Page 12 of Hell Breaks Loose

“Well. That’s certainly a shame. But what you can’t breed out of them, you can always beat out of them.” The wiry man lilts, laughing like it’s a light-hearted jest instead of the misogynistic threat it is. “You should be grateful to Mr. Vice.”

“God help the woman who lets you breed, sicko,” I grumble, glaring at them both. “And I am grateful. That I won’t have to see either of you again for a while.”

I paste on a wan grin, catching the twitch in Marco’s lip.

“Why don’t we take a cigar on the patio? I just opened a bottle of Macallan 30. I think you’ll find will cleanse your palate after such a distasteful display.” Marco raises an eyebrow at me, shaking his head.

“Agreed. Thank you, Marco.” The vice-governor snickers, avoiding actually looking at me as he turns his head past where I’m seated.

The two men saunter out, Marco giving me a cold glance over his shoulder before nodding to my guards to take me back downstairs.

Tonight’s going to suck.

As hard as I fight, sleep eventually takes me in my cell.

I’ve only just fallen asleep when the door slams open, I’m grabbed, dragged into another room, and hosed down with freezing water. The bone-chilling battery of water goes on for what feels like an hour until I’m down on my knees, huddled against the wall.

At which point, I’m unceremoniously shoved into the room at the end of the hall.

The one place I truly hate.

It’s pitch black.

It’s too small.

And even an hour in there is enough to make me panic.

My only saving grace is the fact that I’m so worn out by the time they shut the door, I pass out almost immediately.

Without any bearing on time, I wake to more cold. I can only tell that many hours have passed based on my hunger.

My aching muscles. I must not have moved for a long time.

But at least I’m not shaken up. It’s much easier to control my anxiety when I haven’t just been waterboarded, or any of the other ways they keep me worked up.

The next two days are pretty tame by comparison.

Someone mentions the date at some point one morning, and I discover it’s been two weeks since they took me. And I realize that I have no will to run. No desire to fight back.

When they take me upstairs, it’s a lot easier to resist basking in the sunlight pooling in the foyer.

I’m taken upstairs.

Sat down at the kitchen table, across from Marco.

They feed me, and I don’t even care that I look bedraggled. That I’m filthy.

Marco ignores me completely, except to glance my way a few times throughout the meal. It’s clearly some kind of test.

And I clearly pass.

He leaves after his cup of coffee, mumbling something to one of the maids.

Who takes me by the hand. Leads me up the winding staircase.

To a real bedroom.

A gorgeous, yellow tinted, palatial suite.

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