by Rie Warren
Since I could barely stand and breathing hurt like hell, I decided sitting would do me good. I wondered if dry drowning might be an option.
* * *
The passage of time was hard to make out what with no windows or D-Ps. Just a routine of banging my head against the wall to build my pain tolerance and regularly timed beatings to prove I hadn’t reached my limit.
The thing about being cell bound, there was no choice in visitors.
I’d had fuck-all to eat all day—or however many days it had been—not that my stomach could take a meal anyway. It was enough that I stood on my feet when the bars slid back, revealing my best fucking mate, Kale.
While he overshadowed the faint light from the hall, I crouched on the balls of my feet. His chipped tooth was a jagged edge undercutting his nasty grin. I steeled myself against the quick jolt of pride and possessiveness over Blondie that snuck up on me. I watched as Kale locked us in.
The graceless bull he was, he overturned the bare mattress, the water bowl. He kicked the shit pail and came at me with his dense, dark hate. “Didn’t like you from the start.”
“Surprise.”
Energy massed in his muscles; he didn’t move. Neither did I. “Wasn’t about to step aside to let a Corps clown and CO man set up camp in the commune. Don’t give two shits if Rice is Eden’s kid.”
“Obviously.” I folded my arms over my chest.
“Figured givin’ you two up was the safest bet to saving the commune. Y’all did me a favor when I heard you were aiming to be heroes. I wasn’t gonna let you get all the glory.”
I shrugged, fully aware my stoicism over what he obviously thought was his excellent master plan was pissing him right off.
His brow beetling, nostrils flaring, he stomped in front of me. Pointing his finger, chest pumping, he chewed out the words like raw meat. “I saw what y’all did with that guncotton. Shame Rice is such a traitorous bastard, ’cause we need people like him.”
“The only traitor is you.”
He gave me a maggoty smile. “Yeah, I went to the Corps recon troops. I was the one let ’em know there was bigger fish for the takin’ than a commune full of Nomad peasants.”
I bristled when he insulted his own people.
“While y’all were busy trapping those ignorant Corps bastards, I beat feet north.” He came closer until his face filled my sight. “Beat you to it, didn’t I?”
Guess he hadn’t gotten the accolades he’d wanted up above if he was down here asking me to validate his bald-faced snitching. All he got in return was a blank look, the one that fit so well on my face. I’d forgotten how good it felt to go with zero emotion.
“So, you’re gonna be the fall guy? Fuckin’ pussy.” Bastard better not spit at me. He tweaked his hairy brows in blunt fingers. “I wasn’t able to implicate Rice. He’s too far up the food chain, but I figured you’d squeal on him and get him that way.”
While I waited for him to break out in high-pitched pig snorts, I kept up my mute routine. Pissing him off gave me almost as much satisfaction as knowing I’d put a wrench in his scheming plot to off us both.
Apparently my silence didn’t cut it for him. Narrowing his eyes, he jerked his chin. “Maybe this’ll change your mind. You think Rice was ever true to you? It might be Farrow right now, but who do ya think kept him occupied while you were out there in the fields with Micah? He had his pick of the bitches and used ’em well. He’s quite the lady-killer; now he’s gonna get you killed.”
He inspected me for a response.
I showed nothing. That story had run endless versions in my head already, adding to the bonfire incinerating my heart that had sparked off with the thought of Blondie fucking Farrow.
“Got somethin’ you want me to pass on to him, big man?” He winked.
I wasn’t about to react to that, either. No fucking way. I didn’t even breathe, although I wanted to scream hearing Blondie’s pet name for me come from his fetid mouth.
I blinked once.
He wasn’t such a village idiot after all. He read that tic for what it was and pounced all over it. “Yeah, that’s right. You should hear him talkin’ about you. He can be pretty funny when he wants to be, Blondie can.” Clapping his hands, he launched into a new tale. “To hear tell, you’re a bad fuck and a crybaby to boot. Goin’ on and on about that other fag you got killed. What was his name again, starts with ‘A’, right?” He rubbed his skull right where I wanted to punch it. “Huh. Not as talkative as you used to be. That’s okay. ’Cause I got my own message for you.”
