Twisted: A Dark Romance (Barrowlands Book 1)

by Esme Devlin

  I burst out laughing, pulling the card out of his hands and flicking it behind my back. “I think I am merely a man, and you are merely a charlatan. What card do I need to tell me that, I wonder?”

  “Damn, you’re pretty good at this,” he says. “So it’s sorted then. The show is tomorrow so we’ll need to be ready. I was thinking you could send me ahead, and maybe I could convince Hum, then maybe we can—”

  “Ah, ah,” I cut him off with a finger. “I didn’t say I was going.”

  When I go, nobody will know about it. Least of all him.

  “But you need to go! Once she has the baby, she’ll be sold off to some—”

  “What?”

  His mouth shuts quickly, and he stares at me with wide eyes.

  “What did you say?”

  “Oh. Yeah. She’s pregnant. That’s why Maxim’s so pissed.”

  I spin around, giving him my back.

  How?

  She showed me she bled the very night before she left…

  Hmm.

  I click my tongue a few times. Clever little girl. I really must stop underestimating her.

  “Boss?”

  I turn back around to find him staring at me as if I’ve lost my marbles and realize I was speaking my thoughts aloud. “Very well. Maybe we shall fetch her. But we will do this my way. You must do everything I say, and you must do it well.”

  Scout grins at me like the cat who got the cream. “Whatever you say, Boss.”

  36

  Sapphire

  The small mat on which I sleep shifts with the weight of the person who sits down at the end of it.

  I don’t bother looking up.

  Whoever it is, I already know what they’re going to say.

  Maxim told me. And no amount of begging or pleading from me changed his mind.

  Men and their revenge.

  “Sapphire?”

  It’s Denim.

  I don’t feel like going with him. I don’t feel like doing anything other than closing my eyes and falling asleep for a long time.

  Besides, my name isn’t Sapphire anymore. Maxim told me that. Now, my name is Pyrite. Fool’s gold. It’s actually rather poetic, if you think about it.

  Eight fools in an arena behaving like fools in order to win fool’s gold.

  “It’s time,” he says. His voice breaks on the second word.

  Does he even care, though?

  “I just want you to know… I need you to know that I tried, okay? I sent Scout to see him…”

  I haul myself up and turn around to face him. The single candle gives off barely any light, but I can see enough to wonder if he’s aged ten years in the time I’ve been away. He looks hollowed out.

  “Scout saw him?” My heart rate picks up and my insides contract as I choke the words out.

  Denim nods, but it looks nothing other than solemn. “I’m so sorry.”

  I shake my head. “What? What did he say?”

  “Only that he wouldn’t be manipulated.”

  That sounds like something he would say, but at the same time it doesn’t. “He told him about the baby? His baby?”

  He nods again. “Something about making your bed and lying in it.”

  I let out a hollow laugh and close my eyes. I’d perhaps take that option, if that option merely involved lying in a bed. My hands shake as I attempt to bring them to my cheeks. Or maybe I want to run them through my hair. I don’t know. The room feels too small.

  I think I need to throw up.

  Pushing the threadbare blankets off me, I shift on the bed, making for the corner, but Denim grabs me before I can make it.

  I can’t tell if he’s restraining me or comforting me.

  His hand comes to my hair, and I decide not to fight him. I don’t have the strength anymore. But a shushing sound comes from his lips, and I’m glad I didn’t fight him when something snaps deep inside me.

  I wasn’t even aware there was anything left to snap, but I feel it like a tidal wave.

  My knees buckle as a sob shakes its way to the surface.

  “Come now,” he says, in a low, hushed whisper. “We need to go. You need to stay strong for me, Sapphire.”

  I shake my head. Can’t do it. I can’t do that anymore.

  When my legs don’t move, he plucks me up off the ground and carries me in his arms. I hear his footsteps like they’re happening somewhere else, somewhere far away, and occasionally he sniffs back something as he leads me through the dark tunnels.

  Nobody’s coming to save me this time.

  He’s not coming to save me this time.

  That hits me harder than the thought of what is about to happen.

  A laugh escapes from me as I swipe my hand below my eye, catching the moisture there. I used to think Baron treated me like a possession, and I hated that. I hated being a little doll. Never allowed to think or do.

  But there was some comfort in believing that even dolls can be precious to some people. Now I’m just a doll without an owner, broken and discarded.

  I laugh again, because it feels good, and Denim glances down at me with troubled eyes.

  Maybe that is the secret I’ve been missing all this time. I should have just embraced the crazy years ago. It’s only a body, only a mind, only a soul. Why do I care so much?

  Why does anybody bother with something as exhausting as caring?

  We stop in one of the curtained sections behind the tent where the girls often fix their face paint and Denim puts me down—clothes and all—into a bath, which brings on another fit of giggles.

  When he turns and gives me his back, I assume he wants me to remove the clothes, and so I do. No point in fighting over my modesty when it’s about to be ripped away in a few minutes. I can already hear the crowd waiting outside.

  “You need to wash yourself,” he calls to me without turning his head.

  Why would I wash myself for someone who’s about to pin me down and cover me in blood and guts?

