Chapter 17

My whole body aches as the doors to my cell open, but I do everything I can not to give this guy, Green, the reaction he's looking for. As they haul me into the chair, I try to fight, but it's no use. I know my ribs are broken, and every movement feels like agony.

Instead, I decide to focus on what a ridiculous name Green is. My father always had this habit of naming his men after colors. It was the dumbest thing I'd ever heard of. The only ingenious part of it was that there was actually a hierarchy based on the colors.

If you are a main color, like the colors in the rainbow, then you're higher up in ranking, but if you're something weird like amber or cyan, then you're a lower tier. The more ridiculous the name, the lower in rank you are.

He actually named one of his men Fulvous, an orange puke-like color, after he screwed up a gun delivery. I don't think that man lasted very long.

I try to come up with all of the reasons my father named this man Green; the only thing I can conjure up has me laughing hysterically as my torturer presses a needle beneath my nail bed. I want to scream with every bit of pain I have to endure, but when I think of my father trying to come up with a name for this man and all he can picture is shapeless slime, it helps the laughter flow.

However, I only end up feckin' myself over more with this thought process.

"Think that's funny, you little cunt?" He slaps me across the face, the same bruised area he hit me countless times yesterday.

It hurts so much worse when he does it today. The dull ache that was already there turns into a throbbing pain. I swear I can feel my heartbeat on the surface of my skin.

I am certain hours go by as I do my best to focus on other thoughts, never letting the present into my mind. If I can think of the good times in the past, then I can escape this room.

A hiss of pain escapes my lips, eliciting a smile out of him. I don't dare risk a look at Cillian or Boris though. I can handle pain. I've experienced torture before, and nothing will ever be able to remotely touch the depths of what I suffered after witnessing my sister's brutal murder.

However, I am certain that seeing the pain on the faces of the two men I care about most in this world as they're forced to watch me scream in agony could actually ruin me.

I need to stay strong.

Overall, the plan to break me and have me kill them after forcing them to watch is actually genius. It's a real mindfuck. So much so that I have no doubt that someone other than my father came up with it. All he's good for is hitting people that are smaller than him. He isn't capable of thinking past step one and two, but this is much more than a three step idea.

A pain in my lower arm jolts me from my thoughts, and I look down to see Green…biting me. My heart threatens to burst from my chest as I squirm in the chair to try and get away from his mouth, but he clamps down tighter, forcing me to shriek in surprise and terror.

When his pointed teeth leave my skin, blood wells up around the marks they left. It looks like a combination of some kind of shark bite and mark from a zombie movie.

After all of my classes in torture, this is a new one for me. I've only ever been tortured to the point of shock once before, but I feel it settling into me as my body starts to tremble uncontrollably. My teeth begin to chatter, which causes him to look up at me with a bloody, sinister smile.

That's my blood on his teeth!

Green's tongue darts out, licking up the crimson droplets that run freely down my pale skin. I cannot stop myself from screaming like a banshee as he grips onto my arm.

"Mmm, you taste delicious ." He licks me again as vomit threatens to spew from my lips, but nothing could prepare me for what comes next.

Green takes out his knife and just above the bite mark, he filets my skin, carving out a thin slice. Horror fills me when he lifts it from his knife with his thumb and forefinger to hold it in the air, examining it like it's a piece of fine carpaccio. Just when I think it couldn't possibly get worse, I watch in terror as he puts it in his mouth and feckin' eats it.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

I can't stop the vomit from coming up as I watch his teeth grind down on my flesh, a thin layer of my blood still coating his lips. He jumps back just in time to escape the mess, but my eyes can't look away from the morbidly atrocious scene in front of me. Green looks like he's savoring a piece of fine sushi as the muscles in his jaw tense and flex.

Nope. This cannot be real right now. What the feck kind of drugs or mental disorder makes a guy think it's okay to just go around eating people?

I choke on bile as I gag. I will never be able to eat sushi again.

