Unlikely Rebel (A Dark Revolution Novella - Book One)

by Amy Boyles

  “So is your new plan to torture me with your silence?”

  He laughed. “You were so pleasant when you thanked me. I see that moment’s gone. You think my company so vile?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I am your prisoner, after all.”

  “Would you rather be in a patriot prison? From the looks of those rabbits you stole from Colonel Mann, you’d be sitting in his facility right now if we hadn't rescued you.”

  What this gall or delusion? “Rescued me? You've done nothing but make my plight worse. And what makes you think those were his rabbits?”

  Branthe gave me a knowing look. “The traps were set behind his property. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. So tell me—do you work for him or just steal from him when the fancy strikes you?”

  “Why do you think I was stealing from him?”

  He chuckled. “You didn’t mention Mann’s name to us when we first met. If you planned on taking the rabbits back to him, you would’ve said so to get me to release you. That means either you stopped working for him recently or you’ve never set foot in his house.”

  I said nothing.

  “So which is it? Not that it’s any of my business.”

  “No. It isn’t any of your business.”

  “Mann is something else, I hear. They say his appetite for pleasure is only overruled by his appetite for inflicting pain. Have you heard of his cabinet?”

  I shivered.

  “I thought as much. So you know or knew the colonel. I don’t blame you for stealing from him. I’ve never met him face-to-face, but his reputation is unprecedented.”

  “And where would you, a rebel, have met him? At a rebel rally?”

  He ignored me. “Did you manage to escape his clutches?” Branthe searched my face for the answer. I felt he sincerely wanted to know if the colonel had managed to get his beefy paws on me.

  “That man never touched me.”

  “You were one of the lucky ones. There are others I’ve met. Those who haven’t been as lucky.”

  “I worked with them. Women whom he accosted and then impregnated.”

  He shook his head in disgust. “Then what does he do?”

  “The colonel marries them off. He finds men who know of their condition and pays them to wed the girls. Otherwise, his victims would end up at the Hold, I suppose.”

  Holds were buildings, usually old churches, which housed young women who failed their rendering. Once you were inside, it was said they never let you out. It’s where the morally corrupt went to live out the rest of their lives in solitude.

  Branthe smiled bitterly. “Ah, the Hold—where girls have goodness and purity instilled in them. Pay no attention to the beatings and the brainwashing.”

  “I’ve always wondered where they send the boys.”

  His eyes flickered to mine. “You know the boys aren’t guilty when a girl is deemed impure. It’s the girl’s fault. The boys receive no punishment.”

  I stretched my hands, trying to get some of the soreness out. “Ah. The girls are punished. Not unlike what I’m going through now.”

  His jaw dropped. “This is nothing like that.”

  “Isn’t it? I’m being punished for something I had no choice in. I stumbled on your group. I didn’t seek you out. I wasn’t looking for you. Yet I’m being punished, and here you are trying to make small talk with me.”

  “I’m only keeping you because I have to. Not because I want to.”

  I shrugged. “It seems the same to me.” I pushed him, trying to get Branthe to see some reasoning for letting me go. It was a long shot but worth it.

  “I’ve given you better hospitality than your Colonel Mann ever would.”

  I fumed with anger at that remark. “First of all, he’s not my colonel. Secondly, I'd take anything other than this.”

  His dark eyes seared into me. “Spend one night in a patriot prison and you'll change your mind.”

  “Can't be any worse than your stinky brutes,” I said snidely.

  He stood up and shook what I can only assume was the sleep from his legs. “Ask any of my men. Beaten for no reason and whipped for less. The food was piss and feces. Literally. Most of them only survived by eating rats. It wasn’t prison. It was purgatory. Who treats someone that way? The reds say they want to help people, but they're less than human. And that goes against the very constitution this country was founded on.”

  “That country is dead. There’s a new constitution, in case you haven’t looked.”

  “Oh I’ve looked. I’ve looked hard, and what I see isn’t pretty.”

  “I agree,” I answered pointedly, being as obvious as I could that I meant him and his crew.

  “Are you really naive enough that you think my men are worse than the government?”

  I shrugged. “People aren’t murdering each other over a loaf of bread anymore.”

  “Of course not. The party hands it to them like they’re feeding mice. It’s just enough to keep them from asking for more. But dare speak against them and you’re either strung up or sent to one of those patriot Farms.”

  A Farm. They were exactly that—farms where criminals or anyone the reds wanted to get rid of went to die. Work and die. Die and work. No one really spoke of them. Most people considered it bad luck.

  He started to say something and then stopped. “You aren’t old enough to remember what it was like before, are you?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “You’re right that people were killing each other for the basest of necessities. Then the party came along, confiscated all the guns and instilled what they believe is best for all the country. Of course it’s better than what we had. But we have little in the way of liberty—in fact, we have nothing. And no one seems to mind,” he added bitterly.

  “That’s the worst part?” I asked, feeling drawn to him. Suddenly it was as if we were alone—as if his band of men was gone and we were two people lying on our backs watching the stars and discussing the meaning of life.

  “It is the worst part,” he confirmed.

  “Some people care.”

  Branthe looked away as if contemplating something. “Not enough. Not enough to make a difference anymore.”

