Page 149 of A Game of Love and Betrayal

The other two instantly fell silent.

The guard leaned close to Brynleigh, and her nose wrinkled at the horrible scent wafting from his mouth. Had this man never heard of personal hygiene? “Are they right, little one? Am I going to have to force the words out of you?”

“I’ll never tell you anything,” Brynleigh seethed.

Victor didn’t seem worried about her declaration. If anything, he looked amused. He reached out and trailed his finger down Brynleigh’s cheek.

It took everything she had not to shudder.

“She’ll talk,” the fae said confidently. “She’s a vampire, and the prohiberis cuts off all her healing. All it will take is time.”

“How much time?” Emilia questioned. “You know she’s waiting for answers.”

She? The Chancellor, probably. It didn’t matter, though. Not really. Nothing would ever matter anymore.

“Not long.” Victor flicked his wrist, pulling a silver blade from a hidden sheath on his thigh. “I’d give it a day. Two at the most.”

Then, faster than Brynleigh could follow, he spun the weapon in the air, grabbed the hilt, and slammed the dagger into her leg.

Black stars filled her vision as she cried out.

Four fucking days. Give or take. Keeping track of time was getting harder and harder as the hours passed. But at least four days had passed. Maybe five.

She was alone in the cell… for now.

They let her out of the chair when they left, and she would relieve herself before curling up on the stone floor and trying to sleep. It was a nearly impossible task in this place that reeked of death. Every sound, both real and imagined, woke her up as she waited for them to return.

They always came back.

Victor, Preston, and Emilia were a trio of torturers. They hit her, broke her bones, stabbed her, and made her wish she’d never been Made.

They never gave up, never stopped. Each time they returned, they brought more questions for Brynleigh. So many fucking questions.

Who sent you? Who do you work for? Why did you do it? Was this always your plan?

Those, at least, she understood.

But then others left her feeling more confused than ever.

Tell us about the rebellion. Who is your leader? What do you know about the Black Night? How many of you are there? Why are you targeting Representatives?

Brynleigh didn’t understand those questions. Wasn’t she here about Ryker’s death? What did that have to do with the rebels? They’d almost killed her with their bomb at the Masked Ball. Of course, she wasn’t one of them.

If she were talking to her torturers, she’d tell them they were way off track.

But she wasn’t doing that.

It took everything Brynleigh had, but she kept her mouth shut. They’d come in and out, ask their questions again and again, but she was silent.

Broken—but silent.

Sometimes, she felt like someone else was watching her, but the only three people she ever saw were the torturers.

Her heart was bitter and icy and cold.

Her tears had dried up days ago. She was too tired, too sore, too hurt to cry.

Brynleigh stared at the closed door, wondering who would come through next. Would it be Victor with his knives? Preston with his deadly red magic? Or would it be the true devil of the trio, Emilia?

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