2. Good Morning

2. Good Morning

Skylenna

“I’ll make this brief.” Kaspiasignores my threat, taking a bored look at the rest of our group. “Make any attempts to escape, and your equilibrium will leave you sick and disoriented. This is a prison, and yet, it’s so much more. You’ll have to endure the new culture until the Mazonist Twins are ready to meet you.”

“Mazonist Twins?” Ruth asks.

I remember Aurick teaching me about the founders of Dementia and Vexamen. Orin Blackforth and Abraham Demechnef. Malcolm and Maxwell Mazonist. Looks like they’re still alive and kicking.

“The leaders of Vexamen,” Warrose mutters. “What are they like, a hundred now?”

“Pretty close,” Dessin responds without tearing his eyes from his brother.

“There is only one rule. Since you can’t escape, consent is essential, ladies.” Kaspias points his eerie glare at me, then Ruth, then Marilynn. “This is a co-ed prison. But if you consent to pleasing soldiers or commanders, you’ll be exempt from participating in the Fun House Nights.”

Consent?I look to Dessin, who is seething at the word.

“What’s Fun House Night?” I ask.

But the commander is unnaturally still as he pins a long, unsettling stare on his twin brother. The cords in his neck flex outward, shifting back and forth as he grinds his teeth. Those dark caramel eyes twitch like he’s forgotten about the rest of us while he examines the physical appearance of Dessin. Is he comparing their similarities? Judging their differences? Inspecting any weaknesses Dessin might have?

The length of this piercing stretch of quiet rings in my ears. I would be lying if I said I’m not affected by the layers of intimidation bleeding from this commander’s pores. So similar to Dessin. Yet cold dread has never crept into my very bones just by being in the same proximity as him.

Kaspias steps back into the shadows of the long hallway filled with creepy music from an old-fashioned pipe organ, a distorted trumpet, and incoherent gibberish from other prisoners banging against their cages. The exit is as smooth and seamless as smoke dissipating in the wind.

Our group is silent, but our thoughts are loud. We take several minutes to adjust to our new situation. To process the information Kaspias threw in our faces.

“How the fuck is it possible that he’s scarier than you, Dess?” Niles breaks the silence.

“Please.” Dessin sighs. “Don’t give me a nickname.”

I sit against the bars of my cage, taking deep, calming breaths, and rack my brain to figure out what comes next. And I can feel Dessin doing the same.

In one loud clank, our cage doors open. And judging by the echoes of metal hitting stone, feet shuffling, prisoners groaning, and the floor rumbling, it’s safe to say that they’re releasing us for the day. A stampede of male and female prisoners stumble from the darkness into the hall, shoving one another, gripping the bars of other cages for support.

Dessin gives us the signal to stay put as they pass. It’s like we’re invisible. No one seems to care about the new arrivals. Some inmates limp with bloody, bare feet. Some crawl across the jagged, rough floor. And based on the blur of moving faces, they all seem bruised, beaten, and raw.

I shift my gaze to Dessin. His eyes move over the mass of people quickly. Studying them. Assessing their injuries. His mind moves puzzle pieces around.

We wait until the hallways clear and step out cautiously. Before we follow the last stragglers, Dessin turns to me, dragging me into the safety of his arms, caging me against his bare chest. My arms close around his waist, feeling the raised burn scars across his back. I stroke them lovingly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, lips pressed against my hair, hot breath warming my ear.

I nod against his shoulder with tears burning my eyes. Emotion clogs my throat, not because I’m afraid, but because I needed this. His muscular body pressed against my soft curves. His steel arms gripping me so tightly I’m not sure he’ll ever let go.

“You’re not leaving my side while we’re here.” He fists the hair on the back of my head, drawing me in closer. “You understand?”

I melt a little at his words. “Okay.” I don’t want to be separated from him either. But I’m not sure if that’s something we can control.

We part so I can hug Ruth and Niles. Warrose and Dessin nod at each other, still clearly not on good terms. And I peek over Niles’s shoulder at Marilynn, watching us with tired sapphire blue eyes and pursed lips.

“I bet you’re wishing you stayed back with Aurick, huh?” I tease.

Her round, dreamy eyes glide back to me. “It’s not like fate gave me a choice in the matter.” Her tone is layered with thorns and broken glass. I step away, deciding now really isn’t the time to learn more about her prickly personality.