  “You must have hope.”

  “Oh I do. But not as much as I once did.” His eyes narrowed, and then he turned to his second. “Anyway, let’s talk about something more pleasant. Fief, tell young Anna why you were imprisoned.”

  “That’s pleasant?” I asked, confused.

  He gave a wan smile. “Not really. It just breaks things up a bit.”

  The man snorted. “I fixed a mechanical cart for an old man. He paid me in apples. A nearby soldier saw it and accused him of giving away his fair share of government rations.”

  “So then it was his fault.”

  He nodded. “Yes, they wanted to arrest him, but I told them I’d take his punishment. He was old and wouldn't have survived in prison. For taking his place, I think they made it worse. These aren't people. They aren't fit to be our leaders.” He looked into the distance as if searching for something. “Yet they won and here we are.”

  “So then how did you escape?”

  Before he could answer, a troupe of patriot soldiers clad in red—we called them reds, for red, white and blue—burst through the forest. There was no pause for questions. The men pulled their swords and pistols and started swinging and firing.

  The rope around my wrists fell away. Branthe leaned into my ear and said one word.

  “Run.”

  I didn't have to be told twice. The men threw themselves on the reds, giving me an easy chance to slip away. I threw one last look back to Branthe, whose short sword tangled with one of the redcoats. I paused, wanting to see who would win. There wasn’t time, though. I had to go. Giving a silent prayer for his safety, I turned and fled.

  Running as fast as my legs could pump, I cleared small ravines, jumped over creeks and bounded up rocks as fast as possible. I didn't stop until it was pit
ch-black and I couldn't see a tree branch in front of my face.

  Exhausted and blinded, I put my head down on the forest floor and slept.

  Five

  “Anna.”

  The voice was neither foreign nor welcome. In the place between dreams and wakefulness, I tried to place it. The name and face didn't come.

  The voice gently shook my shoulder. “Anna, it's time to wake up.”

  I bolted straight up. When I opened my eyes, the face staring back at me was who I feared.

  “Mann,” I whispered.

  “You slept so long I didn't think you'd recognize me when you woke up.”

  My tone was sharp. “How could I not?”

  “Tsk. Tsk. Is that any way to thank the man who saved you?”

  My mind raced. Saved me from what? Last I remembered I had fallen asleep on the forest floor. “I don't remember you saving me.”

  His lips puckered up, accentuating the lines and pocks around his mouth. “Then you must not have seen the rebels. It's amazing that you didn't, seeing how my men found them so near you and how they said a young woman had been with them. Unfortunately, the men escaped my scouts, but it seems I’ve found a young woman as substitute.”

  “I was out looking for rabbits.” The lie lived beyond the edge of terrible, dwelling in the abysmal. He wouldn’t believe it, but it was all I had. “I got lost. I couldn't remember where a couple of the snares were and ended up deep in the woods.”

  The fat bastard leered. “But you grew up near those woods. It must've been a good hiding spot where you set that snare.”

  “It was.”

  He stood up and lit a candle. Though a few sconces lined the walls, I hadn't noticed my surroundings or been able to, actually, since his round face took up all my view. But now I saw gray walls, an oval-shaped desk made of steel and a wooden cabinet. The cabinet caught my attention. Drawers lined one side while the other held a single door. Rumors of torture tools flooded my mind.

  “Do you like my office? When I first received the post as warden, I really didn’t like it. I considered it…drab. But I have to say, it's grown on me.”

  “Where am I?” I asked, dread filling me.

  “Surely you know. Let me introduce you to Bolden Prison, my home away from home.”

  The place was cold, sterile, unwelcoming. I wanted out. “What am I doing here?”

  Colonel Mann flipped up the tail of his coat and sat on a wooden bench. He eyed me with curiosity as if genuinely surprised by my question.

  “You know, Anna, I wanted to make this easy for you. I really did. I didn't want it to be a struggle or something you didn't want, but after what happened a few days ago, I realized it would be both. Knowing you'd never consent willingly to be with me, I decided that force would be the only way to take you.

  “My initial plan was to wait until you returned the next day. But as you know, you never came to work.” He adjusted the crotch of his breeches and settled back onto the bench. “At that point I thought I’d missed my chance. There'd be no way to take you, is what I thought. But then something rather intriguing happened. You landed in my lap, surfacing near the spot where known criminals had just been.”

  He leaned forward and licked his lips. “So you see, you're here because I have a strong suspicion you know exactly who those men were, and I plan on finding out.”

  He pulled back the blanket that covered me. I lay atop a metal table. A leather strap was fitted over my waist and attached to another strap, securing me tightly. My legs were parted and also strapped down. I was, for all intents and purposes, not going anywhere.

  He pulled a black leather glove off his right hand. “Now, I believe we left off when I was just about to find out whether or not you’re a virgin.”

  I swallowed. The fear must’ve been evident in my eyes.

  “Of course,” he said. “I can loosen these straps. Get you out of them if you promise to comply. This doesn’t have to be traumatic. It can be enjoyed. I plan on enjoying myself. You might as well. There are other ways this can go as well.” He eyed the cabinet of torture I’d heard so much about.

