by Erin O'Kane
Nothing happens.
Slowly opening my eyes, I see Xavier in front of me, close enough to touch, and holding the dagger in his palm as if he plucked it out of thin air. Xavier’s hard stare bores into me, like he is looking past all of my walls and seeing the real me underneath. His expression is intense, but I can’t make out what he’s feeling. I want to ask, the words on the tip of my tongue. Why? Why save me when he hates me?
His hand holding the dagger doesn’t waver. It must have hurt, the blade looks sharp, deadly. For any normal person, it would have cut their hand to pieces. But then none of us here are normal, are we?
His mouth opens, like he’s going to say something, but he closes it and shakes his head. Dropping the blade to the ground, he starts to turn away, but I dart forward and grab his hand to stop him. Freezing, he slowly turns his head to stare at me, but I catch the look in his eyes before he can hide it—a look of astonishment. Glancing down at my hand in his, he frowns at me again.
“Thank you,” I blurt out, feeling uncomfortable under his stare, quickly letting go of his hand. I have seen this guy in action, he’s a killing machine, and I should be scared of him, we all should, yet I can’t fight this feeling in my chest that he is just as afraid as the rest of us.
He holds my gaze for another couple of seconds, and I think I see his lip twitch, but he simply nods and turns away. I still don’t know what his power is, but I try to catch a glimpse of his palm again as he walks away. After a moment, I get my opportunity and my suspicions are confirmed. His palm, the one he’d caught the knife in, is completely unmarked.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. When we are returned to our underground prison, we are shown to the showers, but as all the men start to strip, I cringe and choose to eat first instead. I sit with Nixon again, feeling Alcide’s, Jesse’s, and Rex’s eyes boring into me. I nod to let them know I’m okay, and I see them give me relieved smiles.
My gaze catches on Xavier’s, he’s watching me again. His eyes narrow and dart to my other men with a knowing look, but all he does is stare back at me, his lips tilting up slightly.
After we finish eating, we’re thrown back into our cells and left alone for the rest of the night. There must be no other fights today—maybe it was a down day or for training, I’m not sure. But even though I’m surrounded by people, Nixon on one side and Xavier on the other, I feel so alone. I wrap my arms around myself, wishing more than anything I was back at camp, enveloped in my men’s arms in my tent.
“Come here, baby,” Nixon murmurs softly.
I realise I’ve just been standing, staring at the bars of my cell, when his voice breaks through. I shake off my melancholy and force my legs to move. I shuffle over and slump on the bed roll, leaning my side against the bars again. He moves until he’s pressing against me, the cold metal between us. I slip my hand through the bars and he grabs it, weaving our fingers together and offering me comfort. I felt like I had to be so strong today, never showing weakness, not letting anyone catch on to my fear because if they did, they’ll use that against me. For now, in the darkness of our cells, I allow myself to be vulnerable, to need Nixon and his warmth. I need to be weak for a moment so I can be strong again tomorrow.
Resting my head against the bars, I stare into his face and he does the same, until we are inches away. His eyes tell me everything that he doesn’t say out loud, promises and love shining in those depths. It makes a smile kick up at my lips, even as I hold him tighter. I feel like my family is slipping away from me with every moment. I hate the distance between us, although I know it’s for the best.
This isn’t just a fight, no, this is a game, and we are the game pieces. They are looking for every hint of weakness to use against us and destroy us, defeat us. I can’t let that happen. We need to play them at their own game, use it against them and flip the rules. This is more than physical strength, they want our minds as well. And they’re going to get it, just not in the way they were thinking.
I have always faded into the background, always been good at being invisible, like every slave is, and I am going to use their own egos against them. I’m going to beat them at their own game and free my family, and then we will rock this city to the core. I won’t let the freaks here suffer anymore. It’s time for a change in the status quo. It’s time for the freaks to have a voice...maybe even rule.
