When I could see again, I glanced down at my hands. The sun highlighted the large callouses that covered each fingertip, every knuckle, and the pads of my palms, and the dirt ground into and staining every crevice. And the blood. No matter how many times I scrubbed my hands raw, the blood never seemed to wash away. Curling my fingers into fists, I dropped my hands to my sides and continued on, marching purposely through the tall grass, ensuring I took a different route than I had at dawn.
Laughing coldly, I shook my head as self-loathing filled every empty space inside my aching chest. When I left home at dawn, I thought I’d be bringing a blue-eyed, red-haired spitfire of a woman back with me. Stupidly, I’d thought it could have worked, that we could have had something.
“Fuck,” I muttered, angrily shaking my head to clear the unwanted images of her. Her face, her coloring, her attitude, all of her had been reminiscent of something I’d once had and lost. For the first time in four years, I’d let my emotions get the better of me, thinking her presence would ease the unrelenting tension always building inside me. Instead, I’d misjudged and misread her entirely. For the first time in four years, I’d fucked up royally. And there was no room in this world for fuckups.
Reaching the sad, sorry-looking building, I tugged on the chain of keys affixed to my jeans, pulled them free, and set to work opening the five padlocks I’d long ago secured to the large metal door. One by one I unlocked them, balancing them in my palm as I kicked open the door. Once I stepped inside the dark, cool room—a refreshing change from the heat outside—I elbowed the door shut behind me and tossed the tangle of locks onto a nearby table.
What had once been a large vacant space consisting of two rooms was now filled to the brim. The room I stood in was home to a wide variety of things I’d salvaged over the years. Looking much like a neglected antiques shop, there was old furniture, boxes of odds and ends, car parts, canned goods, weapons, clothing, bedding, anything and everything piled on top of each other with no rhyme or reason to their order.
I hoarded everything I could get my hands on. Whether it was vehicles, scavenged goods, winnings from my fights, earnings from bets, payments owed to me or stolen from those I’d killed, I kept it all. In this world you never knew when you were going to need something, and someone always needed something. The way I saw it, it was better they owed me than I owed them.
I ran a hand over the top of my head and grimaced. My hair was growing out, the thick Mohawk running down the middle of my otherwise shorn head was longer and heavier than I liked. I scanned the dimly lit room and paused on a stack of blades, singling out the smallest yet sharpest. Blade in hand, I headed toward the lone mirror I’d affixed to the cinderblock wall. I set the blade down on the edge of an old utility sink, then grasped the hem of my T-shirt and pulled it over my head before tossing it away.
Lifting one of the jugs full of well water that I always kept on hand, I filled the large basin with the brownish liquid that hadn’t yet been boiled or strained. After taking hold of the sink’s edge, I dunked my head into it. I stayed beneath the murky liquid longer than necessary to merely wet my hair, my eyes open wide, holding my breath until my lungs began to burn. Dying was a messy and painful business for most, but not nearly as painful as living was. Nothing could touch the incessant throbbing ache that another day here on hell offered, not even death.
Coughing and sputtering, I jerked my head from the water and staggered backward. I folded my body in half, gripping my knees as I fought for my next breath. My eyes burned, my lungs felt on fire, the sharp pains reaching down the whole of my chest. It was a relief, this pain, a short reprieve from the prison I lived in.
When I was breathing steadily again, I straightened and reached for my blade. As I leaned in closer to the rusted piece of mirror hanging haphazardly on the wall, my wet reflection glared back at me—dark brown, nearly black eyes rimmed in red and encased in shadowed, hollowed circles sitting high on an angry, angular face that was framed in a heavy beard almost as black as my hair.
I was a fearful fucking sight. The people here were right to be afraid of me. The things I was capable of, the things I’d done . . . There were times I even feared myself.
Leaning closer to the mirror, I lifted the blade. The slow slide of sharpened steel against hair made a scratchy crackle, one that repeated on a loop as I mechanically shaved the overgrown hair around my Mohawk.