I wasn’t gonna spare one single word on him, but inside I reeled. It wasn’t enough Blondie set me up, probably fucked around on the farm per Kale, who was sounding a lot more trustworthy than him at the moment. He’d shacked up with his chickie and beaten my good faith into the ground by bad-mouthing Alejandro?
Since I couldn’t get to Blondie—and I’d made a damn vow not to harm him, one I’d keep if only to prove I was more noble than him—I’d let my fists do the talking with Kale. They always had just the right sentiment.
“See you already had your pretty face busted up. Maybe we could do something about your ribs.”
“Aw, now. You think I’m pretty?” I taunted the crazy asshole.
He recoiled as if I’d put the moves on him. I could practically see him clenching his ass cheeks. That made me laugh. “Don’t worry. Wouldn’t bugger you if you were the last man standing in the InterNations.”
That earned me an uppercut. So much for leaving my face out of this.
Without Hills to step in, we let fly.
In much better physical shape than me, considering I’d had only water rations, liters and liters of water, Kale had the upper hand. But that didn’t matter, because I’d been waiting for the chance to beat something.
Pummeling, punishing, pounding never hurt so good. Maybe if I pushed him hard enough, he’d end me right then.
After a few bouts that left our mouths bleeding and knuckles bruised, Kale cracked my back against the wall and then floundered to the floor when my knee took a bite out of his crotch.
Sliding backward, he climbed to his feet at the gate.
“Guess I shouldn’t kill you right here. Gotta leave that for the CO, ya know?” He panted, “Wouldn’t wanna spoil the show.”
Now look who’s getting all poetic. My breath winching in and out, I flexed my fingers and glared at him.
And then he frigging spat on me. As if I hadn’t been spit on and shit on enough already. Just for good measure, he left with this clincher, “Almost forgot. Your trial’s been expedited, thanks to your ex-boyfriend.”
After I got over my beating, I sought out the next-best mental torture, because why the hell not? My trial had been expedited by Blondie.
Good. Let’s get on with the main event already.
* * *
The next time the bars groaned open, I stayed right where I was. Head down, knees up, making a nice comfy cornerstone of myself. “Visiting hours are over.” My gut lurched from hunger, hurt, and whatever else I was feeling. It was all the same, which was why I’d trained myself against that shit a long time ago.
Footsteps and silence greeting me, I peered over my forearms and shot to my feet.
Blondie.
My heart dropped, my head spun, and my knees noodled before I wedged myself back up.
I won’t hurt you ever, he’d whispered. His sentiments kept eating a hole through my gaping chest. I wanted to ask him about that nice little lie. But I wouldn’t.
Blondie being here now hurt me. I had no time for more mind games or, god-fucking-forbid, sympathy. And fuck me if that wasn’t pity in his forget-me-not blue eyes.
“Get out of my cell.”
His voice was even, his eyes all over me. “Had to make sure you were okay.”
I almost waited for him to tack on big man. It wasn’t coming, now or ever.
“Yeah, fucking peachy.” Punching my hands to my hips, I remembered belatedly I was naked. For the fir
st time I was nude with him and not sporting a boner. “This place has all the comforts of home. Now”—I put the steel edge into my voice—“get the fuck outta my sight.”
He approached me until he stood too close. I could smell the spicy scent that clung to him. My body reacted with a visceral twist of longing that made me shut my eyes.
“What the hell did they do to you, Caspar?”
“What you ordered, I imagine.”
Reaching for me, he pulled back when I flinched. He had the goddamn audacity to look hurt. “I’d never allow this treatment. You know that.”
That got a laugh out of me. “I don’t know a damn thing about you.”
“It wasn’t me,” he repeated.
Like it goddamn mattered. Then my eyes flipped to his as they went wide. “Your dear daddy?”
“Jesus.” His hands swept back over his hair. “Or my brother.”
“Either one here?”
“No. My father carried on to Beta to be with Linc. But that wouldn’t stop him, once he caught word of—”
“My crimes? My capture? My wicked, salacious deeds against his precious son?”
