by Erin O'Kane
“That’s fair, I deserve that.” He drops his hand to his chest and watches me, but not coldly, more like he’s seeing me for the first time and actually wants to convey something to me. “I am not a good man, you are correct. I have made mistakes, and I have done deeds most would find horrendous, but everything I do or have done is for my family. I assume you can understand that?”
He watches me knowingly, and I tighten my lips but incline my head, and he carries on, “I thought so. So no, I won’t touch you, rest assured you are safe with me.”
“So why bring me here?” I ask, relaxing with each second he doesn’t spring up and attack. Maybe he is being truthful? I just can’t get a read on this man.
He looks away for a moment before bringing his eyes back to me. “You remind me of someone. I saw it in the way you fight for your family. Your loyalty and bravery... I just…” He shakes his head, and in that moment, I know why he brought me here. The pain and utter regret in his voice, coupled with his words...
“You’re lonely,” I surmise.
His jaw grinds before he nods. He’s the silent one now. I can work with that. I lean further back, finally relaxing.
“That is one way of looking at things,” he murmurs.
“You lead, you collect slaves with the other Masters. You’re rich and have everything, but I’m betting no one sees behind the facades you all wear.” He blinks in astonishment and I know I have hit the nail on the head.
“Someone used to,” he whispers, almost too low for me to hear.
“Who?” I find myself asking.
“Do you play chess?” he inquires randomly, instead of answering my question.
“No,” I admit, before looking around the room now that I know he isn’t going to attack me. “I was a slave, we weren’t allowed to and, well, my family aren’t the chess type, but I saw my first master play it a lot.”
“Would you like to play?” he asks, sounding excited. “I will teach you.”
I look back at him, surprised. “Sure.”
He gets to his feet and moves over to the bar in the corner of the room, rooting around behind it as I continue my perusal of the room. It’s pretty much the same as the other room, just a bit bigger and posher.
I drag my gaze back to him as he returns with a chess set and places it softly on the table, setting it up as I watch. I take that time to observe him. He doesn’t have his suit jacket on, and somehow it makes him less imposing. Up close, he looks younger than I first thought, but his hair is still greying and soft wrinkles line his face, so I would guess he’s around forty. He holds himself like only rich, important men do, but some of that...tension has dropped away. I tilt my head, scrutinizing him, considering what his game is here. Either way, I will go with it and see what I can glean from him.
He sits back once the pieces are all set up and I run my eyes over the board. It has been well looked after, and it’s similar to the one I saw Frederick play, but I haven’t got the first clue on where to start. I scoot to the edge of the seat, leaning closer to the board. I will go along with this and use it against him. He wants company and I want information. Maybe he’s the key to figuring a way out of here.
“This is how you set up the board,” he explains, showing me each piece on the checkerboard before sitting back. “White always goes first, then the other player goes, we alternate. You...take pieces when you encounter them.”
I nod, following so far.
“Okay, pawns,” he holds up the piece, “can only move forward. They can move diagonally, for example, but only forward. On their first move, they can move one or two spaces, but only one space after that.” He runs through the rest of the rules, showing me each piece and how they move before giving me examples. I follow and watch him intently, knowing if I play well and show enthusiasm, he might invite me back, giving me more of a chance to gain his trust and therefore learn the information that I need. Maybe…he’ll even be an ally.
“Okay, shall we give it a go? Just a friendly game and I will give you pointers?” he suggests, sounding excited, even his eyes are alight, and he doesn’t look tired anymore.
He makes the first move and I analyse the board before moving my first piece. It goes on like for a while, us just playing the game as I sneak looks at him, deciding how to prod for information without being completely obvious.
“Do you play often?” There, that seems like a safe starting point.
“I used to. This is the first time in a while,” he admits, moving a piece and taking my pawn from the board, and placing it to the side.
Frowning at his move, I debate the board. “Why did you stop?” I ask almost distractedly, as I grab my next piece and move it. He grins at me and nods appreciatively at the move.