When I was nearly done with the sides, determined to give the long hair on top a trim with the blade next, I heard the creaking sound of my front door opening. Cursing myself for not locking it, I spun around with my blade poised for a fight. The door slammed shut and a flash of pink twirled into view.
“You made a fucking mess, Adler,” Liv trilled happily, her obnoxious Southern swamp drawl out in full force today. Crossing her thin arms beneath her less-than-ample chest, she cocked her head and pursed her lips.
“Get the fuck out of my place, Olivia,” I growled, my fist clenching as I gripped the handle of the blade tighter.
“No, I will not.” Her pointed, exaggerated features twisted into a half-amused snarl. “This entire place is as much mine as it is yours.” Her nasty smile grew. “In fact, it’s more mine than yours now, isn’t it?”
Gritting my teeth, I rolled the blade in my grip, wishing I could send it flying across the room and straight into her heart. I was still reeling, even after letting out my aggression on that whore, after beating that man bloody. I couldn’t seem to get a grip on myself, still needing an outlet, needing something.
“He’s a mess, you know?” she said, taking a very deliberate step toward me and sliding her fingertips along a dusty tabletop as she passed by. Painted pink, her fingernails matched her hair color and the shade of lipstick she was wearing. Her short black skirt just barely skimmed her ass, and her threadbare belly shirt teasingly lifted with every breath she took, revealing the underside of her breasts.
Christ, she was ridiculous. She wouldn’t be a bad-looking woman if she’d only stop painting herself up like a goddamn circus clown.
“Who’s a mess?” I held my ground as she crept closer.
She approached me, her thin lips curved into a seductive smile. “Bryce,” she answered. Reaching for me, her fingers curled around my belt buckle and yanked the heavy clasp open. “The man you just introduced to a wall. Poor thing still hadn’t recovered from his fight last night,” she said as she slowly pulled my belt free from my belt loops. Once it was free, she tossed it aside, and it hit the concrete floor with a loud clang. “You know, E, that was a bad move. Fucking up one of our best scavengers right after your epic fuckup this morning. Jeffers is so pissed.”
She reached for my zipper and I grabbed her wrist, squeezing until I heard her bones grind together, then I bent her hand backward until she gasped in pain. She grinned up at me, and her gaze turned hungry.
“I didn’t even recognize him,” I gritted out. The man had just been in my way. They were all in my way, every last one of these people.
She shrugged. “Normally I wouldn’t care,” she purred, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “I like it when you hurt people, it turns me on. But he was our best scavenger, one of the few men we had who wasn’t scared out there. We needed him, E.”
“Add it to my fucking list,” I said, releasing her wrist with a hard shove. “You’ve already got me in charge of strays.”
She stumbled backward, her pink-tinted, chin length hair falling in front of her eyes. Catching herself, she straightened and shoved her hair from her face.
“Oh, I am,” she said, her chest heaving. “You’re leaving first light tomorrow with the others. But right now, I need you.”
“No.”
“Yes.” She reached up beneath her skirt and pulled her underwear down. Stepping out of it, she kicked it away.
“Out,” I demanded, pointing toward the door. “Don’t make me . . .”
Noticing the spark of excitement in her brown eyes and the way her body began t
o bow toward mine, I hesitated. I was always on fire, the rage in me never fully silenced, and Liv was the gasoline to my flames. Together, we were no good; we never had been.
But there was something about pain, both inflicting it and receiving it, that I craved.
It was fucked up, twisted and sick. It was the core of everything I hated about myself. But fucked up had become my drug of choice these days, and Liv was the best damn dealer in town. Even if I hated her with every fiber of my being, no matter how much I hurt her, she always came back for more.
“You stupid whore,” I growled. Goddamn, I really hated her, hated myself, hated the way I was with her. Hated how much I enjoyed this.