The bracelet Gregor gave me glints, catching my eyes. He said I would need it, is this what he saw? Will it help me in the fights or was it meant for something else? Either way, I am glad I have it.
“You did good today,” Nixon murmurs.
I nod, grinning slightly. “They won’t let you not fight for long,” I warn softly, my voice filled with worry.
He grunts, but offers nothing else. He is my silent giant, a man of few words. We pass the time watching the comings and goings of the guards and slaves. I need to know the schedules, the layouts, and the weak links. Here, information is power. It’s hard to tell how much time has passed with no windows, but it must be late when the lights and torches are finally extinguished, plunging us all into complete darkness. Nixon’s grip on my hand keeps me centered, locked into the present. The only sounds are the whispers of slaves moving or tossing on their sleeping mats.
My mouth feels glued shut, unwilling to break the silence. I’m wound tight, too stressed to relax and sleep, even though I need to so I can keep up my strength. The food isn’t great, it would be easy to lose muscle mass, and in a place like this that would be deadly. I find my eyes drifting to where I know Xavier is in the next cell, my thoughts turning back to him saving me.
Why did he do it? Why do I care?
Something in his eyes stops me every time—a suffering, a pain that echoes within me. I can’t seem to stop myself from being drawn to him, even though I know it could cost me my life. A man like that only looks out for himself, and he didn’t become champion and survive so long down here by making friends and looking after other people. No, his wins come from blood and suffering. Each scar was earned and paid forward, his body honed into a weapon. He has become what they wanted, nothing but a killing machine with his eyes only set on protecting himself...so why help me?
It shatters the illusion and facade he has tirelessly fought for and makes me re-evaluate him. Maybe he isn’t as ruthless and heartless as I first thought. Footsteps heading downstairs, mixed with voices which seem to get closer, have me darting to my feet, reluctantly letting go of my hold on Nixon’s hand.
Guards.
Torches flare at the edge of our row of cells, the light bright and almost blinding after being in the dark for so long. I squint, stepping back, until I’m pressed against the wall. I have a bad feeling in my stomach, which is only confirmed when the guards stop outside my cell.
I spot Trent and another guard, both staring in and smirking at me. One holds the torch, the other keys and his baton. Trent’s eyes dare me to misbehave and I know he’s hoping I will fight them so they have an excuse to hurt me. Swallowing hard, I hold my head high in defiance.
“Lucky you, slut, you have a fan,” Trent taunts, laughing, and the other man joins in until their mocking laughter wraps around me and makes me shiver, dread filling me.
I hear Nixon moving closer as if to protect me. “What do you mean?” I force myself to ask, even though in the back of my head, I already know. There’s only one reason they would come to my cell at night.
“Every slave down here is for sale for the right price, bitch. Well, for sale for the night or the hour.” He laughs again, his eyes dancing with glee. “You seem to have caught someone’s attention, and they bought you for the night, so be a good little girl and come here.” He unlocks my cell and beckons me over with his finger, but whatever his friend says is drowned out by a roar from Nixon that almost seems to shake the cells.
The guards falter for a second before their bravado bleeds back in, and Trent bangs his baton against the cell bars. “Shut the fuck up, slave, or we will make you w
atch.”
Nixon snarls then and smashes into the bars. All eyes swing his way as the metal actually bends slightly under the pressure from his fists. For a moment, the guards look worried, but when he pushes harder, straining and yelling, and the bars don’t break, they laugh.
“Come here, slave bitch. You won’t like it if we have to come in and get you,” Trent calls, banging on the bars again and making me jump.
Horror is rushing through me, freezing me to the spot. All this time, I survived all this time, and here I will lose the only thing they never took from me...my dignity.
My heart is beating so fast it feels like it might break free from my chest. I wish I could go with it. My body is cold, and shivers rack through me at the thought of someone other than my men touching me. Maybe before I met them, I could have handled it, I was prepared. I’d been told women were nothing more than a hole for men, but then they came along—my men.
