Chapter 13

Thirteen

Consciousness hit like a brick. Or maybe it was the bare stone floor I landed on. My arms screamed as feeling rushed through them once again. The buzzing of murder hornets determined to destroy me. A sob stuck in my throat because frankly, everything hurt—including crying.

The cold, unforgiving stone actually felt good against me. It wouldn’t for long. I’d begin to shiver. Then stiffen. It seemed like a mercy. But there wasn’t a merciless bone in these assholes bodies.

Not a single one.

I tried to lick my lips but there was no moisture in my mouth. As it was, my tongue wanted to stick to my lips. Yeah, that wasn’t good.

They gave me water periodically. Sometimes food.

Right? They gave me something to eat now and?—

Shit. I couldn’t remember. I’d lost track of days and I was losing the thread of what happened on those days. Whether I liked it or not, they were chipping away at my sense of self. No one was interrogation proof.

No one.

I’d done too many studies, seen the research. Talked to my clients after. Everyone broke—eventually. Breaking might be easy, at least then it would be over. I turned away from that tempting thought. Hating myself a little that it even sounded inviting.

The screech of metal ripped through the quiet. I flinched. It couldn’t be time already. How long had I been lying here?

Slitting my eyes open, I tried to take in what I could in the gloom. The only light in the ugly little room came from the hall. The thud of footsteps accompanied by the rasping drag of clothing on the bare floor seemed unnaturally loud.

Then a body hit the ground not far from me. In the half-shadows I made out long hair, bruised face and then the door slammed shut with another scream from the metal. The dark was an unforgiving companion.

I hadn’t recognized the new arrival, but I also hadn’t gotten a good look at them. With agonizing slowness, I pushed my hands to the floor and gradually got myself up to my knees. It took nearly every drop of my energy.

Checking on the other woman was an option or getting away from her. I couldn’t do both. I wavered, I had to make a decision. I would collapse again very soon.

With a mental apology to someone who might be an ally but was probably a ploy, I crawled over to the wall. Stopping only when I reached it. Panting, I sat with my back against it.

Like someone cut my strings, I sagged. My eyes closed and my chin dipped.

I must have passedout because when awareness swarmed back over me, I could barely move. My head hurt and my neck was so stiff. My hands were curled into fists, and I couldn’t seem to stretch out my fingers.

Something cold dripped down my face. Flinching away from it, I smacked my head against the wall. It barely registered beyond waking me up further.

“Sorry,” a female voice said in a dry husky whisper. “Was trying to give you water.”

There was moisture on my lips. I touched it with my tongue out of reflex. It was cold. Fresh. Maybe a little metallic, but that could be the cup. I wasn’t sure I could talk… even if I wanted to, so I said nothing.

The few drops of moisture in my mouth were like a gift. I swallowed slowly, it was like downing glass shards. Right now, I’d take the blood if I could spill it.

“Want more?”

A warm hand touched my shoulder. I didn’t think she was that warm, just that I was that cold.

“Here.” She didn’t wait for my answer. She must have used her grip on my shoulder as a guide because she pressed the tin cup to my lips.

I shouldn’t drink. It could be yet another trap. Or poison. Or…

What did it matter? It was either water and it would help or it was poison and it would kill me. I wasn’t that far off breaking. Could you administer sodium pentathol via a drink?

I should know the answer to that, but it didn’t seem to register. I parted my lips. The cracks in them stung, then relief raced over them as water spilled into my mouth.

Like a desert in the rain, I sucked down as much as she let me have. I swallowed with care, not daring to inhale it. When she pulled the cup back, I almost grabbed her wrist so I could keep it.

But that would take more energy than I possessed. Her hand left my shoulder then the soft gulps of sound indicated she finished whatever was in the tin cup.

A ploy to prove there were no drugs or maybe she was thirsty. I’d gotten a glimpse of her bruised face, but not how badly it was bruised. My cheek was swollen and I had three splits in my lips at last count.

I had cigarette burns on my arms. Cane marks on my back and my legs. Bruises criss-crossing my thighs and my abdomen. Even my toes were battered at this point.

The drag of sound as she moved to sit next to me filled the silence. Her breathing wasn’t ragged or coming in short pants. I doubted she was in pain.

Her long sigh offered more proof. She could take deeper breaths, filling her lungs. I had to keep my breathing to shorter, shallower breaths. I wasn’t sure if my ribs were broken or only bruised, but they weren’t fans of oxygen.

Bastards.

“My name is Kathy,” she whispered, like it was a highly classified secret.

How nice for her. Kathy needed to learn to conserve her energy. Or maybe she didn’t. I was going to be careful with mine.

She shifted next to me. The cold water in my stomach actually made it cramp, but I ignored it. The water itself had been welcome in my mouth and throat. If I got too active, I might throw up.

Then again, they might come for me sooner and make me puke. So no, I would sit here and let my eyes close again. Maybe get more sleep.

“How long have you been here?”