  My initial fear was replaced with something else. Anger. Hatred. How dare this man try and blackmail me into giving him what he wanted. How dare he. So I spoke slowly and assuredly to make sure Mann understood every word.

  “I. Would. Rather. Die. A. Thousand. Deaths. Than be taken by you. Do what you will, but that cabinet of tools doesn’t frighten me and neither do you. I won’t scream, nor will I make one squeak of pleasure. I am numb to you. More numb than any of the other girls you’ve ever taken against their will.”

  His gaze darkened. “Numb? You think you’ll be numb? Girl, I was going to go easy on you. Now things will be very different. You won’t be numb to anything.” He stood and crossed to the cabinet. He opened the door to reveal what looked like a few ropes, some pieces of metal and a few sharp tools. It was too difficult to make them out in the candlelight. But when he pulled a particular instrument out, I knew exactly what it was.

  He strode to me, the hammer glinting in the lamplight. “You won’t be numb when I break your hands finger by finger.”

  No, I probably wouldn’t be. He inched toward me. I tried moving my hands from his reach, but they were strapped down. Pulling did no good. They were pinned tightly to the table.

  “Still think you’ll be numb?” he asked mockingly.

  We both knew the answer to that, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of a reply. I steeled myself for what was to come. I made fists, hoping that would at least slow him down. He smacked the hammer against my left hand with enough strength that it went limp. Mann pressed his hand against mine, flattening it out.

  “If you make a fist again, I’ll break your whole hand,” he spat. “Do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  He raised the hammer, and I cleared my mind, readying for the blow. When the metal slammed into my finger, there was no describing the pain. I wanted to scream and vomit at the same time. But I’d made a promise that I would remain numb to him, so I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood and said not a word.

  “That should have broken your little finger. I’m not sure if that’s enough, though. I think the bones should be crushed, don’t you?”

  So he struck again. Then pain screamed in my body all the way to my toes. I jerked my hand reflexively, but there was no place for it to go. My breath hitched and tears streamed down my temples, wetting my hair. My finger throbbed in agony.

  “Still numb, Anna? Want me to stop?” He leaned over me. His hot breath stroked my face like an airborne plague.

  I couldn’t think beyond the pain. All I wanted was for it to be over. “I want—” I said breathlessly.

  A sparkle twinkled in his eye. “Yes?”

  “—to keep going.” I forced a smile through trembling lips. Though I wanted to curl into a ball and retreat and let him do whatever he wanted to with me, I couldn’t let Mann win. He’d won too many times as it was. I wanted to say, crush them all; it’s still not going to make me give myself to you, but I didn’t have the concentration to put that much energy into speaking. It took all my focus to keep from shrieking.

  He knew that, too. The sparkle in his eye shifted to anger, and he lifted the hammer up into the air and slammed it down in the center of my hand. I gasped for breath as if I were drowning. Then he did it again. And again. And again. The repeating force of several hundred pounds of pressure sent my nerve synapses into overdrive. The pain overloaded my brain. A scream burst forth from my lungs.

  Everything went black.

  I awoke alone. The first thing that struck me was the agony in my hand. Trying to lift my head to look at it was fruitless—I couldn’t see what damage had been done. More than likely I didn’t want to know anyway. All my attempts to move it were met with sharp relentless pain, so after a few tries I stopped.

  The sound of a key being turned in the door caught my attention. The steel door swung
open, and Mann appeared.

  “You’re awake,” he said, apparently amused at something.

  “Not by choice.”

  “I suspect you’re in a bit of discomfort. I have something for that—something that will help. You can take it, but you know the deal.”

  “No,” I croaked.

  He sighed, and then that sigh transformed into a very twisted grin. “Very well. Now where were we? Oh yes. I was about to break your other hand.”

  Six

  A knock sounded at the door. “Go away. I said no interruptions,” Mann growled.

  No voice answered, but the knocking persisted. “Forever to be interrupted. This better be good,” Mann grumbled. He patted my leg. “Don't worry. Whatever it is, it won't keep me from you for very long. I promise.”

  With a heavy sigh and even heavier gate, he crossed to the door and opened it. “What do you want?” he demanded of the man in red on the other side.

  “Sir, there's a problem with some prisoners in cell block A.”

  “Then deal with it,” he snapped.

  The man looked down, embarrassed. “We're trying to. The men are asking for you. They think your presence will help.”

  He tightened his belt. “How bad is it?”

  “The prisoners have a guard.”

  Mann blanched and, without a word to me, left. I exhaled. Safe for now, but how long? I wiggled against the straps and was greeted with pain that radiated from my broken hand up my arm and down my back. I bit my lower lip to stop myself from crying out. There was no way I could escape the binds. The torturous agony would stop me from pushing myself too hard. Besides, even if I tried, more than likely I’d faint from the hurt before I got too far.

  I was so caught up in my current pain and future agony that I didn’t hear two guards enter.

  “There she is,” said one red to another. “What is it the colonel wants done with her again?”

  The second man, hat pulled down to his eyes, replied, “He wants her escorted to the mansion. Seems he’s worried about the riot. Afraid it might get out of hand.”