My breath escapes me as Cillian and Boris begin to yell. But Green's unhinged eyes are trained on me as he licks his lips and swallows . I try not to imagine the feeling of flesh as it slides down his throat, or the iron taste that must linger in his mouth, but I can't help it.

"Delectable," he says without a hint of remorse, tapping the knife he used to carve my skin on his chin. "You taste of fear and broken dreams," he pauses, lightly smacking his lips as if contemplating something before he speaks again, "and a hint of strawberries."

The menacing grin Green shoots back at me while licking his lips has the spot on my arm throbbing, causing chills to break out along my flesh. I refuse to look at the damage he's done or take my eyes off of his crazy ass.

I'm used to my father hiring insane men, but this is a whole new level of deranged.

People like him should not be allowed to exist in our world. Or in any world for that matter.

The door opens behind him and Gray steps in, his face as pale as I'm sure mine is.

"Time to go," he says. "Lunch is here."

I swallow, trying not to think about eating anything.

"I think I'd rather have a different meal," Green says, taking a menacing step toward me, carefully avoiding the mess on the floor. His knife is angled, prepared to take another piece of me, but Gray stops him.

"Let's go. Boss's orders." Gray grabs his shoulder, forcing him back towards the door.

Green watches me intently as he bites his lip, mulling over Gray's words. "I'll be back for more soon, my sweet treat. Don't you go anywhere."

It has been a long time since true terror has consumed me like this. Not only am I in a state of shock from what he just did, but I have no doubt in my bones that that man right there is wishing he could eat me alive. He would do it too, and not in a good way.

Green spins on his heel as he walks away and Gray returns to me, undoing the leather cuffs around my hands and feet. I'm still in a minor state of denial when I realize the door was left wide open. I glance down at Gray as he unhooks my leg and moves to stand.

Maybe this is my shot.

I take a chance, praying my body will support itself as I drop my shoulder in Gray's chest and push him into the wall as quickly as I can.

He crashes into the plexiglass with a thud, startling Boris who stands just behind it. The wind is nearly knocked out of my lungs as my surly broken ribs press into him. But I set the pain aside and focus on one thing, getting the feck out of here.

The second I'm out the door, I realize my mistake. I have no idea where I am going, and Green is only a few feet ahead of me. I try to run to one of the other cells to escape him, but I don't know the code to the door.

Arms wrap around me, crushing my sternum as tears form in my eyes. It can't be over this fast. It just can't.

There is no fight left in me as I am thrown onto my cot in the back of my cell. Green hovers over me, fury laced into every feature. I think I prefer this over the way his eyes roamed my skin, but it's in this moment that I know he is only getting started with me.

"You think you can just escape so easily? Just run out of here blindly without a plan?" He laughs maniacally. I'm so busy watching his face that I fail to see his boot lift up before stomping down on my hand, but I sure as hell feel it.

When I try to scream, the sound gets caught in my throat. I choke and sputter on air that's trapped in my lungs until he lets up.

Evie and Havoc taught the team a trick in the case any of us were to be captured. They taught us to hyperventilate so that we could purposefully pass out. Not only will that help give a break to your body from torture, but it can help reset your brain so that you aren't as willing to give up information as you were before.

Using this technique, I focus on my breathing to force myself to hyperventilate and pray for some kind of relief from this monster. But he clamps a hand over my face and I stop just as darkness begins to settle around me.

That's when I make yet another mistake. I hear Cillian shouting my name, and I look at him. His eyes are like an anchor. They keep me grounded and drag me to the depths of his love. I can see it all right there.

Then, I look at Boris and see something similar. Not quite an anchor, but an understanding. Instead of pleading for forgiveness with his eyes, they lend me the strength I need as he nods.

The gloved hand is removed from my face and I suck in a breath as the darkness fades. Green tries to get me to look at him, but I focus on what I need to do instead.

Right at that moment, I harden everything in my mind because I don't know when I'll get another chance. My walls have to be impenetrable, and to do that, I have to disassociate. That's the only way I will be able to survive this.