  “I’m done,” I tell him.

  He grabs a sheet from the side and holds it up for me, averting his eyes, and then leads me through to the backstage area.

  There, Maxim stands in all his glory, his head and bare chest covered in crimson paint, black horns stuck to the top of his head. He smiles widely when he notices me entering, his teeth looking even more yellow against his black-painted lips.

  My stomach rolls as my skin crawls.

  “There she is,” he says, holding his arms out to embrace me. I’m stiff as a board when his fat arms wrap around my body before pulling me under his arm. “My Pyrite. Come, meet the men willing to fight and die just to sample you.”

  He turns around to face the lineup and takes a step away from me, holding his hands up in my direction. “The girl who will become your ticket to Utopia.”

  I burst out laughing. Maxim knows nothing about Utopia, much less how to go about getting anyone there.

  Should I tell them?

  Burst their little bubble?

  Maybe then they would not be so eager to get inside a ring and kill each other.

  It is tempting, however sense tells me Maxim would just think of some other bribe, or come up with some far worse plan—likely one that involved my death in a more painful way than drowning.

  That sobers me up quickly.

  I stare along the line of men, each one with a circus pup at his side, but I get no time to look properly in the semidarkness before Maxim is dragging me out into the ring.

  Spotlights blind me and sand sticks to my wet feet as we make our way to the center of the tent. The crowd goes wild. Wilder than I’ve ever heard. They only stop when Maxim starts his usual performance.

  I stare at him as he addresses the tent, wishing I had a knife in my hand so I could shove it clean into his throat. That brings on another giggle.

  What would Baron think of his sweet little girl then? The one who wouldn’t even hurt a fly?

  Perhaps I wouldn’t hurt a fly. I think I would enjoy
hurting Maxim, though.

  The sound of one of the circus pups pulls me out of my thoughts, and I turn around to take in the man who he’s introducing. “Pulled this one from the coal pits at Narrow Crag. Look at the size of his arms!” The boy slaps the bigger man, who grits his teeth but keeps his eyes straight ahead.

  The boy is correct. The man does have big arms. He’s also covered in coal dust, except for the bald head which keeps reflecting the spotlight as it moves across us.

  Men move through the crowd, taking bets on coal-pit man, and Maxim steps forward. “Any last words?”

  Coal-pit man looks along the line of men, eyes settling on the largest one at the end. “I’m coming for you first.”

  The crowd hoots and cheers, and in my head I keep saying the same thing over and over again.

  Don’t let it be him.

  Scout is next. My handsome little man. He’ll love this—the chance to be center stage for once. He takes a step in front of the large man who stands behind him, inhales deeply, and then pauses.

  He’s going for theatrical effect—god love him.

  “This one,” he says, sticking his thumb behind his back and then spinning around. “They tell stories about this one throughout the island. The mainland, too. This one spends his days shunting timber. They say he killed a man with his bare hands, crushed his skull like it was a lightbulb.”

  He even makes the squishing gesture with his hands.

  I look behind him at the man. Tall, muscled, and with long red hair that hasn’t seen a comb since the day he grew it. Timber man grins at me, and he doesn’t have a single tooth in his mouth.

  I won’t listen to this anymore. I’m doing the mantra. Don’t let it be him.

  But who should it be?

  I pick out the smallest one.

  He’s covered in filth with fair hair and lips too big for his face. I guess I’d want it to be him, but he’ll be the first to die.

  His pup steps forward, and I close my eyes and try to get inside my castle.

  37

  Baron

  I had to cut off my hair, and I don’t know if I’m more annoyed by that or the fact that I’ve had to show my face.

  I’m not used to showing my face. I practiced with Scout before we came, and the little shit said I express too much emotion. It’s no wonder. I’ve never had to think about that before, have I?

  Just do nothing, he said. Don’t roll your eyes. Don’t smirk. Don’t move your eyebrows. Don’t frown.

  All of that is easier said than done when I’m surrounded by idiots whose smell alone makes my face want to crawl.

  The little boy in front of me steps forward, and I fix my eyes on Sapphire.

  She’s had her eyes closed for a while now, which is probably for the best.

  My greatest fear would be that despite never seeing my face, she would somehow recognize me. And I can’t have that.

  When I win—and it is a matter of when—she will need to be perfectly realistic so as not to raise suspicions. And since she loves nothing more than being fucked by me… well, I had to take matters into my own hands—quite literally—to guarantee that there is no chance her—or her insides—will recognize me.

  The boy mouths off something about finding me in the fields, and how I’ve done such-and-such a thing.

  Maxim addresses me, asking if I have any final words, and I do my best to keep my expression stone.

  “This one’s a mute,” the boy says.

  There’s a snicker of laughter from the line.

  I wish I could laugh right back at them, but that would certainly give me away and I’m trying hard not to let my pettiness get the better of me.

  But my sweet little girl finally opens her eyes. She looks across at me, and I’m sure there is something there. A flash across her face. It could be recognition, but then again it could equally be terror. I’m used to her looking at me like that.

  I look straight ahead, feeling her eyes on my face and hating every second of it.