“Should we do another group hug?” Niles chirps.

We groan in unison.

Dessin turns to face us, his presence thick with cold calculation and a plan brewing in his mind. His burly arms cross over his shirtless chest. And God, I want to touch him again.

“Don’t show any signs of weakness. Keep your chin up. Keep your eyes straight ahead. We don’t know what kind of social system this is or the way of the hierarchy.”

We all nod hesitantly. My stomach grumbles with hunger and twists with anticipation.

“But aren’t you the alpha in captivity? You’re the infamous Patient Thirteen. Shouldn’t we be safe for that reason?” Niles asks.

“I don’t show my cards until I know the game we’re playing.” His eyes flick from Niles to Ruth. “If there are any physical altercations, you step out of the way and let Warrose or me handle it. Understand?”

“Or me,” Marilynn and I say at the same time.

Dessin gives me a relenting look, then narrows his eyes at Marilynn. “You can defend yourself?” We’ve already been over this, but no one has actually seen Marilynn in a fight.

“I can,” she deadpans.

No one questions the confidence in her statement.

“So, Ruthie and I are the freaking infants you all have to protect?” Niles huffs.

“That’s right. Stay in your crib, and let the adults handle this.” Warrose slaps him on the back with a smirk.

Ruth lowers her eyes to the floor, gulping down an emotion I can’t read. Something angry or helpless. Insecurity blossoms over her freckled cheeks.

Dessin snaps his fingers, scowling for us to lower our voices. “We won’t speak of our weaknesses again.” He taps his ear once, then points at the ceiling. “We don’t know who’s listening,” he mouths.

We walk through the long hallway without another word, following the flickering yellow and red bulbs and eerie music mixed with white noise. The sharp-edged floor pokes and agitates our bare feet, and the stale air smells of buttery popcorn and candy with a hidden aroma of rotten fruit.

I wonder how this place will compare to the Emerald Lake Asylum. If this prison will be better or worse. I push myself to keep positive thoughts until I remember that these are the same people who steal babies from their mothers’ breasts. This is the same country that hosts the “Meat Carnival.”

It must be worse. People like this don’t have pleasant housing for prisoners.

I take in a stuttering breath. Clench and unclench my hands. What the hell have we gotten ourselves into? And why did we have to bring Niles and Ruth along? I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to them…

“You grind your teeth when you’re stressed,” Dessin says, eyes on the dark hall ahead.

“I’ve got a bad feeling.”

He nods. “So do I.”

Well, fuck.

I think of Chekiss, DaiSzek, and Knightingale. A wave of relief warms my skin. At least they’re safe. They’re far away from the brutality of this place. But I can’t help but miss them.

“Are we not going to talk about the slinky outfits the girls are wearing?” Niles asks from the back.

I hear Dessin growl deep in his chest.

“I’m trying not to think about it, Niles,” Warrose grumbles.

We’re not the only ones, though. The men aren’t wearing shirts. Just scrappy black pants with holes and a waistband that’s loose around the hips.

“It’s not a bad look,” Niles adds, then pauses to think. “Way better than those cotton gowns and grippy socks, amiright?”

Silence.

“Who misses the grippy socks?” he asks again.

A longer stretch of silence.

Niles chuckles to himself. “I just had a mental image of Dessin wearing grippy socks.”

Dessin whips back, lunging at Niles and getting in his face like a tornado grazing the earth. “I’m trying to focus on getting us the fuck out of here, Niles. And I was stressed before you started talking. But now I’m way past that. Why? Because at this moment, I’m thinking about my girl, wearing nothing but a shred of floss, walking in the vicinity of prisoners. Do you want to know what happens when I get the mental image of other men staring at Skylenna’s perfect ass?”

Niles shakes his head, green eyes wider than I’ve ever seen them.

“I kill people.”

Niles doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink.

“Just this once, can you make my life a little easier?” Dessin says in a slow exhale.

“Shutting up, sir.”

Dessin nods once, turning back to me with damn near black eyes and a lasting scowl on his face.

I crack a smile. “He copes with humor.”

“If I’m not allowed to cope, neither is he.”

“How would you like to cope?”

“With my fist in your hair and my cock buried inside your wet cunt,” he rasps in my ear, voice strained and laced with venom.

