by Leia Shaw
Saith’s eye twitched the tiniest bit. Maddox wouldn’t let his father put him off anymore, but Saith wasn’t easily intimidated. He stared at Maddox for a moment, then exhaled a long breath.
“This is because of that shifter bitch, isn’t it?”
Anger rose up with the urge to pound Saith’s face in. He clenched his fists at his sides.
“Listen, son.” He shifted in his seat. “Sometimes people…events…are put in our life to test us. Right now I think the gods are demanding to know where your allegiance lies. This…girl – this shifter – was sent to test your loyalty to your people. To me.” Moving forward, he caught Maddox’s gaze and held it. “Do you stand for what’s right – what’s true and good in the world? Or are you going to follow the desires of your flesh? Can you stand strong or will you crumble under man’s weakness?”
Psychobabble. It was pure fucking psychobabble. But was he ready to betray everything he knew for the word of a shifter? An enemy. A girl who probably wanted to escape more than anything – more than she wanted him. The thought stung. Was she using him? Maybe. But she’d been beaten, starved, locked up. It was to be expected.
What he couldn’t wipe away, though, was the suspicion that his father was using him. Had he been spoon-fed this righteous bullshit so he would follow his father’s orders blindly? Why the fuck wasn’t he getting any answers? Nothing made sense. Parts of Felicity’s story felt right and familiar but then distant at the same time. But what he’d been told all his life wasn’t making sense either. He felt like he was stuck in some kind of mind fuck.
His teeth snapped together in frustration. “You didn’t answer my question,” he gritted. “How did I get the scars?”
“Birthmarks.”
“Fuck birthmarks!” he pounded his fist into the desk.
This time Saith didn’t flinch. “Son, this has to stop. You’re letting the enemy get to you. You’re letting her mess with your head. You’re the Inkman for chrissake. Since when do you pound on desks like a child having a tantrum?”
A flicker of shame made him drop eye contact.
“I taught you better than this.”
The room went black. That ringing in his ears started again. A vision formed. The whip. Blood pooling on a concrete floor. A body arching and pulling on bindings, desperate to get free. Then he was in the body, staring at the ceiling. Waiting for death. Praying for it. Hope fell away and a deep despair trickled through him, taking over his soul. Sorrow turned to nothingness. Empty. A hollow shell. Something inside him died.
When his eyes focused, he was back in his father’s office. That choking feeling of despair lodged in his throat. He stared through his father. It felt like an eternity before he could get his breath back.
He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. A puddle of blood sat on the floor under his feet. He squinted. Or was that the carpet?
“Maddox,” a voice echoed in the distance.
The ringing died down but the room was still spinning. His heart pounded so loud he could barely hear over it.
“Maddox.”
His father. Maddox looked up. Saith’s lips were moving. He could only hear distant mumbles. Numbly, he turned around.
“Maddox.”
He opened the door.
“Son!”
He stepped into the hallway. When he closed the office door behind him, he knew nothing would ever be the same.
The rebellion is growing stronger. We’re coming for you. Just please, please don’t give up.
Felicity to Maddox in a letter, March 2004
Only half her portion of food filled her stomach. Felicity placed the empty plastic cup on the floor where she was kneeling. They didn’t trust her with glass, apparently. Her stomach had shrunk in the last two weeks she’d been there. Maddox must’ve had the eggs, ham, and biscuit sent to her. She wished he was here to eat with her.
Something had scared him off a couple nights ago and she hadn’t seen him since. One of the nicer guards had thrown a pair of cotton pants and shirt in the cell for her so at least she didn’t have to sit bundled under the thin blanket anymore. And she trusted Maddox to keep her safe from the guards. She was getting to him. It was only a matter of time. Telling herself that over and over soothed her, even if it was too hopeful.
Dalton would laugh at her. The real Dalton, not Maddox’s lame attempt to imitate him. They were so different. Dalton was serious and focused. His mind was always ten steps ahead, making sure they were prepared for every possible event. He’d say hope was a childish indulgence. Survival was about skill and resourcefulness.