“You’re a natural,” he tells me then, in a more somber tone, adds, “I lost my game partner.” He stills before shaking it off quickly, though his shoulders slump like they are too heavy to hold up.
“I’m sorry,” I offer, and I am. Loss is hard no matter if I think he’s a monster or not.
He doesn’t reply, but does an impressive move and sits back as I look at the board, trying to plan my next move.
“This game is all about strategy, Rhea. You do not need to be the smartest, simply the most adaptable.”
I freeze, does he mean…? No, he couldn’t have. I shake off my suspicions. It must be coincidence, even if it doesn’t feel like it was.
I move and then sit back, mimicking him. “If I may ask something?” He nods, smiling slightly, no doubt at my manners. “Why do you hate us freaks, so much?”
He winces but doesn’t try to deny it. “I don’t, this is just business. I didn’t invite you to the city, Rhea. Like you, I am just a pawn in a much bigger game, the sooner you make peace with your place in the world, the easier it will be.”
“I won’t make peace with being oppressed and abused for something I was born with. This is who I am. Those people out there deserve a life, and until that happens, I won’t stop fighting. I will never give up. I will never settle for a place that isn’t free.”
“Then I am afraid you are going to have a hard and painful life,” he responds sadly.
“Life is filled with pain, no matter what. How you react to it is what makes us human,” I counter, as he leans forward and makes his next move.
“I wish I could believe that as you do, but I have had my share of pain and heartache. Not feeling, simply being led, is sometimes better than that not knowing and the eventual fall,” he replies sadly, and his face seems to cloud. “It’s late, you should get back.”
He goes to stand and I panic, jumping to my feet. “We didn’t finish.”
He smiles. “Maybe we can finish it another time, would that be okay?”
“Yes, I would like that.” I nod, forcing the words out when all I want to do is grab him and demand he lets us free, but I know the guards are waiting outside.
“Very well then, and please, while we are in here, feel free to call me Chester, but out there, it is Master, or I will have to have you punished, understand?”
I nod again, gritting my teeth before forcing a fake smile he ignores, because he goes to the door and opens it. “We are done here. See her back to her cell and make sure no one touches her.”
I turn in shock at his words before he glides out of the room. The fire-warmed room suddenly goes cold as Trent and the other guard steps in with lewd grins. “You must have pussy made from gold, or maybe you are just good at sucking cock, eh, slave? Maybe I should test it out.” Trent grins, walking over and grabbing me. I don’t fight his hold as he drags me from the room and back down to the cells, the other guard hurrying after us. I’m thrown back into my cell and I catch Xavier watching me, but I turn to Nixon who’s deadly quiet. That scares me the most.
He’s standing in the middle of his cell, his hands clenched into fists. I gasp when I spot the blood covering both of them. He doesn’t even look at me, just stares at the darkness beyond. His bed roll is
ripped up and hanging out of his cage. Each bar has dents and I spot blood on nearly all of them. I even see a dent in the wall. It looks like he’s been trying to break free the whole time. Guilt eats me up, but I know I didn’t have a choice.
“Big guy?” I call softly, pressing against the bars.
He slowly turns his head to face me, his eyes murderous and face so cold, I almost flinch, but I know he would never hurt me. This isn’t my Nix I’m looking at.
“Nix?” I prompt.
“Did anyone touch you?” he grinds out, his voice filled with loathing.
I can almost feel him holding his breath. Despite it hurting, I slide my arm between the bars, reaching for him as the metal cuts into my shoulder.
“Did they?” he demands.
“No, Nix, look at me. I swear to you, they didn’t touch me. I’m fine, I’m okay. It’s okay.” I just keep repeating the words over and over, soothing him the best I can.
He steps forward and slowly takes my hand, that murderous rage still in his eye. I lean in closer, whispering, “It was one of the Masters. He was lonely and we played chess, that’s all. I can use this, Nix. I can use his own emotions to help us. I will get us free.”