Heat shoots straight to my lower belly. I clench my inner walls.

“Gotcha.”

He smirks, the simmering rage starting to melt over his features.

“Niles actually makes a pretty good point,” Warrose says, taking a quick glance down at Ruth. “There’s got to be something else the girls can wear.”

“You didn’t like the dresses that were Demechnef-approved, and now you don’t like my skimpy prisoner bathing suit?” Ruth retorts.

“I fucking hate it. One extreme to the other. You’re”—he glances down at her body, then looks away with a grunt—“half naked.”

Ruth shrugs. “It’s kinda comfy.”

Warrose shakes his head with a tightly clenched jaw. He stands out like a massive oak tree in a desert. Bare chest with raised tattoos, beautiful bronze skin, and hazel eyes that could light up this hallway all by themselves. He ties his dark hair back with a string.

I catch Ruth assessing his muscles, too. “You are also half naked, hypocrite.” She scowls.

“It’s not the same,” Dessin calls over his shoulder.

“Exactly. No one’s going to follow us men back to our cages. It’s you three we’ll have to guard around the clock.” Warrose refuses to look back down at Ruth.

“Speak for yourself,” Niles scoffs from the back, clearly forgetting about Dessin’s outburst. “I’m a sex magnet. Any women in the vicinity will flock to me once they see my tan chest and shredded back.”

“Your hairless chest,” Ruth corrects.

Warrose and Dessin burst into deep, rumbling laughter.

I smile. God, I hope this place doesn’t beat the humor out of us.

~

I take a slow stepback from the packed room before me.

“Jesus,” Warrose breathes.

“Do we”—Ruth pauses long enough to gulp loudly—“have to do that?”

I want to run back to my oversized birdcage. At least we got more privacy than this in the asylum.

The ceiling is a pointed dome, like the tent of a circus. The walls are a black, rocky texture. The floors are wet and sudsy. And giant broken pipes protrude from the ceiling, spraying down like a raging waterfall.

And underneath that downpour? A room full of naked men and women taking their morning showers. A group shower.

Sentinels stand at either side of the entrance, wearing leather shoulder armor plates, straps with spiked edges, and dull brass studs. They watch the naked figures swiveling around each other with amusement twinkling in their eyes.

The entrance is still filled with prisoners stripping off their raggedy clothes and flinging them down a hole in the wall. But we don’t move. Even Dessin seems caught off guard by the lack of privacy.

“Move!” a sentinel with a long beard and bloodshot eyes bellows at us. “You won’t get fucked unless you ask for it. Now, strip!”

Dessin grunts and then glances over his shoulder at the rest of us.

“No eye contact. Get in and get out.”

We all nod. But fuck, my heart is racing. My stomach is screaming into my esophagus. And every muscle is contracting, begging me to run for it. I watch Dessin unbutton his black pants, but I quickly look away. It doesn’t feel right to appreciate his body when we’re being treated like cattle.

With a quick shimmy, I step out of the strappy rags that keep the essential parts of my body covered. Hands and arms stretch out to throw their uniforms in the large hole in the brimstone wall, like a laundry chute. I mimic the action while holding my breath, throwing my hands over my breasts and between my thighs. Dessin doesn’t bother covering himself. I’m sure it’s easier for men to walk freely with what God gave them.

Dessin, Warrose, and Niles herd us to the center of the room, bumping into naked bodies as they force their way under the downpour. I hiss as the spray hits me like pebbles of ice. Goose bumps prickle over every inch of my skin.

Ruth and Marilynn huddle close to me, elbows smashed against mine as we cover our chests and press our foreheads together, blocking out the scenery we’d rather not see. I’m unsure if our men realize they’re doing it, but they’ve formed a circle around us.

I look up through the uneven torrent of pipe water at Dessin’s scarred back, Warrose’s tattooed shoulders, and Niles’s tan arms, blocking us in a tightly bound circle. They face the other prisoners, ensuring no one comes near us. Making sure there aren’t any lingering eyes that land on us while we’re indecent.

You won’t be able to keep this up, Dessin.My heart tugs at the thought of what’s going through his head right now. He must be out of his mind with territorial alpha energy pumping through his veins. I’m naked, and a bunch of wild Vexamen prisoners get to see.

