Gadget stepped forward, and through a loudspeaker, he spoke to the crowd.
“The girl has been charged with killing two Underworld citizens without the king’s permission. She will be bare and lashed ten times. Let this be a lesson to you all: death is tolerable, but only if sanctioned by the king. He is our leader; he is the law. We give thanks to our king.”
There was a universal ‘thump’ as every person in the room pounded their fist to their chest as a symbol of gratitude and respect to the ever mighty king. I remained still, watching Kingsley who smirked down at me like a spoiled child who had just gotten his way.
“Lose the robe,” Gadget, the cage master, commanded with far too much enthusiasm in his tone.
I avoided looking at anyone, especially Shadow. I was nervous, and seeing the lustful excitement in the people who watched me would be my undoing. Slipping the knot at my waist free, I allowed the robe to fall to my feet and took immense pleasure in the gasp that filled the crowd. Regan had outdone herself. With a collection of brushes, she had painted my entire body, leaving my back exposed, and the customary smoky black charcoal mask around my eyes was in place. From my collarbone down, I was red, with swirls of blue, yellow, and white, which represented the different sectors within the Underworld. I didn’t want to start rebellion; I just wanted to keep my head down, work hard and fight harder, making the most of a shitty life in a shitty world. The fact that I looked clothed, while completely naked, gave me the confidence I needed to stand tall and proud. I hoped that the message Regan’s painting was trying to convey would be lost on the crowd, and most especially, Kingsley.
“Clever,” came Shadow’s low, gravelly voice from over my shoulder. He was standing too close, and it gave my skin goose pimples as the heat from his body bled into mine. “Beautiful,” he then whispered, the sound nothing more than a breath of air from his lips. “Ten lashes,” he announced in a booming voice, moving away to take his place.
I reached up and wrapped my fingers around the wire, my gaze focused on Kingsley. He’d see me whipped, but he wouldn’t hear the pain he longed to hear spilled from my lips. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. I heard the flick of the whip before it struck my skin. The first lash was always the hardest, but Shadow had somehow managed to warn me with the short, insignificant sound right before the whip kissed my flesh.
“One!” the crowd shouted.
I ignored them and allowed myself to sink into a place where I was able to ignore the pain, too. It was still there, but it was far away and tolerable. Each lash was a heated slice to my skin that reminded me why I hated the man who sat in his lofty heights above me. With each strike, I remembered my purpose. He tried to make me nothing; instead, he’d made me into something he could never have imagined. I was wrath incarnate, and one day soon, I would deliver his punishment. At lash number five, I quickly looked over the crowd and realized not all of them were counting. Some of them kept their lips pressed together with looks of pity and defiance on their features. When I really looked over the faces before me, it was plain to see that more were silent than counting. The Underworld wasn’t immune to Kingsley’s vengeful hand, and in this room stood dozens of people not willing to play his games, just as Regan had said.
At ten, the room fell into silence. I tried to remove my hands from the wire, but they were wrapped so tightly I couldn’t unwind them. Kingsley wasn’t looking as mighty and proud right now, he was furious, and when he stood and stormed away from the arena, I smiled again. The crowd directly in front of me shifted nervously.
“Get back to work, all of you.” Shadow’s voice wasn’t loud, but his command was heard all the way to the back of the room, which quickly began to empty. When Gadget stepped too close to me, I hissed, ready to lash out and defend myself, if only I could loosen my hold from the wire.
“I’ll remove every finger you lay on her,” Shadow growled. Gadget quickly backed away, his eyes wide with shock and fear. Shadow never made a threat he couldn’t see through, and there was nothing he couldn’t see through.
Then Shadow was behind me, his large hands over mine, prying my fingers free from the wire.
“The blood flowed away quickly. It caused you to seize up,” he quietly explained as he lowered my hands, rubbing my fingers. I wanted to pull away from his touch, but as the blood rushed back into my extremities, the pain was immense and the gentle massage helped soothe just one of my many aches.