“Not at a cost to you,” he snaps, his hand squeezing mine before his touch gentles and he seems to relax. “I can’t, you can’t. I lost my mind, Rhea. If I lost you or someone hurt you, and I couldn’t protect you, no one would be safe.”
I swallow, rubbing away the blood on his knuckles, showing him how unafraid of him I am. “I know, I’m okay.”
He lets out a shaky breath and all the fight seems to leave him. Stepping closer, he tries to wrap his arms around me ,but the bars get in the way. Kneeling, he presses his forehead to the bars, his head near my chest. Threading my fingers through his hair, I hold him to me.
“Shh, I’m okay. We are okay, we are going to get free. I will get us out of here and we will show them what freaks can do. They will regret everything they have done to these people and us, but I need your support. I need you by my side,” I whisper.
“Always,” he murmurs, leaning further into me like he can’t help himself.
I hold him for a while before a yawn splits my face and he demands I rest. I curl on the bed roll, my hand through the bars, holding his as he sits up and keeps watch, refusing to sleep even when I beg.
“They will break that spirit, they always do,” comes a whisper, and I turn my head to the side to meet Xavier’s eyes. He’s on his side, watching me through the bars.
“They’ve never met me.” I grin.
Maybe it was a trick of the lights, or I imagined it, but I could have sworn a smile tilts his lips up before he turns over, giving me his back again.
“I like him,” Nix whispers to me.
“Do you?” I query. Nix likes very few people, so for him to like Xavier, the man must have done something to earn his respect while I was gone.
“He’s like us,” Nix whispers so softly, I almost don’t catch it. I look at him in confusion. Does he mean powers? Everyone here has those. Or did he mean Xavier’s like our family? I will never know, because he doesn’t elaborate and eventually, I have to close my eyes.
I wonder what tomorrow will hold, because after one day here, I can already feel the outside world slipping away...which is exactly what they want.
The atmosphere in the air feels electric today. The guards have a skip in their step and the other slaves are quiet, somber. Something is going to happen, and I can’t help feeling that it won’t be good for any of us.
I had looked for clues at breakfast, scanning the area for my other guys, all of whom were staring at me with relief lining their faces as I came into their view. They must have been terrified something awful had happened to me. My gentle, silent giant only goes into a rage when someone he loves is hurt or threatened. Once reassured I was still in one piece, we ate our breakfasts silently, while Nixon remained pressed close to my side, glaring at anyone who came near us. His fists were swollen and bloody, but if it’s bothering him, he doesn’t let it show.
A loud clanging of metal on metal fills the room, bringing my attention back to the present, and I look around the line we have been filed into. Nixon is behind me, of course, and I can see the other guys spread out in the line. Some of the slaves have huddled together, whispering, with a grim excitement lighting their eyes as they eye up the other slaves. The feeling of so many eyes on me makes me shudder, which only makes them grin more.
“I wonder who’ll be up today,” someone whispers behind us, and I realise what’s about to happen. There is going to be a fight today. Dread fills me. We haven’t practiced, I don’t know how to fight against people like this!
“The new slaves,” another voice answers the first, and I have to fight the urge to turn around. “They always try them out early, break ‘em in.” His voice is quiet, but he might as well have shouted it. The impact of his words hits me like a hammer. I knew they were going to make us fight, but being faced with the reality of it is completely different, and I don’t think we’re ready, that I’m ready.
“You think they’ll make the bitch fight today?” the first voice eagerly asks, the bloodlust easy to hear in his whispered tone.
The shuffling of feet sounds, and I realise we are slowly moving forward, one person at a time. My focus shifts back to those behind me as someone starts whispering again. “Nah, they’ll parade her around, show her off first.”
“That’s a shame,” the first voice retorts, and I can feel his eyes boring into my back. “I wouldn’t mind going head-to-head with her, if you know what I mean.”