I catch Ruth’s round brown eyes, and she offers a supportive smile.

“It’s better than the simulated drowning, right?” She chuckles, trying to see the bright side.

I scoff. “Sure is.”

“Is this how we’re going to shower the entire time we’re here?” Marilynn asks, her dark red hair hanging in wet strings over her shoulders and chest.

“Sure is,” Dessin says over his shoulder, running his fingers through his wet hair.

“They’re just being protective,” I whisper.

Marilynn nods, glancing at Niles’s back like she’s trying to figure something out.

“Don’t let his goofy personality fool you.” I lean in closer. “Niles is fiercely loyal and very protective, just like the rest of them.”

“Even though he doesn’t have the masculinity to back it up,” Ruth whispers, snickering as Niles elbows her in the back.

At the other end of the room, prisoners begin to exit, grabbing rags off the hooks on the wall to dry themselves.

“We’ll wait until the room clears,” Dessin murmurs to Warrose and Niles, then hands us bars of soap. They look used already. Smeared in dried blood and dirt. I grimace but accept it anyway. Beggars can’t be choosers.

We lather ourselves quickly, and by accident, my eyes trail up Marilynn’s body. She’s bustier than Ruth and me. By a lot. Curvy, like she’s never tried to abide by the lady-doll regimen.

“Defemúrox egex domïnozoz yuevezezï?”

We turn our heads at the soft male voice behind us. Short. Skinny. Bald. Long braided platinum blond beard.

And a fully erect dick pointing at Marilynn.

“He wants to know why you boys are keeping the new—juicy cunts to yourselves,” Ruth chokes out the last of the translation like it physically pains her to repeat it.

“Yeah, I gathered that much from his tiny manhood standing at attention,” Dessin says.

“Is it his manhood, though?” Warrose slowly turns to the blond-bearded man as if to show off his masculine physique. “Because it looks more like a clit.”

Ruth gags on the water, still pouring over us from the ceiling. Warrose grins at the sound of her trying to breathe and laugh simultaneously.

The man glares at Warrose, then points at Ruth with a reddening face and quivering finger. “Haxasfertiú mehzezï damö nadastraskazez!”

His small, naked body storms out of the shower room.

“He says…I’ll have this one bouncing in my lap by the end of the week.”

Warrose exchanges a look with Dessin. “I’ll kill him first.”

We shuffle to the wall rack of rags. Dessin tosses them to us and turns away as we all dry off. Niles nudges Ruth, yet still keeps his eyes on the ground. “Look at you, Ruthie. Already making friends.”

She sighs. “This morning is off to a great start.”

“Should we invite Baldie Baby Dick to eat breakfast with us?” Niles pulls on a clean pair of black pants just as I slip into my new skimpy uniform. It smells like sweat and greasy food. I try not to gag.

“He’ll be dead before then, Niles,” Warrose grumbles.

“No killing. At least not yet. We need to keep a low profile until an escape plan is cooked up,” I whisper to the group.

Dessin nods reluctantly.

“Now, let’s try to eat breakfast without getting into a confrontation,” I say after helping Ruth slip into the pathetic shreds of her uniform.

I’m thankful that I’m not in this alone. I’m not showering with strangers. They’re my family. I’m not plotting by myself; I’m plotting with some of the greatest minds of our time. We have each other’s backs.

We follow the length of the hallway until we reach an opening. The music is louder, and the yellow and red light bulbs cover the ceiling completely. It’s bright, like one giant chandelier. Circular tables fill up as prisoners take their seats to eat their breakfast.

And that smell…

Raw fish and something sour. Like milk that’s been left out for several days.

Dessin and I share a look, and I wrinkle my nose at him. The corner of his mouth tilts up, not enough to be counted as a smile, but his subtle way of telling me he likes when we silently communicate.

Heads turn to get a better look at us. Eyes trailing over each member of our group, speaking to each other without looking away.

“Are they serving bile with a side of poo?” Niles pinches his nose to block out the stench.

“Shhh,” I hiss, baring my teeth at him. “You really want to draw attention to us right now?”

He sighs dramatically, running a hand through his mess of wet, golden hair.

“Let’s get in line to eat,” Dessin says, nodding toward the counter where prisoners grab plates and cups.

