two of you are friends, they will, if you keep coming down here. God help him when that happens.”

  “It’s happened before?”

  “Have you met Lindsay yet?”

  “Yes. Remus said Agatha didn’t care for her, and that’s why she was thrown in there.”

  With a snort, Tom shakes his head. “She didn’t like the looks she gave one of the guards. Thought she was tromping on her territory.”

  “Which guard?”

  “You wouldn’t know him. She had Titus rip his insides out in front of Lindsay. Her way of claiming territory, I guess.”

  Must’ve been horrific having to watch such a thing, and the fact that Titus could carry out the order only confirms my thoughts that had I not intervened in the courtyard, he’d have probably decapitated Will with that shovel.

  “It’s a wonder the guards haven’t rebelled, with so many of you, and only two of them.”

  He glances over his shoulder, as if someone hides in the shadows, listening to us. “I’d be careful saying that around here. Even mentioning it could get you into trouble with Agatha.”

  “I didn’t suggest anything. I’m simply curious as to why you haven’t yet.”

  “Remus has connections outside of this prison. But inside? All he has to do is give Titus the command, and we’d all be dead.”

  I swing my gaze back toward Titus’s cell. “So, it’s true. He does kill on command. Without conscience.”

  “Yes. Even chained, he’s dangerous, though he’s never harmed a woman before. I wouldn’t have let you go in there alone, if I thought he would.”

  “I appreciate that. Though, from what I’ve heard of Alphas, there isn’t much you could do, if he did decide to attack.”

  “That’s probably true.” With another wary glance over his shoulder, he leans in closer than before and lowers his voice, when he says, “There is a way to kill him. It’s a poison called Red Lotus. Remus and Agatha have some gun with special darts. They carry a deadly poison that paralyzes them. Once saw them shoot a regular guard, and within seconds, the man was seizing on the ground. Bled from his eyes, nose, and mouth. Like it just … strangled him. Alphas take a bit more, but Titus has tasted death, too.”

  That’s why he follows their command.

  “He survived, though. How?”

  “I guess Lisbeth thought he was having an asthma attack, like her sister sometimes gets. She gave him some--”

  “Lobelia. I’ve helped my mother make it for my brother. He has asthma, as well.”

  Of course. It’s an antagonist for the nicotinic receptors, which makes me wonder if it’s nicotine poison at the end of those darts.

  “Didn’t work out for the guard. Poison probably spread too fast. Watch yourself, Thalia. ‘Specially around Agatha. You’re a nice girl. That woman will eat your kindness and spit it out. You can’t ever let her know that boy means anything to you.”

  I take his words as a friendly warning, but one I suspect is too late, after what happened in the courtyard earlier. If there was any question in Remus’s mind whether, or not, Will meant anything to me, I’m certain today’s little escapade gave him the answer.

  Chapter 18

  In an effort to kill time and distract my guilt-addled brain over Will, I wander the grounds in search of the silver boxes that might hold the mutations. It’s a farfetched dream, but one that keeps me from falling into despair here. In fact, I find myself laughing with amusement at times, thinking of Remus and Agatha trying to outrun one of those creatures. So far, I’ve found nothing but more empty cells, and ransacked offices with dilapidated desks and chairs, and patient records, so faded and tattered, I can’t make out a single word.

  I take the stairwell down to the lower level, past the solitary cells, and as I descend into the dark bowels of the building, I flick on the flashlight Remus gave me when I first arrived.

  The one he said was for monsters.

  A shiver spirals down my spine as I tug open the heavy, steel door, which sticks as it scrapes over the concrete. An arc of light slices across the surrounding blackness, and I can’t see beyond the halo to know where I’ve ventured. Rusted pipes line
the ceiling of the room. Curls of peeling paint and water stains cover the chipped, brick walls. Ahead of me, a line of machines stand useless and empty, their hinges rusted and broken down, where the doors hang cockeyed off to the side. If I had to guess, this place was probably a laundry room at one time, if the long tables and rolling carts scattered are anything to judge by. I make my way over to one of the carts, and in the flashlight find yellowed linen piled inside.

  A flicker of movement sends a shock of fear down my spine, and I jerk back the light. With a deep breath, I direct the flashlight back inside the cart, and reach down to push away the linen. A flash of brown scutters across the sheets as two small mice race up the side of the cart. An involuntary scream flies past my lips, and I jump backward, watching them dart off.