Anger and disgust roll through me at the thought of any of them touching me. Well, they have another thing coming if they think I’m just going to roll over and let them treat me this way. I have some tricks up my sleeve, they’re not going to know what hit them. A grim smile spreads across my face at the thought. They want me to fight? Then that’s exactly what I’ll do.
Nixon stiffens next to me and I can hear his knuckles crack as he clenches them together, and when I glance up, his jaw is tight, his eyes dark with fury.
“Nix, ignore them,” I say quietly, placing my hand on his arm to try and calm him down. I don’t envy whoever he’s pitted against today.
We continue walking forward, one at a time, being led out of a large door. Every time the door opens, the dull roar of people cheering and hundreds of stamping feet can be heard. Alcide and Rex have already been taken through, and with each step forward, my dread grows.
As Blain reaches the front of the line, the guards step forward to lead him through the doors. Stepping forward, he begins to walk through but stops at the last moment, turning and pinning his piercing eyes on me. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to.
Don’t die, his gaze says, firm and unmoving as he waits for my response, the guards manhandling him don’t seem to faze him. I nod once, hoping my equally steady gaze portrays the same message back. I don’t know what I’ll do if one of them is hurt or killed. Blain finally moves as more guards step forward to pull him through the door, he simply glares at them and stalks through the entrance, the guards hurrying behind him.
Movement out of the corner of my eye pulls my gaze away from the door to the two guards marching towards me. One of their meaty hands lands on my arm and pulls me a step towards them. Stumbling, I feel Nixon reach for my other arm, steadying me, but also making the guards pause.
The guard whose hand is tightly wrapped around my arm finally meets my gaze. “You’re coming with me.” His voice is gruff and firm, but I can see a glint of something that looks like sympathy in his eyes. That can’t be right, though, these guards help imprison freaks like me, he can’t feel any sympathy for us, otherwise he wouldn’t work here. Looking up at him again, I get the feeling I can trust him, maybe not the way I trust my guys, but that he might be nicer than the other guards.
“Rhea.” Nixon’s voice pulls my attention back to him, and I see his ey
es are locked on the guard’s hand on my arm. There is a shuffling around us and I’m aware of the other guards all watching our exchange, and if we don’t start moving soon, they are going to step in.
Keeping my voice low, I look down at our joined hands and give his a squeeze. “Nixon, I’ll be okay,” I assure him, hoping that my voice sounds surer than I feel. His hold on my hand loosens, and I start to move with the guard when someone else steps up to us, his stench reaching me first.
“You need a hand with the slut?” Trent sneers, as he steps closer to me, moving between Nixon and me.
The other guard straightens and shakes his head. “No, I can handle one little girl.” He drags me away from the queue of slaves and towards the meeting room I was taken to meet Chester the other day. Although he didn’t say as much, I get the distinct impression he dislikes Trent as much as I do.
“Stay away from Trent.” His voice is almost too low for me to make out, but his message is clear—Trent is dangerous. Dipping my head in acknowledgement of his warning, I think over this development. Is this someone who could be an ally? Will he help us escape? I want to examine him, but I know that will make the others suspicious.
Behind us, the sounds of a scuffle reaches us as Jessie’s voice calls out, “Rhea!” I start to slow my steps, but the hand around my arm tightens.
“Keep walking, don’t look back, it will only make his punishment worse.” The guard’s words make my heart constrict painfully, but I keep my pace steady as my eyes begin stinging when I hear Jessie call out again. I don’t let the tears fall.
Reaching the door, the guard pushes it open and gestures me inside, pointing to a pile of cloth resting on one of the benches.
“They want you to get changed into that. I’m coming in, but I’ll face away for you to change.” He eyes me before he starts speaking again. “Don’t make me regret that decision, otherwise this won’t be so pleasant next time.”
Nodding, I step inside and head towards the bundle of fabric, turning as the door clicks closed behind us. “Thank you,” I say, knowing he is showing me a kindness none of the guards outside would.