Taking a deep breath, I think of myself outside of my body, as if I were just a fly on the wall in this room. I try to muddy the scene before me, not focusing on any one person or feeling. Instead, I find a spot on the ceiling and imagine that I am there until the rest of the room fades away.

I see in my peripheral as Green takes something from Gray's hands; blue flames burst from the end of it.

I can hear myself screaming, smell flesh burning and the pain registers, but I shove it all aside. It feels almost as if I've found a way to put myself under water in a bathtub. The world around me still exists, but it is no longer easily heard or processed. It just is .

Reminding myself to breathe becomes my only thought. Not the pain nor the fear. Only the sensation filling and leaving my lungs.

Inhale, exhale, close eyes. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

???

Sometime later, I come back to myself. I'm not sure if I passed out, or if I was just able to keep the veil up in my mind for that long. I try to stretch my feet, but searing pain consumes the movement.

That's when I remember they used a torch on them. They said something about being unable to run, but I had tuned them out for the most part by then.

My lips are cracked, and I realize just how dehydrated I am. It's been over a day since we got here based on the guards' eating schedule. I need water.

Taking a chance, I glance up to see Boris and Cillian sitting as close to me as they can in their cells. It's then that I notice a cup of water next to my head.

When I try to sit up, my body protests instantly.

"Try not to move," Cillian says.

Ignoring him, I shift so I can sip the cup of water with minimal effort. Once it's empty, I let it fall to the floor with a sigh.

"Ness, I'm so feckin' sorry," Cillian says, remorse saturating his tone.

"If I hear that again, I will punch you in the dick the second we are out of here." I can't handle his pain and mine too. Especially when he has no need to be sorry. This is going to be a long road. I knew what I was doing when I followed him into that building. This is no one's fault but my father's.

So, just to help shut him up, I show him my very empty wrist. I wasn't sure I would make it past Gray, so the second we hit the wall together, I shoved my bracelet into the front pocket of his vest.

He will likely realize it as soon as he pays attention to his gear, but hopefully, he will be in a place that has a signal.

"Fuck, such a good girl."

His breathless praise does something to my insides, but unfortunately I can't focus much on what that is because the pain is too great.

I can feel myself begin to shake, a new wave of shock threatening to consume me.

"What do you need, Little Fox?" Boris asks gently.

Some of the panic subsides at the sound of his voice alone. Knowing he's here and by my side is enough to soothe some of the anxiety.

I know I wanted to find something that would help bring us all together, but this is not at all what I had in mind.

"Distract me," I whisper. It hurts too much to talk normally, but maybe if I'm able to focus on their words and presence, I can find some sense of peace.

Boris and Cillian exchange a few words, but everyone stops when a sound from the door alerts us. I peek open a single eye I had allowed to drift shut. The middle compartment of the door to Cillian and Boris' room pops open and a tray of food is pushed in.

My stomach growls, as a new pain hits me. Hunger pain.

Thankfully, that's the one I am most used to thanks to my father. He loved to deny me food as a punishment. When I was younger, my mother kept a short leash on him when it came to disciplining us, but he always found a way to make us hurt. When I was ten, I remember sneaking goldfish crackers into my sister's closet to make sure she didn't go to bed crying of hunger ever again.

I didn't dare sneak anything into mine though. My father had a knack for finding my hiding spots. The punishment after that was always worse.

But I never heard those tears of hunger from my sister through the wall we shared again.

I don't think my father ever suspected Enya would disobey him. She was quiet and calm. Always staying in the background, which is exactly the way I wanted it to be.

Anytime she got loud or excited about something, I did my best to be louder so that my father went after me first each time. I was hoping it would escape her notice, but I think the older she got, the more aware she became.

Cillian nor Boris make a move towards their food, content with watching my door as if they could will it to open with a five course meal.

Even if they did decide to feed me, I don't think I could move to get it right now.

"Eat," I say hoarsely.

Again, they stay still.

"Listen." I push myself up on my side so that I can look them both in the eye, heaving for air as my ribs adjust to the change of position. "It hurts like a bitch to talk, so if I tell you to feckin' do something, I need you to do it. Now, eat ."