  Heart pounding against my ribs, I rest my hand against my chest and take long, easy breaths to settle the fear thrumming in my veins. Jesus. Flashlight angled downward, I peer into the cart again, scanning over the inside of it, my thoughts rewinding to the tiny mice scampering up the walls.

  The walls.

  I nab a thin pole from off the ground and use it to stir the linen for any more mice. When nothing flies out at me, I lift one of the sheets and tuck the flashlight beneath my arm, as I hold a stretch of the fabric between both hands and tug to find it’s still strong. Gathering the sheet, I hold it outstretched, estimating the length of it to be about six feet. Urgency rides me as I set the sheet down and gather the rest from the cart, careful to shake off the mice droppings, and set six more on the table. I scan the four other carts, finding more mice, and a little over a dozen more sheets.

  Twenty-three sheets total.

  I’d estimate the height of the cliff to be maybe two hundred feet or more. Tying the sheets together would probably shave off a good hundred of that, with the knots and the length used to secure it to something. Enough to climb down halfway and fall into the water below. I’ve no idea where the water goes from there, and it doesn’t really matter, because anywhere is better than being trapped in an inescapable prison with two psychopaths who get off on torture.

  I set to work on tying the knots, securing each sheet together with enough force that it doesn’t slip when tugged. The lengths lay coiled in a pile on the table, my hands trembling with excitement and adrenaline, while my head works to formulate a plan of action. So many questions to tease out, like how do I get Will out of his cell? How do I distract the guards long enough to secure the rope of sheets to something? What are the chances that we’ll fall from the rope too soon and crash to our deaths? And if we do make it, and we manage to swim to shore, are we equipped to survive what’s out there?

  Once the knots are fastened, I coil the sheets like a long stretch of rope, which I slide onto my shoulder. As one of only four females in this camp, sneaking around is a bit harder with the guards, who seem to notice me every time I step outside of this building. I have to hide this somewhere, though. Somewhere safe and convenient, ready to go, for when the time comes, and my cell isn’t an option, given how frequently Agatha and the guards come and go and what few storage places there are. As easily as Remus found my bird, they’ll surely find a rope of over twenty sheets. No, the best place is the row of shrubs along the edge of the building nearest the cliff. If I hide it there, I can easily drag it out and secure it to something.

  When I reach the top of the stairwell, I crack the door and find two guards smoking cigarettes at the building’s entrance. One of them walks away, and after another minute, the other follows. Once they’re out of view, I sneak from my hiding spot and tiptoe across the building’s foyer. I’m imagining Agatha passed out with a drink, as usual. And I’ve no idea what Remus is doing. Probably tormenting something. At the door, I peer out to the prison grounds, where the guards have gathered by the fence at the opposite end. Five of them sit crouched to the ground in the thick of some game, from what I can make out. Maybe dice, as I’ve seen them play on occasion.

  The darkening sky, on the cusp of night, offers only a small bit of cover, and with the coiled sheets on my shoulder, I step out of the building. Keeping tight to the wall, eyes on the guards, I slide my way to the opposite side.

  If any of them look up, they’ll undoubtedly question what the hell I’m doing, and I just hope they won’t shoot first and ask questions after. For now, though, they seem relatively engaged in their game, shouting and laughing, making enough noise on their own that they likely don’t hear the crunch of gravel beneath my feet. I back myself around the corner of the building, until I’m completely out of their line of view.

  When something bumps into me, I let out an involuntary gasp that’s quickly capped by a hand at my mouth. My whole body tenses, and the rope of sheets slips from my arm.

  “What are you doing?” At the familiarity of Tom’s voice, my muscles sag with relief, and he lowers his hand from my mouth.

  I turn to face him, throwing one more glance over my shoulder, and lean into him. “Did you follow me?”

  “No, I came out to take a piss and found you tiptoeing around like a girl who’s trying to get herself killed.” He slides his gaze toward the fallen sheets and back. “What’s that all about?”

  “I found a way out. A way to escape.”

  “What? Parachute?”

