Page 3 of Darkness

A place of immense torture.

But that’s another story.

I turn back to Dustin and place the brick on top of the wet mortar, my view of his chin and mouth now covered. All that remains is a hole the size of two bricks, where his terrified eyes frantically stare out at me. Dustin thrashes about desperately behind the wall, but the space is tight, and his hands are tied and attached to a hook in the wall, so he can’t move far. He has to stand or hang—it’s up to him.

I look him square in his scared pussy-boy eyes. “Any last words, Dustin?”

“Seriously? I’m gonna suffocate and die behind here.”

A slow grin lights up my face. “That’s the idea.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as I slather on another layer of mortar. Dustin’s eyes water as he pants for breath. I place the right-hand brick in place, leaving one to go.

The saltwater in his eyes wells and overflows down his pretty-boy face. I smile, enjoying the fact I’ve brought a street thug to tears. “This is a reminder, Dustin. A reminder to your thugs what happens when you cross Tampa Defiance MC.”

He’s shaking all over as I slather on the last layer of mortar. “Nycto, Nycto, you don’t have to do—”

I place the brick in position, muffling his words, not that I care what they are anyway.

A sense of calm rushes over me as another tomb is created in the long line of brick wall. His muffled screams echo from behind the bricks as faint moaning from last week’s victim starts up across the room. It’s an eerie sensation, one that sends goose bumps over my skin in an electrifying way.

I take immense enjoyment out of bringing these assholes down.

I love the pain it brings them.

I revel in the fact I’m forcing them into the dark.

It’s where I live every damn day.

If they’re going to try to dance in my world, then they better learn to dance with the devil.

And soon enough, everyone will learn the devil’s name is Nycto.

Chapter Two

EVA

I have to be brave.

Strong.

Not only for myself, but for my sister, Ivy, and the other four women living this hell with me.

As we huddle in the confined area, some sob, some stare blankly into space, and one holds her hands together, sending out a muffled prayer.

I don’t think God will help us now. We’re in the hands of the devil.

The ship slows, sending a surge of anxiety through me.

When this all started, I had no idea what the hell was happening. My sister and I had been enjoying a night out in Havana when we were cornered in an alley by masked men with guns. The rest is kind of a blur. Then I found myself waking up in this shipping container, which is the size of a freaking pea, rolling about on what feels like a ship on open water with five other women who are as terrified as me.

We’re all still wearing the clothes we were taken in. I have to admit, I’m completely out of place among the other women here. They’re all dolled up. Even Ivy is in a glittery red dress that clings tightly to her curves and has her entire back on display. It’s sexy as hell, just like the others in their minidresses and tiny skirts. Me? I’m wearing a gray dress that hits midthigh, the shoulders covered in shiny silver beads. There’s nothing adventurous about my outfit, nothing that screams sex appeal.

The women’s faces are covered in black streaks from their mascara, and I am wearing only the slightest hint of makeup. Their hair is perfect, or it was. My dark auburn strands are down and straight. Nothing about me would have caught their attention, and it has me wondering. Maybe because I was with Ivy, they took me too?

The whimpering woman lets out another loud wail, and Ivy clings tighter to me. The ship jolts as if it’s pulling in to dock.

I sit taller and smooth my hand over Ivy’s wavy hair. “Hey, look at me.” Her watering eyes meet mine. “I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I’m not going anywhere without you. We’re a team, sí?” My Spanish comes through thicker when I’m scared.

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