Page 77 of Sacrifice

My breaths echo off walls unseen, swallowed by the oppressive blanket of shadows that has become my world. It’s a stench that clings to everything—the air is thick with it, and worse, it emanates from me, a cloying reminder of captivity.

I try to remember how many days—or has it been weeks?—since they blackbagged me outside the Mojave eros lab. There was the brief burn of a needle in my neck, the world tilting sideways, and then…nothingness. Now here I am, wherever ‘here’ is, and the betrayal sits heavier on my chest than the weight of this unknown space.

Gunnar.

That bastard did this.

Played me for a fool, right under my nose. And Aisling…

Shit, Aisling. The thought of her stirs a mix of anger and something else—longing, desire, betrayal—but I clamp down on it hard. Can’t afford those kinds of distractions, not now.

The concrete floor is cold against my skin as I shift, muscles protesting the constant inactivity. My allies, my so-called friends, they all bought into Gunnar’s lies. Every last one of them turned their backs on me. The sting of that cuts deeper than any physical wound they could inflict.

I rake a hand through my greying hair, feeling the grime shift under my fingers. Bright blue eyes scan the darkness for the hundredth time, searching for a detail missed, a way out. But there’s nothing—just the same void that’s become my cellmate.

“Damn you, Gunnar,” I whisper, the words venomous even as they’re barely audible. “And damn me for not seeing it sooner.”

A noise interrupts my silent brooding, a metallic clink that echoes off the damp walls. My first thought is food—if you can call the slop they shove through the slot ‘food.’ But this sound…it’s different. A key turning in the lock, perhaps? My heart pumps faster, not with hope, but with the anticipation of confrontation.

“Who’s there?” I growl, pushing myself into a sitting position. The light from the opening door stabs at my eyes, and I squint against its harsh intrusion. It’s been so long since I’ve seen anything brighter than the dim bulb overhead.

“Mr. Solace,” comes the familiar, ever-stoic voice.

Huxley.

My vision clears, and there he stands, my goddamn butler, framed by two strangely slender guards. The betrayal slices anew; even Huxley is in on this?

And my prison…fuck. It’s my own home.

“What the hell is going on?” I snarl, getting to my feet unsteadily. Instinctively, I lunge toward him, fueled by the raw fury and hurt that have become my constant companions.

But I’m not fast enough, not anymore. The guards catch me easily, their firm grips holding me back.

“Settle down, Mr. Solace,” Huxley commands, as if we’re discussing an unruly stain on the carpet instead of my imprisonment. “As always, I am here to ensure your wellbeing.”

“Like hell you are,” I spit out, struggling against the iron hold of the guards. “You’re just another fucking traitor!”

“Name-calling won’t change our circumstances,” Huxley says, his tone level, infuriatingly calm. “You were teetering on the brink of ruin. We had to intervene before you destroyed yourself completely.”

I cease my thrashing, staring at Huxley. His impassive face gives nothing away, but his words strike a chord within me. On the brink of ruin… Is that how they saw it? How she saw it?

What does Aisling think of me?

And even more than that, why do I care?

“Is this what she wants?” I demand, though I’m not sure I want to hear the answer. “Is Aisling behind this?”

“Questions will be answered in due time,” Huxley replies, avoiding my gaze. “For now, I suggest you cooperate.”

“Cooperate?” The word tastes like ash in my mouth. “With my own damn butler turned jailer?”

“Your cooperation would make this transition easier for all parties involved,” he insists, a hint of something—pity?—flashing briefly in his eyes.

“Transition to what?” I ask, the fight draining from me as quickly as it surged. There’s no escaping these guards, not here, not now. Whatever game they’re playing, I need to be smart about this. Play along, gather information, wait for the right moment.

“Patience, Mr. Solace,” Huxley advises, and I hate how his composed demeanor grates against my frayed nerves. “All will be revealed in time.”

“Fine,” I say, letting the guards cuff me without further resistance. “Lead the way, then, Huxley.”

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