“That’s it, baby.” Her words were soft, drawn out in that stupid drawl of hers. Stepping forward, she reached for my pants. “That’s the way I like it.”
Gripping my dick, she squeezed hard, and I had to shake off the wave of disgust that rolled through me. This goddamn bitch was ruining what was left of my life. It wasn’t much, but it was still mine and she was eating it up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And here I was, like a fucking junkie needing his fix, allowing her to do it.
She stroked me roughly, her breaths turning into pants as she worked herself into a frenzy, all while I stared down at her, hatred rolling off me in heavy, suffocating waves even as I grew hard beneath her touch. My muscles coiled, my adrenaline pumping at the thought of what was to come.
“Someday,” I growled, and grabbed her by the throat. Pushing my dick into her grip, I squeezed her neck. “I will kill you.”
She stared up at me, and although her smile never faltered, her glassy gaze took on a pained and faraway look that almost seemed pleading.
“That’s it, baby,” I mocked her. Taking a fistful of her shirt, I dragged her up against me. “That’s what I like.”
Chapter Four
Autumn
The scream tore its way up my throat, then violently exploded past my lips.
“Will you calm the fuck down, please?” the blond-haired woman begged. Her hands on her hips, she stared down at me, looking frustrated. “Seriously, I’m not going to hurt you.”
From my corner on the floor, I stared up at her. She was young and seemed sincere. At least, she seemed less disgusted with me than the others had. She was nice too, far nicer than the others. So far she hadn’t hurt me, yet like the others she didn’t seem to understand that I couldn’t take my clothing off. My clothes were my protection, part of my armor against the biters. I needed them to hide my scent, needed the dirt and the filth plastered over them and me to cover the smell of being human. She didn’t understand this; none of them seemed to understand this. I couldn’t take my clothes off, couldn’t be clean, because then I would be even more defenseless than I already was.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, she sighed heavily, and I watched her with a jealous sort of starvation pooling in my gut. My legs were tired and my feet were sore. I wanted to sit down too, to lie down and sleep. But I couldn’t, not here. It wasn’t safe here.
In the short time I’d been left alone, I’d learned every corner of this room, every nook and cranny, every scratch upon the walls, every stain upon the floor, all in the hope that I could find something to aid in my escape.
And while I searched, I’d been forced to listen to every sound that traveled through the thin walls. I hated listening, being privy to the vulgar acts that seemed to come from every inch of this place. But most of all I hated that I couldn’t stop myself from listening, that I couldn’t tune it out. In the space of an hour or so, the life inside this place, the familiarity I found even among the unfamiliar, it stripped my quiet away from me.
“Please?” the woman begged. “You need to get clean. You smell really bad.” She let out a small nervous laugh. “You’re covered in shit.”
I watched her, my eyes narrowing into angry slits as I breathed hard. My hands felt sweaty and slippery as they clenched and unclenched.
Her insults didn’t faze me. Maybe in another lifetime I would have been embarrassed, but in this moment, I was anything but. This clothing had kept me alive, and if anything, she should be ashamed for trying to strip me of my only defense.
“Dori will force you,” she said quietly. “You don’t really have a choice, you know?” She extended her arm, silently asking me to take her hand, but it was more than that. She was asking me to give up my fight.
I knew then I couldn’t trust her. She was as dumb as the rest of them, a sheep that would eventually be led to slaughter.
“Your bath is getting cold,” she said, gesturing toward the large metal basin. It looked like some sort of animal feeding trough, and the water inside looked about as clean as I was.
When I made no move to get up, she dropped her hand and sighed. “You can’t work like this. And if you don’t work, they won’t let you stay here.”
My eyes widened at her revelation. If they wouldn’t allow me to work, would they send me away? Was that a possibility?
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t understand.” Her voice dropped to a mere whisper, and her gaze darted to the door. “That’s not how it works. You’re a woman; they’ll never actually let you go.”