My back was on fire, and I dreaded putting the robe back on, but there was no way in hell I was walking through the Underworld like this. Shadow had already retrieved it from the floor and helped me slide my arms into the long sleeves.
“Why?” I whispered, confused by the way he seemed to want to care for me.
“I don’t know,” he quietly confessed.
While it wasn’t an explanation, it was honesty, which I coveted above all else. With a nod of acceptance, I stepped out of the cage and walked away. My head was still held high, my pride intact, and a little more strength was attached to the resolve I already carried. Whippings were meant to break a person down, but in my case, they only built me up.
8
SHADOW
“You want her.” It wasn’t a question. It hadn’t taken long before rumors of my possessive inclinations towards the girl had found their way back to Kingsley. He sat behind his desk, one hand resting on the scratched and dented top, a penknife twirling between his fingers. His posture was one of easy nonchalance, but I knew there was death and anger burning beneath the façade.
Leaning against the wall, I shrugged, my arms crossed over my chest. There was no point in arguing, because the simple truth of the matter was I wanted her. I could continue to deny it, but I wasn’t fooling anyone, not even myself.
“Your no touch rule only applies to those she doesn’t want touchin’ her.”
“Are you fucking her?” he asked with zero subtlety.
“Not yet.”
“She’s not fixed, and neither are you. Make sure you wrap your dick before getting it wet.” He reached under his desk and pulled out a box of condoms, throwing them across the room. I caught them easily enough and looked at the innocuous box. Condoms were like prized gold. An entire box would easily get me a trade on weapons . . . perhaps even enough meat to last the next month. I already had two boxes beneath my bed; I was sleeping on a virtual goldmine.
“I’m sure just one would do,” I murmured, wondering if Kingsley expected me to use them all on Nada.
“You’ve never wanted anything or anyone before,” he pinned me with a knowing look. “If she’s anything like her mother, just one won’t do. And I have no doubt your unhealthy obsession will need more than one fuck before she’s out of your system. Let’s hope she likes a little bedroom talk, and we can find out who the rebellious traitor is down here.”
I wasn’t surprised by the crude way the man referred to his daughter, I knew he loathed her with every ounce of his being, yet a part of me wanted to take my knife and dig it deep into his gut for the disrespect. How could a father possibly detest his own flesh and blood?
“You don’t think she’s the rebel spy anymore?”
“Of course it’s not her. She doesn’t have the time, resources, or know-how, but I’m sure she knows who it is.” He stabbed the knife into the wood desk and glared at me. It was supposed to intimidate me, but it didn’t. As much as I respected what Kingsley had achieved in the Underworld, he was just a man who, for the time being, held all the cards. The thing was, there were many other men who could take his place, and eventually, someone would.
“I’m sure that little display tonight wasn’t her idea. I’ve heard rumors about the blonde waif she likes to spend time with; she’s quiet, likes to watch. She’s too fucking observant, and I think she’s manipulating the girl.”
I disagreed about the jab to Nada’s intelligence, but I did agree that Regan was an unusual entity, one I had never considered as a link to the rebels before getting closer to N
ada.
At Kingsley’s nod of dismissal, I turned and left, the box of contraband a burning need in one hand, while my other was coiled into a tight fist ready to pound on the first person who so much as looked at me wrong. With my chin held high, I dared every motherfucker who passed me to challenge me. Just one of them, look me in the eye and challenge me!
I reached my room too soon, and the few people I had passed in the narrow corridors were smart enough to keep their eyes submissively averted. The tension was coiled tight inside me, like a spring ready to explode. Unlocking the three padlocks on my door that separated me from them, I pushed the heavy steel door open and slammed it closed behind me.
The room was dark, so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. The kind of dark that felt suffocating and thick, like a living breathing entity trying to squeeze the sanity right out of you. This trapped madness was a part of the Underworld; it was a place meant to isolate you. The darkness was meant to break you. Many succumbed, taking their own life within weeks of this new existence. Others lived, just barely tolerating the tons of earth above their heads. Then there were the few who thrived, the people who used to live above ground, yet in its murky shadows. Those people, people like me, embraced the fucking darkness like a warm blanket. I threw the box of condoms in the direction of my bed, and reached for the beat-up old table that rested against the far wall. My hand landed on a box of matches that was always sitting in a little nook in the stone wall beside the table. Lighting a match, I brought the flickering flame to the wick. This was my light, a lone dancing flame that made my room feel less empty.