His mouth pruned inward. “I’m assignin’ new guards.”
“Very fucking magnanimous of you. Now I can break their fists in with my face too. Thanks.”
“There won’t be any more beatings. That was unconscionable.” He looked livid, but appearances were deceiving.
I snorted. “Says the duplicitous bastard.”
He cringed as if I’d slapped him. His hand came forward again, stopping on the wall beside my shoulder. Flattening myself away from him, I tried to ignore his eyes, the damp blue of flowers and dew.
I also tried to tune out his soft words. “Why didn’t you give me up if they tortured you? They wanted to know about me, about my role in all this, right?”
I sidled away. “Don’t go thinking you’re the end all. They wanted details on Liz, too.”
Palms pressed to the wall where my shoulders had been, he turned his head to me. “Why didn’t you tell ’em?”
I met his eyes dead-on. “Momentary lapse of judgment.”
It hadn’t exactly been a moment of stupidity, but I wasn’t gonna tell him the truth. The last time Spitter had let me come up for air, when I was hoping for nothing other than a quick death, I managed a croak before delirium towed me under. They’d wanted an accusation against Nathaniel, but instead I’d given them a confession.
Guess my lies had worked, because here he was, all polished, pressed, suited. His credibility assured.
He came to the same conclusion real quick. He always was a smart boy. “You lied for me, didn’t you?” He grabbed my face and brought me within kissing—or spitting—distance, hovering with his mouth so damn close to mine, I could taste him.
Oh, Jesus. I want to taste him one more time.
Leaning toward my ear, he hissed, “Don’t be such a goddamn hero, Caspar. It’s gonna get you killed.”
“Yeah? I thought that was your job.”
He stomped out of the cell, reappearing with some fancy domed platter covering food so hot, tendrils of steam licked his fingertips. “And make sure you eat this so you don’t drop dead before your trial.”
He started walking away from me, but I called out, “You know what?” He stopped and my voice dropped to a rough whisper. “I do have something to say to you.” I wouldn’t say his name, wouldn’t call him Blondie, wouldn’t even think it. This wasn’t about me, us, or this InterNations mess.
Wooden as the beam that would soon bear my weight, he turned, and I could’ve sworn I saw a wick of hope in those blues, blearier than I’d ever seen them. He looked as if I were gonna pledge my undying love to him at this final hour.
“I don’t trust you for an instant. But maybe there’s still a heart beating inside you. I doubt it, but I got no choice.”
He gave a stiff nod.
“Liz.” I aimed my finger at him. “Find her, free her, and don’t fuck her over. Not like you have me. That’s my dying request. Now leave, Company whore.”
His throat bobbed, and his eyes screwed tight. Then his features went placid as the lake at the commune.
I had to add a last rushed whisper. “I hope Miss Eden can forgive you after this.”
The auditory illusions must’ve made a return because I surely misheard his mumbled parting shot. “Only need your forgiveness, big man.”
* * *
After Blondie’s visit, the food kept coming, fast as I could digest it. The beatings abated. I even managed to rest and exercise, but all that refueling afforded me was ticking minutes during which I played mental games with myself.
What I couldn’t figure out was why he’d tried to ditch me all along our trek. Maybe Blondie had grown a conscience somewhere between Alpha and Chitamauga, knowing what downfall awaited me. Whatever. That good intent certainly wasn’t evident now.
It felt like I’d done this before. Oh yeah, that’s because I have. Only the roles were reversed this time because it wasn’t Alejandro on the chopping block but me. If I thought about it, I ought to be thankful it was my turn with the fancy neck-tying in my near future and not Blondie’s.
The ring, again, came back with precise pain sitting solidly in the middle of my chest. I wished I had it in my hand, on my finger, where it belonged. With Nathaniel, I’d belonged. Possessed by him and likewise getting that happy hit of you are mine in return.
Love.
Ah shit.