  Maxim moves along the line handing out chibs, and I wonder if the man has ever had a creative thought in his life. I thought of those. Me. The chibs were my idea.

  He stops and hands me one, a wooden handle with a thin metal toothpick no longer than my thumbnail.

  I take it out of his hand, shake my head, and throw it down into the sand.

  Chibs are for stupid people.

  Ever heard of someone dying from being stabbed with a toothpick? Me neither. It’s only good for unnecessary mess.

  Maxim laughs and goes back to Sapphire, putting his filthy hands on her and removing the sheet she is wearing.

  Stone face. Stone face. Stone fucking face.

  Maxim will die tonight for this.

  I can’t bring myself to look at her. Not when that’s exactly where every other pair of eyes in the ring are pointing.

  They’re all going to die just for looking at her.

  She fucking belongs to me.

  Me.

  And they will all pay.

  They will all get what is coming to them.

  Every single one of them, my sweet little girl included.

  38

  Sapphire

  Bodies blur into a tangled mash of flesh and blood as I stare at the sight before me.

  I’m standing on one of the eight sides, my arms crossed together and secured to a bar with chains and a padlock. Every so often someone comes crashing toward me, and there’s nothing I can do to get out of the way.

  I tried closing my eyes, but that only made the sounds louder. Grunting and shouting. Squelching and thudding.

  Opening them wasn’t much better, but I found that once I did, it was hard to look away.

  The smallest fair-haired man was the first to go down, quickly followed by coal-pit man. Both of them were taken out by a huge man with dark eyes and short black hair who didn’t even accept the offer of a weapon.

  I watch him. It’s impossible not to. The man fights with a fury so fierce it’s palpable. I only drag my eyes away long enough to glance in Timber’s direction, because out of all of them, I really do not want it to be him.

  The bodies pile up until there are three left.

  Timber shares a look for a single moment with the dark eyes standing opposite him, as if they both recognize that the third man is only going to get in the way of the real fight. Timber scoots across the ring toward the third man, grabbing him from behind and holding him while Dark Eyes approaches in two massive steps.

  Dark Eyes takes his head in two hands, and I watch the third man’s eyes go wide as reality hits him.

  Dark Eyes twists and tilts in one fluid motion and takes a step back.

  Timber grins, blood on his red-bearded face and crazy in his eyes, and then holds his hands up and lets the body slump to the ground in a heap with the rest of them.

  Two left.

  They begin circling each other like sharks in a tank, except this tank is full of obstacles.

  Timber glances down every so often, stepping over heads and limbs.

  Dark Eyes doesn’t bother with that. No, he just walks right over them.

  There was a moment… a single moment when I opened my eyes and saw his face and wondered if it could be him. If it could be Baron.

  The hair is different, but he could have cut it.

  I’ve never seen his face. I’ve never seen him without clothes on. I couldn’t tell anyone if his nipples were pink or brown, if he has scars on his body, tattoos, birthmarks. My heart belongs to a man who I have never really met.

  He could be standing in front of me right now and I wouldn’t know it.

  But I realize this could be my brain playing tricks on me. Trying to create a false reality because things are easier that way. Baron said I made my bed, and it wasn’t his. That sounds like something Baron would say.

  And Baron never takes his mask off. Ever. I doubt he’d take it off if it turned red hot and seared into his face.

  But if this man with the
dark eyes wins… would it make it easier to pretend that it’s him? To pretend it’s Baron, and that he came to rescue me?

  I’m not sure. And Timber is winning so maybe there is little point in thinking about it.

  With everyone else, Timber had been like a wrecking ball. Swinging with force and trampling everything in his path.

  But with Dark Eyes, he’s doing the opposite. He’s ducking and diving, making little stabs with the chib all over Dark’s body and then retreating quickly to the other side of the cage.

  And Dark has taken more than a few. Trickles of blood fall from various points all over his body. He doesn’t like this—the frustration shows plainly on his face. He looks at Timber like an annoying wasp that must be squished, stalking him around the cage, crushing limbs with bare feet as he goes.

  The entire ring goes silent when Dark Eyes stops circling and stands in the center of the cage. Timber smirks and turns around, lifting his arms to the crowd and drumming up a cheer.

  Dark Eyes, with his opponent distracted, turns around and glances at me, eyes dragging from my toes to the top of my head.

  Heat creeps across my cheeks. I don’t know where to look, and he won’t stop staring. He doesn’t turn back around. In fact, the man grabs his cock through his shorts and smirks at me.

  My stomach rolls.

  He’s paying no attention.

  That’s when I notice Timber approaching silently behind him. Dark Eyes doesn’t notice.

  My mouth is on the cusp of opening—the ridiculous urge to warn him coming from nowhere—but before I can get the words out—

  Dark Eyes spins around to face me and drops to his knees.

  Timber tries to stop his momentum, but he’s too late.

  Far too late.

  He comes crashing into Dark’s shoulder.

  Dark reaches back, grabbing his arm and pulling Timber down with him.

  Timber lands on his front on top of a pile of bodies, and Dark wastes no time climbing over him, positioning himself on Timber’s back.