  “No. But … that wouldn’t have been a bad idea, either.” Shaking my head free of the distraction, I clamp my eyes shut. “I have about a hundred, or so, feet of rope. I can climb down and drop the remaining hundred, or so, feet.”

  “The cliff is actually closer to two-fifty. But that’s not the real issue. If you don’t get enough push from that wall, you’ll end up on the rocks, instead of the water. There’s a stiff drop off about fifty yards out, but you need some force to skirt the shallows, and if you don’t land right, you’ll break your legs.”

  “You sound like you’ve attempted this before.”

  “All that time down in solitary gives a man time to think. The other problem is impact. You hit the water, gasp, and drown.”

  “Which all sounds like a much better end than being locked up in a cell and pregnant with a baby Rager.”

  “I don’t blame you for this, Thalia, trust me. I don’t want to be here, either. But you’ll die trying to escape this place. It was designed for no escape.”

  “I’ll die staying in this place.”

  Tom rubs a hand down his face and shakes his head. He points off toward the edge of the cliff, where one of the crags sticks upright. “You’re gonna want to secure it on that rock. Tight. It sticks out from the wall, and if you can get enough swing at the bottom, you might be able to drop into the deeper waters.”

  “You could come with us.”

  “Us? You planning to take that boy with you?”

  “Well, it’s funny that I’m talking to you now, because the next part of my plan was to see about unlocking Will’s cell.”

  “One of you escaping is dangerous. Two is downright stupid.”

  “Three is probably impossible, but I’m still hoping you’ll consider coming along.”

  Huffing, he shakes his head, staring off toward the edge of the cliff that disappears to a dark void. “No one’s ever jumped that cliff and lived to tell the story. You know that, right? Not as long as this prison has been standing.”

  “Then, we’ll either be the first, or the last. Either way, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  Chapter 19

  Three days pass in this place, and every hour is a game of anticipating what Remus and Agatha will do next, and when I’ll finally escape. After having said something to Tom, I feel as if I’m being watched closer than before by the guards, who always seem to be around. My hope is that he didn’t betray me, but I suspect if that were the case, I’d have been called to Remus and Agatha by now and punished for my conspiring. I’m certain the presence of the guards is my own paranoia making escape far more difficult.

  This morning, Remus left early, with Titus and a few guards in tow, and my excu
se to visit Will was thwarted by the Alpha’s absence, when I spotted Agatha heading down to the solitary cells. My stomach has been in knots since seeing her go to him, so much so that I couldn’t even finish supper and stuffed most of it away for Will.

  Aside from a brief visit from Agatha the other night, when she came to my cell to check whether, or not, I’ve begun to ovulate, neither she, nor Remus, have laid so much as a hand on me. It’s coming, though, I have no doubt. With the healing of my welts, Remus has already assured me there’ll be more of the whip.

  Then there’s the other thing … I haven’t started my period yet. Though my cycles have often been irregular, due to my condition, arriving earlier than expected, at times, they’re not usually late. Certainly never this late, which I originally attributed to stress.

  I’ve only ever been with Will, and with my faulty uterus, the chances of being pregnant are virtually nonexistent. But if not that, then what else?

  I can’t bear to think about being pregnant in this place, this world. Who the hell would bring a child into this on purpose? Who would risk the demise of something so innocent?

  It’s a thought I stuff to the back of my head for now, because dwelling on it too much might crush me, and I need my wits about me. I need to stay focused and figure out a plan of escape.

  Heart urging me to go to Will, I pace in my cell, eyeing the sun that’s begun to cast an orangey glow of dusk. I need to see him, to know if he’s okay.

  Only a few guards patrol inside the prison, but mostly, they watch the perimeter outside. Being a prison, the place doesn’t offer many opportunities to hide away, which I’m sure is what made it a choice spot for Remus and Agatha to begin with.

  Approaching footsteps interrupts my thoughts, and worried my plans are written across my face, I plop down onto the bed and snap my focus to something else. Something less likely to make me look like I’m plotting escape.

  The first thing that comes to mind is Titus, for whatever reason. If it’s at all possible to get him onboard with helping me, maybe appeal to the part of him that once tried to escape this place, he could serve as a distraction to the guards. He could fend them off just long enough to allow Will and I the opportunity to climb down the rope. But I don’t trust him. Not after what happened in the courtyard, and what Tom told me about him.