Cracking open, I gave in, just for a little while. Those Company fuckers couldn’t confiscate my memories, and goddamn it, I was keeping them. It was probably my last night in this godforsaken life, and I was gonna spend it remembering every single moment with him from the times we fought to the times we flirted. From waking up in his arms and holding his hand. Blondie, Nathaniel. My lover.
My love.
Dancing at the celebration. Him singing to me with his wicked eyes and lusty ideas. Letting him inside me, my body, my soul.
The flowers.
The cuff.
The ring.
My fucking ring.
The promise of the two of us.
No one was gonna take that shit away from me.
Passing my hands through my hair and down my face, I rubbed over the wetness on my cheeks. Christ, I love him.
What a fucking schmuck.
Shaking my head, I understood why Alejandro did what he did. One hundred percent.
Clasping my arms around myself for warmth, I waited for sleep. At least there would be more dreams to ease this ache.
At least death meant no more wondering what might have been, what almost was, or any of that other fairy-tale made-up crap.
* * *
Sure enough, my RACE trial was moved forward. I was granted a few more days to heal up and clean up, and true to his word—this time—there were no more go-arounds.
They took me to shit, shower, and shave in a real bathroom and had a brand-spanking-new uniform for me with full regalia for extra shock value. I could see the byline on the D-Ps now: Commander Caspar Cannon on Trial for Being a Deviant Homo.
Decked out in dark blues, bars, stars, and a few new scars, too, I was escorted aboveground, up the marble stairs, and straight to face my fate.
My head was screwed on tight, my heart put back in its locker, where it would never be unearthed again. I wouldn’t break. I was ready to see this final mission through, maybe cause a little ruckus in the process. Fuck yeah.
The room was enormous, the ceiling shaped like the silver domes used to keep my food warm. Dark polished wood, plush velvet seats. I blinked at the streams of sunlight slanting through the windows.
Heavily guarded, I marched forward. The shackles at my ankles and wrists didn’t slow my military gait. Rows of seating circled me. Stemming up the walls, tiers of balconies were at the sides and back of me. I hate that.
Every single seat was taken. There had to be hundreds of Company here, waiting for my punishme
nt to be meted out.
Traversing the aisle, my newly minted black lace-ups rang a sure tune in the hushed silence thickening around me. Facing the head honchos of the RACE Tribunal, I raised my chin another notch…and almost faltered.
There it was, the final kick to my gonads.
Presiding over my trial was Nathaniel Goddamn Rice. Suave, sharp-suited, sporting expressionless features I immediately replicated, he was accompanied by fifteen of his peer group of pussies, one for every Territory.
Hemmed in on all sides. I was going nowhere.
Liz’s no-nonsense voice came to me. Taking it up the twat, Commander.
Otherwise known as thoroughly fucked.
Chapter Seventeen
Not only was Backstabbing Blondie part of my one-sided jury—sitting up there in the middle of the raised platform behind a bank of transparent D-P screens—he had a nosegay or bouquet or some such shit of those bastard forget-me-nots in the lapel of his suit instead of a handkerchief monogrammed with MHF. Major Head Fuck, reverting to the asshole I’d come across in his dickhead daddy’s office.
I was still hocking up my nuts when head honcho the hangman mentioned to Blondie, “We all set, Foreman Rice?”
Foreman Rice. Wasn’t he proving to be a jack-off-of-all-trades?
“Ready to start, if you please, Judge.”
Speaking into an invisible mic, the master of ceremonies, aka the head honcho, announced, “We are online.”
Oh, bliss. My trial was being mainlined via live feed, care of MHF.
Talk about fanfare. The room erupted. I should’ve felt honored, except, of course, the crowd of CO men and women weren’t cheering for me. They were jeering at me.
“HANG THE SODOMITE SOLDIER!”
“Fuck him with his own gun!”
“KILL THE QUEER COMMANDER!”
The room had the kind of acoustics Blondie appreciated, the insults raised in volume and venom. His head dipping briefly to his hands so the sun glanced off the high double-helix piercing, he didn’t appear to love the growing noise so much now.
I thought I was in for a good old-fashioned gangbanging. Masculine and feminine voices mixed alike until the slew of slander slapped against my upright back and slid straight off.