They showed me that love and compassion are not lost, they gave me a family and pleasure. I don’t think I can come back from that, but I have no choice. If I fight these guards, they will only hurt me, maybe even hurt my men to get to me. I would do anything to protect them, even this.
My shoulders slump and Nixon glances over, obviously seeing my defeated look. That only enrages him further, and now I can hear my other men calling out to us, asking what is happening. I can’t answer them, my voice stuck in my throat. They can’t know, it will kill them. They will blame themselves, especially my ringmaster.
“Nix,” I finally whisper, and it’s as if I struck him.
“You touch her, and I will kill you all. Do. You. Hear. Me?” he roars.
The guards stare at him, and I don’t like the glint in their eyes. They hadn’t been able to get him to fight today, not even lift a finger, and now they’re getting a reaction. There is nothing I can do about that, but when they step towards his cage to obviously punish him, I know what I have to do.
Squaring my shoulders and tilting my head back, I step towards the open cell door. I don’t look at Nixon as he screams for me, and I ignore the guards’ laughter and lewd remarks as they watch me approach them. Nixon’s fingers graze my back as he reaches through the bars, but I can’t spare him a glance, or I will lose myself. I’ll sob, beg them, and fight them, do anything to make this stop, but sometimes you have to grow up and make decisions to protect the ones you love, even at the expense of your own happiness...and life.
I will not let them break me, they will not stop me now.
I chant it in my head as I step closer to that open cell door. They can have my body, they can do what they want to it, but I will lose myself in my mind and when I come back, I will fight harder than ever to free my family. They can have my body, but they can never have my heart or spirit, that belongs to my men. Those are some big, powerful words… let’s just hope I’m strong enough to live by them.
“I’ll do anything!” Nixon screams. “I’ll fight, throw me in the fucking arena!” His voice is desperate as he struggles to reach me, trying to bend the bars. Turning slightly, I grab his hand and squeeze once before forcing myself to let go.
“Shh, it’s okay, big guy,” I whisper softly, just for him, before taking that final step from my cell. Trent grabs me and throws me into the other guard’s chest who wraps his arms around me. He grinds against me, digging his hard cock into my arse as his foul-smelling breath brushes over my face.
“I wonder, little slave… what do you taste like?” he growls, thrusting against me harder.
Trent swings my cell door shut before glancing over. “You know the rules, no touching them unless you pay.”
“Aww, come on, just for a second, they won’t even know,” the guard holding me replies, but Trent grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my skin as he pulls me from the man’s grip and yanks me to his side. I collide into him with a gasp. After that, I lock my lips together, knowing each sound I make is only enraging Nixon further, who’s pacing and growling in his cage like a trapped animal, looking for his shot. A chance to get to me, to protect me. I know this will hurt him most of all, but I can’t let that stop me. Either way, this is happening, and at least this way it’s on my terms. At least he didn’t see this coming, that would have hurt him more.
I can hear our names being called desperately from my other men, their shouts getting louder and more panicked when we don’t reply, but I force them to fade away as well before I do something stupid like try to fight. Trent’s grip tightens on me like he knows what I’m thinking, and he leans closer, his evil eyes daring me to try something.
“Do it, then I’ll have an excuse to beat that fucking animal and fuck you against his cell like the slut slave you are,” he sneers, before pushing me away. I stumble on the uneven ground and slam into Xavier’s cell, the bars cutting into my cheek and making me gasp in pain.
Xavier emerges from the darkness, wrapping his hands around the bars on either side of me as he leans in, those intense eyes locked on mine. He lets me see the anger and hatred there, even as his features contort into harsh lines.
“Don’t fight them, it will only make it worse,” he whispers, clearly speaking from experience. He holds the bars in a white-knuckled grip, before he lets go with a nod and steps back into the awaiting darkness, the shadows wrapping around him.