Dalton would’ve rolled his eyes at Maddox. Before Maddox was Inkman, he was the quintessential boy-next-door. Goofy, whimsical, hilarious. Women loved him. He was a sweetheart most of the time then sexy as hell when he wanted something. Even as an adolescent he had the predator thing down pat. When he looked at her with that dark lustful gaze, her stomach thunked and it was a struggle not to melt on the spot. He still had that going for him – even as Dalton.
She’d definitely never be able to see Dalton the same way, but at least her intestines were still in her body. That was her first thought when she envisioned being tortured. Her stomach cut open and organs splashing out onto the floor as she choked on her own blood. Or maybe she’d watched too many movies.
Her stomach rolled with nausea. Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten so much.
Snap out of it, Felicity. This isn’t Braveheart.
No. It was worse.
“You’re lucky, girl,” someone said, startling her.
She turned toward the cell door. The officer that had beaten her after she’d half-shifted peered into her cell. His evil smirk made her shudder. There was something twisted about him – more than any other guard there. More than Inkman.
“You’re lucky the captain says he’s the only one that gets between your legs, slut. There’s a lot of us waiting for him to get tired of you. And we don’t take turns.”
She swallowed hard. He continued to stare as if expecting a response. What did someone say to that?
His voice lowered. “Maybe I won’t wait.” The lock clicked. “You won’t tell, will you?” The door creaked open and he stepped inside.
She thought about scrambling back but there was no point. Where was she going to go? It didn’t matter to him whether he raped her here on the floor or up against the back wall. At least the floor was more comfortable for her.
He knelt down in front of her and leaned in. With the light behind him, a shadow fell over his face, making him look more menacing. “You won’t tell if you want to live.” His breath smelled like alcohol. He reached a hand up and pushed a strand of hair off her shoulder.
Anger bubbled up and loosened her tongue. “Of course I’ll tell, you asshole!”
He flinched back.
“You have more to lose than I do. I’m gonna die in here anyway.” Maybe she’d be raped, maybe she’d die, but she wasn’t going to be anyone’s bitch. She wasn’t going to let this fucker off the hook.
His dark chuckle echoed in the cell, making him sound more menacing. “Yes. But I have some say in how you die.”
She looked beyond him, to the open cell door. What were the chances she’d make it if she ran? Slim. But sitting there like a helpless victim wasn’t her style. Using all her strength – which wasn’t much – she punched the guard in the throat then took off. She dodged the hand that shot out to grab her and flew through the cell door.
A body appeared in her path and she barreled into it. Shit. It had been far too easy an escape. A hand clamped down on her shoulder. She looked up.
“Where do you think you’re going, shifter?” Maddox stared down at her. But the words didn’t match the face. His eyes were focused on her – soft and warm. Not cold and hard like Inkman.
He looked at the guard and she followed his gaze. He stood in the center of the cell, seething and clutching his throat. His glare cut her like a knife.
She gulped.
If she was ever in the same room as him again, she had no doubt he’d kill her. Or worse.
Maddox nodded at the guard. “I’ll take it from here, Grant.”
Only then did she notice the knife in Maddox’s hand. He held it against her neck in warning then turned her away from Grant.
“Captain,” he called after them.
Maddox stopped and Felicity did too.
He set his cold stare on Maddox. “Hit her once for me.”
Maddox nodded then gave her a little push. Was this Maddox or Inkman? Who would she meet for interrogation today?
At the end of the hallway, he opened the door to the room she’d first met him – well, where she’d first met Inkman. Had it only been a few weeks ago? A spot of blood in the middle of the floor where she’d cracked her head was a cold reminder.
“Sit,” he commanded, nodding to the chair.
Hesitantly, she did. It was probably best to be on good behavior until she knew who she was dealing with.