“I’d rather starve,” Niles mumbles under his breath.

Stepping up to the metal counter, I avoid looking directly at anyone. Today is for laying low and observing. We need to understand how this place is run; then, we can make trouble if it suits our plans.

Prisoners in black aprons stand on the other side of the counter, passing out metal plates and cups, stirring pots of steaming gray goop, and making small talk in another language. They’re older, maybe in their sixties or seventies, and perhaps that’s why their job is to serve meals.

“What is it?” Niles asks the woman with long, stringy hair the color of storm clouds.

Her aged blue eyes flick up to him, and she raises a hairless eyebrow.

“Haujezez nos gelecknezez demornatéz Demechnef?” Her tone is accusatory. Sharper than a sword.

Welp, I heard Demechnef in there, and that can’t be good.

“Come again?” Niles taps his ear like he simply didn’t hear her.

God, he’s going to get us all killed.

“She wants to know if we’re soldiers from Demechnef,” Ruth says hesitantly, glancing between Dessin and me.

I pause. Judging by the old woman’s tone, being a Demechnef soldier in a Vexamen prison is not a good thing. I shake my head at Ruth. “Tell her no.”

“Nexéz,” Ruth utters.

But the old woman is already shouting something, pointing at Dessin and me, babbling so quickly it sounds like one solid word. Other prisoners from the kitchen look up at us with a mix of curiosity and conviction in their eyes. Then, the rest of the room goes silent.

I try to get my lungs to fill with air, but they’ve decided it’s best to retire for the day. In fact, it’s so quiet that I can hear Warrose sigh and Dessin growl deeply in the base of his throat.

Without another word, the prisoners serving the food pour the gray goop onto the floor in front of our feet. I flinch, stepping back to avoid the chunky mess. But Dessin doesn’t even look down. His bare feet are coated with the splatter, and he doesn’t take his darkening glare off the woman before us.

“You sure you want to play this game with me?” he asks her, knowing she can’t understand a word he’s saying. But a wave of chills tumbles down my arms and legs at the challenge in his baritone voice, rough and edged with an intent to make her suffer.

The elderly cook spits at his feet, mumbling a phrase I’m sure is meant to offend.

I lightly touch Dessin’s rigid, unrelenting arm. The muscles are flexed to the point of impassable stone. “Low profile,” I remind him. But he doesn’t seem to hear me. His lowered lids and clenched jaw are aimed at the lady with a crinkled scowl on her face. She’s covered in scars and what looks like fresh wounds across her neck. I wonder how many years of her life she’s been a prisoner.

“Let’s sit down.” Warrose nudges Dessin with his elbow.

Dessin casts her one final look, then turns to the crowd of prisoners. Some are standing to watch the confrontation. Others are still sitting, but they’ve stopped eating. Stopped talking. Stopped moving.

And the room is so hushed that I can hear our feet pad across the floor until we reach an empty table.

I’m guessing it isn’t every day they get Demechnef citizens in this prison. That should make our stay enjoyable.

We stare at each other, waiting for the room to fill with casual conversation and spoons scraping the bottoms of bowls. But it doesn’t; all eyes are on us as if time has actually stopped. So, Warrose slams his fist down on the metal table, causing Ruth, Marilynn, and me to jump.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

The room slowly returns to its previous volume. And I can breathe again. Air whooshes from my chest, and my clenched muscles loosen, turning to slime under my skin.

“We’re fine,” I reassure the table, although my hands are trembling in my lap, and my stomach is growling like an animal is trapped in there, trying to claw its way up my esophagus to escape.

“I hope this is only a day-one-initiation kind of thing.” Warrose looks up at Dessin as if he can clarify how this will go.

But Dessin just shakes his head, calm rage seeping from his presence.

“It’s going to be okay. We’re used to not eating. Right, girls?” Ruth perks up.

Dessin’s jaw tics. Yeah, not the way to lighten his mood, Ruth.

“Wow, somehow that pissed me off even more,” Warrose says.

I look up at Marilynn, wondering what she’s thinking right about now. She doesn’t say much. Even her facial expression is unreadable. And honestly, I’m not too fond of that. We need to be able to trust each other implicitly here. No questioning who she’s really working for. We are in enemy territory and only have each other to rely on.

“You’ve been quiet,” I say, watching her reaction like a hawk.