I’m grabbed again and pulled away from the bars, my cheek sore. Trent tugs me down the hallway, nearly dragging me with his harsh grip and speed. The other guard follows behind us with the torch and I have to listen as Nixon’s screams fade with each step. The sound will haunt me forever, I know that, filled with so much pain and grief that it cuts me to my core.
I’m pulled past the other cells and I see more than a few peering eyes watching us as we pass. I spot the bathroom as I am dragged behind it to the rooms on the back row. We don’t go into the first room where we were branded, but into the second one. Trent knocks respectfully, and I don’t hear a response, but he opens it anyway. He flings me inside, and I stumble and fall to my knees, jarring them hard on the packed earth. They might have covered it in carpet like the other room, but it still hurts.
“As you requested,” Trent says, sounding formal and respectful.
My hair has fallen into my face, shielding my view, and I have a horrible moment of not wanting to move, as if that might make them notice me. So instead, I peer through the red locks and see the shining shoes, black trousers, and crossed legs of a man in a chair just in my peripheral.
“Good, leave us,” the mystery man orders. A frown tugs at my lips. He sounds familiar...why?
I rack my brain for it, but the conversation distracts me. “Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea, we should stay in case she becomes...volatile,” Trent argues, almost cringing.
“No. Leave,” the man demands, harsher this time, and there are no more words as the guards flee the room, slamming the door behind them in their haste.
“You may get up.” His voice has softened, taking on a guilty tone, but it doesn’t fool me. I debate my options, but I don’t want to remain kneeling. Despite the shackles and brand they placed on me, I’m no longer a slave.
I’m just about to get up when a hand appears in front of my face. Sitting back, I blow my hair out of my face. I stare at the hand and then glance up to the white, shirt covered arm, and up over broad shoulders before my gaze clashes with the man waiting before me, his face patient and open as he watches me. Now I know why he sounds familiar.
He’s a Master. One from the meeting, the older one… Ches-Chest something.
“Rhea, wasn’t it?” he asks formally, his hand still outstretched like a symbol of peace, but I push it away and climb to my feet, dusting off my knees. Standing up straight, I meet his eyes head-on. If he wants me crying or begging, he should have let the guards stay and hurt me. He might violate me, but I will keep my eyes on him every inch of the way so he can see what he’s is wrecking, so he can see the human he is hurting.
“Yes,” I snap.<
br />
He sighs before gesturing over to the two seats set up opposite each other in front of a fire, with a small table set between them.
“Please, sit.” He gestures again and I finally head that way, watching him the entire time as I sit stiffly on the edge of the seat. Only then does he sit, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs as his eyes drop to the table.
This wasn’t what I was expecting at all, but maybe he’s working his way up to it or maybe he wants to talk or taunt me first just because. So far, he’s been polite, but that doesn’t mean he won’t flip in an instant. Men like him crave power, and he clearly has that in droves. I bet he lords it over people, watching their misery and pain as they die trying to reach freedom that he squanders.
He sighs loudly, rubbing at his head, and I frown, tracking his movements. Every time he shifts in his chair, I jump, thinking he’s going to lunge across and grab me and force himself on me, but he seems content to just… sit?
“I’m not going to hurt you or touch you,” he tells me tiredly, like he was reading my mind, or he simply must know what this looks like, especially with the bed in the corner of the room.
“Why not?” I find myself asking, relaxing slightly into the chair. His eyes dart up and meet mine with a confused look, wrinkles pulling at the edge of his eyes.
“Excuse me?”
I shrug. “Why not? You had me brought here, you clearly want something. I’m guessing you don’t give two fucks about freaks, seeing how you keep them as slaves. So why don’t you cross that line?”
I don’t know where this boldness is coming from, maybe it’s the adrenaline from what I’d thought was going to happen, but I find myself almost demanding answers, watching him intently. He goes slightly pale and flinches at the venom in my words, but nods and sighs.