I try to keep my voice firm. They need to keep up their strength in case we get an opportunity to escape before Evie gets to us. If she can even figure out where we are.

Part of me wonders if we're back in Ireland. Cillian said he could hear the people talking when he was basically paralyzed. I wonder if he knows if we got on a plane or not.

"Any idea where we are, Killer?"

I don't look at him as he answers. "All I could make out was that we stayed in a car the whole time. Though I'm fairly sure we crossed a border, and we were on the road for about ten hours."

I try to process that information. If we crossed a border then we're either in Finland, the Ukraine, or Belarus. It's not likely they could enter the smaller countries around us without raising suspicion, but the larger ones would have been much easier.

I hear them getting their food as I get comfortable, this time curling up closer to Boris. I miss his soft touches and heat beside me. He must feel the same because he presses himself against the glass as if nothing were separating us.

"I know you do not wish to hear apologies, so I will offer you something more. If we get out of here, I vow to keep you safe. We will find a place where your father will never be able to touch you."

A soft smile touches my face.

"Does that mean you aren't leaving me then?"

He looks over at Cillian, then down towards me. "I was never leaving, just offering space."

I roll my eyes and even that movement hurts. "I think I've made it clear, I don't want space."

My bad hand gestures between us, and I realize just how purple it is. In fact, my whole arm from the bite mark down seems to be turning a light grayish purple.

Feckin' hell.

Boris sees it too but doesn't comment. There isn't anything either of us can do anyway. I just have to hope we're rescued before infection can really set in.

I have to hold on. I have to. Evie will be here soon. I have to stay strong for them.

Instead of allowing my concern to show, I tuck my hand towards my chest and cover the worst of it up. Cillian is eating with his back to me, likely trying to hide it so I don't feel worse. I can't though. Knowing he is okay and eating is enough to help me relax the tiniest fraction.

I was afraid they would separate us. And while this predicament has its challenges, I feel like I can still lean on both of them.

A few minutes later, Cillian comes back to the corner of his cell that brings him closest to me. It's painful but I maneuver towards him. Part of me believes I can feel their touch though the barrier between us, and I need to feel both of them.

"So, Old Man, tell us what your wildest job was." Cillian tries to make conversation as I hold back a snort of laughter that would be way too painful if it escaped.

"All I can say is that twelve ended up dead, and it was in Morocco."

Cillian whistles. "Alright, hot shot. Did it involve mafia business or was it one of your legitimate businesses that went sideways?"

I can tell Boris gets annoyed when Cillian uses air quotes for ‘legitimate'. I grin and Boris notices, shaking his head.

"That is confidential."

Cillian huffs. "Why are you so secretive? It's not like I could do anything about it now. Besides, it probably happened like a hundred years ago or something."

This time, I do snort and Boris sighs as I cringe in pain.

"Why must you be so intrusive, Kid?"

Cillian shrugs. "You can't be a good assassin if you don't ask questions. Ya know, learn from your elders and all that gobshite."

Boris considers that for a minute. "True. Although, as an assassin, have you not figured out that asking the right question is more important?"

"Not really."

Boris shakes his head. "Sounds like you are lucky to be alive then."

Cillian straightens slightly from where he sits beside me. "Was that a threat, Old Man?"

Boris snorts. "Did it sound like a compliment?"

Cillian groans like a child. I listen to them banter and tell stories. Boris' are very accurate representations of things he and I have seen out on missions, whereas Cillian's are likely very blown out of proportion stories that make him sound like a wizard.

Or maybe it was just him trying to convince us he really does have some sort of magical power.

It's light-hearted and keeps me grounded, allowing me to pull away from the pain inside of my body. The more I hear them talk though, the more I'm convinced that we can all work together as partners.

Cillian brings a child-like joy to the day, whereas Boris ensures we stay on task. I need both of those things, both of them.

By the way Cillian acts, I think he realizes it too and must agree. The question remains though.

Is Boris willing to share?