He watched her for a long time. So long that she started feeling self-conscious.
“You look terrible,” he finally said.
She almost laughed. “Do I? Well, I’ll have to inform my stylist she’s doing a shit job.”
No response. Not even a flicker of a smile. His shoulders drooped and he frowned. “You need to sleep.”
“Yeah, well,” she fumbled with her hands, “hard to sleep hungry, cold, and hurting.”
His lips tightened. “You need to give me something, Felicity.” Desperation leaked in his voice.
Felicity?
“I can keep them from hurting you again if you just give me something.”
She shook her head. “I –”
“Sleep first.” He walked toward her. “You need rest. Then we’ll continue this.”
Silently, he walked her through the maze of the prison then to the familiar back hallway and elevator. Neither spoke until they reached the privacy of his room.
She stood awkwardly in front of the bed. He rocked back on his heels and sighed. “Take those off,” he ordered, motioning to her clothes.
She looked down at the gray scrub-like clothing. “Why?”
“You’re going to sleep in my bed,” he answered as he moved toward it and pulled the covers down. “I don’t want you to get it dirty.”
Before she could make the argument that they were new and pretty clean, he smirked. “Plus it’s my bed. I make the rules.”
Typical Maddox. She sighed and stripped off her shirt. “Not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”
Boldly, he perused her bare chest. “And I think about it every night.”
Her face heated but she smiled. “Perv.”
His lips turned up in a crooked grin and he pointed to the bed. “Get in.”
She slipped under the covers and he tucked the blanket under her chin. Was Maddox seriously tucking her in to bed? This was so surreal. And fucked up. She almost laughed.
“Sleep,” he said. “But then you better start thinking through some answers, little girl. I’ll have questions when you wake.” He frowned and pushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “I can only keep them away for so long, Felicity. My father will get impatient. You have to help me.”
Too tired to plot now, she yawned and nodded. A bed had never felt so comfortable. The silk sheets felt cool against her naked skin but the heavy quilt on top was warming her up for the first time since the bath.
He needed answers. If she was smart, she’d stay awake and decide what lies to feed him. What would sound plausible enough to last a little while longer? She wasn’t afraid of Maddox anymore. His father though…. Even as a child, he sent shivers down her spine. She could only imagine what he’d be like now. A place like this would exaggerate his menacing presence.
Answers. She could tell him one of their weapon sources. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? They had others. She yawned again. Her lids grew heavy.
Maddox shut off the light and sat down at his desk. Rain pinged against the window. It was the first sound from outside the prison she heard since she’d gotten there. A small smile settled on her face. A soft bed, Maddox nearby, and a lulling rain storm. Who cared what he expected when she woke? For now, she’d pretend she was home. That Maddox loved her. And that she could sleep soundly because he’d always keep her safe.
I haven’t heard from you in months. Are you okay? I’m making a plan. I’ll be there soon. Just hang on.
I miss you.
Felicity to Maddox in a letter, June 2004
Felicity woke to the sound of heavy rain falling on the roof and something tugging at her limbs. She tried to bring her arms down but there was no slack.
What the hell? Her eyes shot open. She was still in Maddox’s room, but that did little to relieve her panic. Pieces of rope wrapped around each wrist then pulled them tight over her head. The same was done to her ankles only her legs were parted and tied wide open. The covers had been thrown off and her sex felt vulnerable and cold. Her heart pounded and she thrashed her body on the bed.
“Maddox!”
What happened? Did his father take him? Was he in trouble? And what the fuck were they doing with her? Fear seized her and she started to hyperventilate.
“I’m here.”
She turned to the sound of his voice then let out a sigh of relief. He stood off to the side, grinning down at her greedily.
“What –” The glitter of his eyes was unsettling. “What are you doing?” She squirmed, testing the bindings, but there was no give.
“It’s clear I can’t hurt you,” he stepped closer, “so we’re going to do things differently now.” He ran a finger over the skin under her breast.