She swallowed thickly, an obvious lump in her throat. “If you’re not claimed, you don’t have a lot of job choices, and if you refuse to work, they’ll put you in the pits. You’ll have to fight, or worse, you’ll end up as evening entertainment at the Drunk Tank.”
She brought her hand up to her throat, her eyes wide and unfocused as if remembering something terrifying. “They’ll turn you,” she whispered, “lock you up in a cage. And you’ll live that way forever.”
I blinked repeatedly, unable to fully comprehend what she was saying to me. They would what? I’d known they were bad here, but I’d never realized the extent of it. Had people really become so evil and monstrous?
As I stared at her, the abject horror I was feeling began to sink in. The fact that I was here, really here among these monsters, hit me hard, like a stinging slap to my face.
“It’s not all bad,” she continued, and cleared her throat. “Every now and then we get the rough ones, but most of the men here are just grateful for some company, for the pleasure that only a woman can give them. In return, they take care of us, give us extra rations and gifts, and sometimes even claim one of us as their own.”
She held up her wrist, showing me a small tattoo there that I couldn’t quite make out. Whatever picture had once been there had been covered with a thick black X. As she smiled, her eyes took on a faraway look. “He died, though. And I had to come back here.”
Stunned by her revelations, I watched her, half mesmerized.
“I wouldn’t survive out there. I’m not strong enough. But you, you’re strong, you survived out there in the wild, and this place . . .” She laughed sadly. “This place is nothing compared to that. If you can survive out there, you’ll be fine in here. I promise you.”
We stared at each other, long moments passing as silence descended on the room.
Finally, I understood. I understood everything. I had been so out of touch with the rest of the world, and with people, that I hadn’t put two and two together. They hadn’t brought me here to work; they’d brought me here to rape me. And if I didn’t consent to my own rape, they would use me for some other form of despicable entertainment.
Worse, this woman honestly believed what she was saying to me. The people who ran this place, whoever they were, had brainwashed the rest of them, had them thinking that caging themselves in was a better way to live. They had the women programmed to believe that their bodies were a true measure of their worth, and that without men to protect them, they would be left for dead.
Fear, much worse than before, snaked around my spine, winding its cold way upward until it grasped my throat in a cruel grip. Suddenly, I could hardly breathe.
This couldn’t be happening to me. Not after all I had survived, everything I’d liv
ed through, this couldn’t be how I would end up. This couldn’t happen.
Shaking now, full-bodied trembling from the cold fear that had taken root inside me, I began to growl, softly at first, so softly that the woman hadn’t yet heard me. Still staring down at her wrist, she was lost in her memories as her eyes glistened.
My growling grew louder, more fierce, emboldened by her and all she embodied, all that was wrong with this place and the people here. She finally heard me and glanced up, her eyes wide as panic flashed across her features.
“Please,” she said, hurriedly jumping to her feet. “Please calm down. We’ll both be in trouble if you don’t, and I really can’t get in any more trouble this week.”
She moved toward the door, her steps careful and cautious. Panicked, I watched her, waiting for the moment it would be open. When it was, I would attack and I would run. I would do whatever I must to get free of this place. I was solely focused on my escape, because I would be escaping, either with my life or without it.
Horror welled inside me, more stifling than before. I couldn’t breathe at all because my chest was uncomfortably tight, my breaths leaving me in ragged gasps. Oh God, I couldn’t be here, I couldn’t be here . . .
No, God, no, no, no. They couldn’t touch me; I wouldn’t let them. I couldn’t be touched. I just couldn’t. Not like that. Not even a little.
“Just calm down,” the woman whispered. “We’ll get you cleaned up and looking pretty again. I bet you’re real pretty under all that—”
I shrieked at the top of my lungs, and then I launched myself across the room. My fists met with skin and I slapped and clawed, screaming and screaming until her screams and mine had become one.
Something cracked against the back of my head and pain radiated throughout my skull, through my neck and back. My vision swam, spots dancing in every direction as I fell limp.
Beneath Blood and Bone Page 3