The words came just as I’d started to drift. Reaching a mental place where I could rest much less sleep was challenge. I didn’t appreciate being jolted out of it. It would be a waste of energy and moisture.

Head back against the wall, I turned half-slitted eyes to the slot in the door that let light in. It was dim and murky. Even as adjusted as my eyes were, it was impossible to make out any real details.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Impatience flavored the tremor under her words.

No, I wasn’t. But I kept the thought and the energy to express it to myself. Whether she was another prisoner like me or a plant to gain my confidence, I couldn’t trust her.

Another prisoner might be used as leverage. Force me to endure her torture alongside my own, hoping it would break me. Or if she were a plant—she might want to gain my trust that way.

Whatever she was, I couldn’t trust or rely on her.

“Bitch.”

Probably.

The sniffle that came from the dark was pathetically obvious. Or maybe I really was a bitch. I’d lost track of how many days I’d been here. The longer I was here, the more I assumed I was going to die here. Escape would require energy and effort that I just didn’t possess.

Eventually, they would kill me.

Eventually.

Every minute I survived, however, was a minute I could use to plot a way out.

Tuning out the sniffling, barely muffled sobbing next to me, I tried to picture everything about the facility I could remember.

It wasn’t much… but I had to start somewhere.

Havingcompany didn’t deter our captors from coming to pull me out. I half-expected them to take her first to “prove” to me she was also here against her will. Instead, they dragged me back to a very familiar room and shackled me to a chair.

The handcuffs cut into my wrists. There was a cut in the wood of the chair, a deep groove probably made by a knife. The wrecked state of my clothes meant it bit into my skin. Kind of helpful for the focus, I supposed.

Instead of the Shaggy and Mr. Cold, a newcomer entered the room. How—charming. I took a moment to glance at the guards. I hadn’t paid as much attention to them. Were they different?

I had no idea.

Wonderful.

“Miss Brady,” the newcomer said, his tone was clinical and detached. He began setting out a series of vials and syringes. “The next few hours are going to be very unpleasant for you.”

They set up an IV, inserting the port into my jugular. Dehydration was a bitch. There was a saline drip. Well, that was something, I supposed.

“Remember, when this begins,” the man continued as he began to pull the contents of one vial into his syringe. There was a place for him to add it to the IV tubing. Well, at least it was one needle stick. “You have only yourself to blame.”

Really pleasant guy.

He didn’t ask me a single question. Then again, he probably wasn’t going to until they loaded me up with whatever all of those vials were.

I had an issue whenever I tried weed—I tended to hyperfocus on whatever I was doing in the moment it kicked in. Happened with a lot of other drugs too and nitrous. I didn’t get why my brain did it, but it did.

As he loaded the second vial into the IV, I thought about Taylor Swift’s last album. What songs were on it? What story did they tell?

The pain began like a thousand angry bees swarming me, stinging violently. Even with tears running down my face though, I was coughing out the Taylor Swift lyrics.

Yep, totally my fault.

The next timeI woke up in my cell, I swore I had a hangover. My mouth tasted like cotton, my head hurt, and my eyes burned. There was a bang as the lights came on and the cell door opened.

I turned, curling over with an arm over my eyes to hide myself from too much light. I got a look at the woman. She was blonde, ratty looking hair, torn shirt. There was a fresh bruise on her face and an older one swelling her eye.

The guard hauled her into the cell—the one across from mine. Recognition began to bleed into my awareness. This was different from the last cell I’d been in. The dark hole had become an actual cell with bars. There was a walkway between my cell and hers.

After the guard dropped her on the floor, her wheezing groan said she was awake enough to feel it. Or maybe it was just her body’s automatic reaction. The man closed the other door and the locks tumbled into place, then he strolled out.

I closed my eyes and pretended to be unconscious even when the weeping began again. Eventually, that sound died off and it was just quiet. Eerily quiet.

Another door opened down the hall and I watched from under my arm as a new guard approached. He had a tray of food. The doors weren’t keyed—they had keypads. I saw two of the numbers he entered on her cell but not the other four.

Still, six digits.

He put the tray inside her cell, then turned to mine. From this angle, I could see where his hand hit but I only had a vague idea of what the numbers would be. The last two digits were on the bottom third I would bet, just based on his motion—and the fact the first two digits were three and one.

That gave me a few combinations to run. He put the tray down and then left. His bored expression never changed. He pulled the door shut and it auto-locked.

So—the newcomer had moved my cell, brought my new roomie along, changed the rules entirely—including adding brutal drugs to my interrogations and now food?

Yeah, my stomach cramped at the thought of it, but after everything else—I wasn’t hungry. The saline had helped to rehydrate me so—yay?

I closed my eyes and sought out sleep. I’d wait and see if I caught the code again. I needed it to be dark when I moved. But if the code worked and I could get out of this cell?

I was going to take my chances. I’d rather die on my feet and running from these guys than curled up in a cell.

Not that I wanted to die.

Pushing away the latter thought, I clung to the former. I might not be that brave, not really. But I could pretend. I’d gotten really good at pretending.