Marilynn looks up, her sapphire eyes narrowing. “I’m always quiet.”

The interaction grabs the attention of our table. They look back and forth between the two of us.

“I thought you might have more to say now that we’re in prison and only have each other to speak to.”

Dessin’s dark gaze slides toward Marilynn suspiciously.

She shrugs, though the movement is laced with irritation, twisting her wet hair between her fingers. “I’ve lived a pretty isolated life. Talking isn’t a strength of mine.”

“Weird. I love to talk,” Niles interrupts. “And can I just say how hungry I am?”

“We’re in this situation because you opened your mouth, Niles.” Ruth shifts in her seat, adjusting her shredded leotard in hopes of covering more skin.

Warrose leans across the table toward Dessin. “You don’t think they’ll try to starve us out, do you?”

“No.” Dessin shakes his head. “We’re too valuable to the Mazonist Brothers. They’d never let us die in here.”

But they can certainly make us think we’re going to die.

I reach under the table, caressing my hand over Dessin’s thigh. He sighs in response. The tension clouding his vision and furrowing his brow begins to dissipate. I want to sit on his lap, run my hands through his hair, kiss his sharp jawline, and bring him out of this bad mood.

But with this many eyes on us, I’ll have to settle for—

With the speed of a viper, his hand snatches mine, gripping my palm and my fingers, swallowing them whole in his massiveness. My entire body relaxes. Warmth radiates from his skin, tingling up my wrist and into my arm.

I didn’t realize how much I needed his touch. How much I needed to be close to him. But that’s our weakness, isn’t it? We need each other. The way we need air to fill our lungs.

“How is everyone handling our recent events in the inner world?” I ask him quietly while everyone else discusses the smell that’s coming from the kitchen.

Dessin peeks at me from the corner of his eye. “Not great.”

“And Kane?”

He shakes his head.

“Because of—Kaspias?”

His throat bobs in response.

I squeeze his hand. God, I wish I could talk to Kane now. He needs to know I’m here for him. He’s probably confused and devastated that his twin brother has been alive this entire time. And even worse—he’s been here, in Vexamen.

“We’re going to get out of here,” I assure him. “This is just—another adventure. No, actually, it’s another game.”

“Oh?”

An idea illuminates my thoughts. “Let’s make it interesting, shall we? Your part of the game is to map out an escape route. Mine is to free us from whatever they put in our ears.”

“And what do I get if I find our escape route first?”

“What do you want?”

He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “I want to fuck you in your cage. I want you to hold on to the bars while I wrap your legs around my hips and pound my cock into you so hard that the entire prison hears you screaming my name.”

A jolt of pleasure rushes to my inner thighs, and my clit throbs with heat. It’s all I can do not to moan right here at his words.

“Deal,” I say too quickly.

“And what shall I give you if you win, baby?” His mouth is still hot and breathy against my ear, sending chills racing down my spine.

I think about this a moment. “When this is all over. When the war has ended…” I trail off, unsure if I should even say it.

“Yes?”

I turn to him, dropping my voice low and soft. “I want you to put a baby inside me. I want you to marry me.”

He blinks, and those beautiful hickory brown eyes widen. I instantly regret bringing this up now. Yes, I’ve always wanted the fairytale. And when I was a little girl, I used to imagine my wedding day with Kane. But who am I to bring this up while we’re locked up? While we’re currently being starved out?

Something flashes across his face. An emotion that isn’t usually there. Something warm and hopeful. Something powerful and unmatched.

“Deal.”

We look at each other for a long moment. And I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking now. I want nothing more than to straddle him, pull his cock out of his pants, and push this stringy uniform to the side so he can fill me with everything he has. I want his baby. I want all of them to be the fathers of our children.

“That’s some potent sexual tension.”

Dessin and I turn our heads, and my eyes instantly land on Niles nodding at us proudly.

“Seriously, how are you two going to go this long without fucking?” he asks.

“Shut up, Niles,” I hiss.

The creepy music surges through the speakers as the lights flash. Every prisoner rises, putting away their utensils to leave the room.

We rise to follow with empty stomachs. Yes, it’s unfortunate. But Meridei did the same thing to me when I was her patient. And Ruth’s right; if anything, the lady-doll regimen taught us to manage our hunger.