My gaze settled on the punching bag that hung from the ceiling in the center of the room. Rolling my shoulders, I stepped forward and threw a punch, followed by another, then another. Soon, I found a steady rhythm, and the sound of my fists slapping against the canvas drowned out the silence.
My room was a fair size; ironically, it was larger than the living room in my run down excuse of an apartment I had rented my last few months of life above ground. One of the perks of being the number one guy’s right hand man. I had a single mattress propped up on old wooden pallets; my trusty wooden table that leaned heavily to one side because of a broken leg; a metal chair pushed up against the wall right beside the table; my punching bag; and a stack of boxes. Boxes upon boxes piled from the floor to the ceiling, filled with stuff. Things, material objects thrown away by the above world, yet treasured like gold in the Underworld. I’d bartered for most, stolen some, and received others as payment for odd jobs I had done. Most of those jobs involved using my fists rather than my brains. Occasionally, I was asked to fix something; my know-how with tools helped me gain a reputation as a man who could fix almost anything. For a brief moment, in another life and another world, I’d been a mechanic, finding calmness under the hood of fading antiques like Mustangs and Camaros. I never thought there’d be a place in the Underworld for a man who knew his way around a motor better than his own fucking body, but thankfully, I’d discovered a new skill set before being tossed into the Wild Zone, skills that involved maiming and breaking. To survive on the streets of the world above, you needed to be strong, physically and emotionally. My parents had loved me and protected me and my brother as best they could, but after my brother had died in a hunting accident, their grief had been too much to bear. I’d left the sanctuary of our still standing home on the outskirts of town, and taken to the crumbling streets of New York City. Life on the streets taught me to fight and protect myself. The lessons I learned there was why I was still alive today.
The above world would have you believe theirs was one of safety and tranquility, but in the shadowed pockets of partly demolished concrete high-rises, there was an evil that rivaled the Underworld. Soldiers regularly patrolled the city streets, which only made the criminals who still lurked there hide deeper into the broken infrastructure. Those who were caught, like mice cornered in a maze, were tossed into the garbage, into a place out of sight, and very much out of mind. The world above wasn’t interested in rehabilitation; they just wanted things neat, and the rubbish discarded. Not all was peaceful in the land above, though; discontent led to uprisings and uprisings led to bloodshed. The rebels were moving like a whispered breeze. They had people below ground, people above ground, and it was only a matter of time before they made their move and upended the lives of us all. That’s what I feared most, change. I’d found my place in this world, and even though there were days I questioned it, it was mine. I’d fought for it, killed for it, and I’d do anything to keep it.
Eventually, my punches wound down, and breathing hard, sweat dripping down my body, I stepped away and grabbed a bottle of water from under my bed. Most of the time we boiled our water down here, but occasionally there were crates of it dropped into the Wild Zone. Drinking deeply, I devoured the entire thing before throwing the empty bottle into a crate in the corner. They’d be refilled with the boiled stuff soon.
Lifting the candle from the small broken plate it sat upon, I turned the chipped ceramic dish over and my heart twisted with pain. Beneath the dish, I had stuck a photograph. A tiny reminder of something I’d left behind in the world above, something good. The dainty blonde woman was beautiful, her eyes full of innocence, her seductive smile promising passion. She’d been mine once, but I’d lost her, left her behind in the light. Someone had tried to touch her, a piece of scum NIM addict dared to try and take what was mine. I had shown no mercy; I’d beaten that fucker until all that was left was a broken, bloodied pile of meat. My dreams were plagued not with my first kill but the tears on Alanis’s face as I was hauled away.