Her body did a full shudder.
His smirk was smug. “My options are limited. I need you to give me information. It’s my job to…convince people to share what they know.” With a grin, he slowly perused her naked body. “I don’t usually have so much trouble getting what I want. But you, little girl, have become quite the thorn in my side.”
The gleam in his eyes was wicked, not evil. For that, she was thankful. “I’m not sorry. You need to remember.”
“You’re the only one in this room who needs to do anything. Get that through your head, Felicity. None of this Maddi shit.”
She picked up her head as far as she could. “You need to hear the Maddi shit.” Flopping back down, she murmured, “Do what you want to me, I’ll never give up.” That might’ve been a lie but there was nothing wrong with bluffing now and then.
“Big words for a girl in your position.”
The taunting was getting annoying. “Just get on with it. I’m going to fall back asleep here.”
With a dark chuckle, he walked across the room. He picked up a box and set it on the floor at the foot of the bed. He looked at the box, then at her. Seeming to come to some conclusion, he stripped off his shirt.
She wasn’t shy about ogling him. So much muscle. He hadn’t looked this hot – and dangerous – when he’d been hers. Dangerous. She tried to guess what was in the box. Thumb-screws? Surely, they’d moved onto something higher tech than that. Besides, he’d said he couldn’t hurt her anymore. He was so close to remembering – she could almost see the memories coming back in his eyes.
Maybe he’d force her to listen to bad karaoke on YouTube. She kept her fingers crossed for that one. Her cousin was a terrible singer – maybe she’d built up a high tolerance for ear torture over the years.
“Are you wondering what’s in the box?” he taunted. “I’m sure you can imagine the nature of the items, considering how I have you tied to my bed.” He sat next to her on the mattress and her hips tilted slightly toward him, drawing his eye. “This might not be too terrible for you, considering how many men you’ve been with.”
Felicity tried to catch his gaze, but he avoided eye contact. It was probably easier for him to do his job if he didn’t have to think of her as a person. “There’s only ever been you, Maddox.”
>
“You seemed eager enough to give yourself to Dalton,” he spat. “Your cell was being monitored.”
She stared at him, willing him to look at her, to see the honesty in her eyes. “I’ve never been with another man. I waited for you to come back. I prayed and hoped and waited for years.” And you never came.
This time he did look at her – his brows furrowed. “You knew?”
“Of course I knew you were acting as Dalton!” As if she could ever mistake the two for very long. “You could glamour yourself to look like the Pope and I’d always know you. Always.”
“But you still…”
“Fucked you? I would have if you hadn’t run off like that.” She lifted her head again. “Was your carriage going to change into a pumpkin, Cinderella?”
A bark of laughter escaped him. She smiled. This was the Maddox she knew. Free with his laughter.
“You can’t rape the willing, Maddox, so just do it.”
Brave words again. Really she was just getting impatient. The rope was digging into her wrists and her arms were aching.
With a roguish grin he pushed off the bed and went to the box. “Who said we were having sex?” He leaned down and sifted through things that clanked and rustled and slid.
Her nerves finally made an appearance. “Do you customarily torture women in your bed?”
“No. You’re the first. Does that make you feel special?”
She weighed her options. Keeping him amused might make him more lenient and sympathetic to her, but that sliver of recognition was right there. If she pushed him he might remember – or he might snap. The risk was worth it.
“No,” she said. “It doesn’t make me feel special. But the way you used to hold my hand when we lay on the riverbank in the sun, that made me feel special.”
Although he seemed to ignore her, the clenching of his jaw gave him away. When he straightened up, he was holding something unexpected.
“Um…. None of my hair has grown since I got to this weird place. What are you going to do with that?”
He got onto the bed and knelt over her, holding the old-fashioned shaving brush and smirking. “I’m going to drive you crazy. You’re going to whine, scream, beg, and tell me everything I need to know.” The menace of his body language and his intense gaze made her fight again.