One finger reverently traced her picture perfect features, and I found myself thinking how unlike Nada she was. You simply couldn’t get more opposites. Nada was dark and dangerous, a body built for sex and sin, dark eyes that sliced right through your fucking skin and sunk deep into your soul, and lips that rarely found smiles let alone laughter. Alanis was pale in features, golden hair to her waist, soft blue eyes, a teasing smile, and a curvy body that melted against mine. The word nada meant nothing. Alanis meant precious. They were two entirely different women in entirely different worlds. Alanis had meant everything to me, Nada zilch, and yet something primitive and frantic twisted beneath the surface of my skin for the girl.
A soft tap on my door broke through the confused thoughts, and I replaced the candle back on top of the dish before pulling the heavy barricade open. The woman who stood on the other side of the door held herself with a confidence that pissed me off. She was Kingsley’s latest whore, and she seemed to fancy herself a queen. She’d be replaced soon.
“The king sent me. He thought you may have a need for me.” Perhaps sooner rather than later, I thought. Kingsley only shared when he was finished playing. I looked Sonya over, trying to find something that roused my interest. Mousey brown hair, greasy from lack of washing, hung over her shoulders. Her body was thin, too thin, bones jutting out at her hips and shoulders. She wore a light blue midriff top, no bra, her nipples clearly visible beneath the threadbare fabric. Around her hips, she wore a tight skirt that didn’t cover her ass, her cheeks hanging just below it. I knew the game Kingsley was playing; he wanted to see if my desire for the girl outweighed my responsibility to him. Sonya was more than a gift, she was a test, and suddenly the fury I had quelled with my punching bag was back like a volcano bubbling with unease.
“What’s wrong, Shadow? My pussy not good enough for you?”
I pulled the whore into my room and slammed the door shut. I liked the edge of anxiety that now filled her features. Sonya was a smart-ass bitch who thought she was something far more important than what she actually was. It was time to remind her of her place in this world.
Slowly, I pulled my thick, leather belt free, before sliding the zipper down on my pants. When she would have dropped to her knees, I stopped her, and with unhurried movements, I wrapped the belt around her skinny neck. The anxiety was gone, terror now coursed through
her veins, and it helped fill the blood in my cock. I pulled the belt tight, not too tight that she couldn’t breathe, but tight enough that she knew who was in charge, then I pushed her to her knees.
“Might as well fill that bitch mouth of yours, ’cause nothin’ worthwhile ever comes out of it.”
I shoved my half hard cock into her mouth, and she wrapped her lips tight around it and began to suck. She’d mastered the art of a blow job, and yet, as the warm, slippery confines of her mouth took me deep to the back of her throat, my cock remained only semi-interested. I knew what the problem was; she wasn’t dark enough, wasn’t strong enough. She was just a broken down, used whore, and she wasn’t fucking Nada. I gripped the belt tighter and relished the fear in her eyes, which helped a little, and my cock jumped, finally showing some signs of life. With each rough thrust of my hips, I imagined Nada on her knees before me. She wouldn’t be scared; her eyes would fill with challenge before she would fear me. Just the thought of those intense dark orbs watching me as I fucked her mouth helped me enjoy the moment. I used my free hand to pull Sonya’s hair, wrenching her head back and allowing my cock to slide deeper causing the woman to gag. I only withdrew slightly before charging back into her mouth which was now dripping with spittle. My balls clenched tight as I thrust one last time and emptied my seed into the back of Sonya’s throat. Once I was done, I withdrew and watched her almost choke it down. Finding an old shirt on the floor, I wiped my dick clean.
“We’re done here. Fuck off, and if you value your life, don’t come back.” I carelessly removed the belt and threaded it back through my pants. Wiping the spit and cum from her chin, Sonya struggled to her feet and stumbled towards the door, leaving without a word or a backwards glance. She’d run back to Kingsley and tell him what happened. I’d pass the test. I’d won this game . . . and yet, somehow I felt as though I’d lost. I’d bent to Kingsley’s whim. He proved he owned me. For the first time in my Underworld existence, I realized I didn’t want to be owned.
When Nothing Is All You've Got Page 8
