Page 8 of The Queen's Serpent

“Sir, please. I have to… check her… thoroughly,” the soft-spoken, hesitant voice utters with fear evident in his tone. So his men are afraid of him, too. It doesn’t really surprise me since he’s the fucking devil incarnate.

I wish I had the energy or desire to fuck with him. I would grab onto this poor sucker’s hand and place it right over my breast, making sure to fucking moan like a whore. I hope that would hurt him like he’s fucking hurt me. The problem is I don’t have the energy, or the desire, to hurt an innocent.Is anyone really innocent if they are helping him keep you captive here?My mind questions with resentfulness.

“Miss, I need to check your eyes and the inside of your mouth. Could you please allow me to assess and help you?” The voice questions.Help me?This man wants to help me, but there is only one way he could help me right now.You are so weak, always looking for the easy way out of everything,my mind scalds me with bitterness.

A deep sigh leaves my lips, my chest rattling with the sensation, and my body feeling like it wants to cave in on itself. “Die. You… want to… help. Kill… me.“ There’s no point in begging for him to help release me. I know he won’t do that, but maybe if there is even a small amount of mercy and decency in this stranger, he could help me escape this world permanently.

“WHAT THE FUCK, ISSY!” The growled words are like deep shards of glass embedding in my skin. The anger in them is unmistakable,fucking good. I’m angry, too, but the difference is I have no power in this situation. He’s made sure to take it all away from me, the bastard.

The soft hands keep checking over my limbs, listening to my chest, forcing my eyes and mouth open, so he can assess the damage that his caveman of a boss has caused, all while ignoring my plea for death. Somuch for helping me.

“Sir, she is extremely dehydrated, and suffering from heat exposure. Her bug bites are all infected, and so are the cuts and rash she has across her body. I believe she might be suffering from a chest infection; that is where the wheezing and the fever are coming from.”

“Will she recover?” The question is demanded in a deep tone, and I swear I almost heard fear in its depth. Of course, the bastard wouldn’t want to lose his precious prize after all he has done to obtain it.

A sense of curiosity to see his face, and his expression, has me opening my sore and tired eyes and staring at him. His large olive-green eyes stare down at me, while his face remains impassive and tense. His rugged jaw is clenched, and a tic is evident on its side, jumping away as his thick lips remain in a straight line without mercy. No, there is no mercy inside of this man. What did I ever see in him that made me desire him the way I did?He’s death walking, ready to steal your fucking soul; too bad for him, mine is already broken and useless.

Why does he still have to look incredibly handsome, even while committing the most heinous of acts?The devil sends his most tempting evil in beautiful packages. He is a demon straight from hell, urged to climb out of its deep, fiery depths and brought here to destroy me.

“Yes, with proper rest, medicine, and nourishment, she should.” What a fucking pity that he doesn’t tell him that I’m going to die. I would have loved to see the expression on his face at the knowledge that he would lose me to his own psychotic actions; it would serve him right after all he has put me through.

“Good, treat her and get the fuck out of the room.” Diego turns away from me, refusing to hold my stare. “Santiago, I want two men stationed outside of that door twenty-four hours a day. She is not to leave the room, and only you and the medic are allowedinsidetogether. She is never to be alone with either of you,am I understood?”

“Yes,Jefe.”

“Yeess, Sir.”

Anger soars through my limbs, giving me a moment of energy even though every part of me is on fire, and in pain. How fucking dare he?! How dare he take me from one prison only to place me in another under lock and key?

“Bastard,“ the word sounds slurred, leaving my dry lips. I’m almost sure that he hasn’t even heard my insult, until he turns that malicious glare back down on me, searing me with its hostility. I notice out of the corner of my eye both the young male doctor and Santiago taking some subtle steps back, and away from me.Fucking cowards.

“There’s that serpent tongue of yours, myPrincesa. If you can still call me fucking names, Issy, then maybe you’re not as ill as the medic says you are? Shall we find out, my beauty? Shall I make you crawl back to your hole?“ His dark eyebrow rises questioningly, and I can see the desire to punish me in his eyes. He wants me to continue to talk back, so he has a reason to hurt me further.

I turn my head away from his menacing glare, and stare at the furthest wooden wall, taking shallow breaths, as my blood continues to race loudly in my ears. The desire to run, to fight and get away from here, is all-encompassing, but my body and mind know that I wouldn’t make it two steps before I face-planted, never mind my inability to fight off Diego Cabano. He has me at his mercy, and he knows it, as if I need any further reminders of how weak I truly am, both of body and mind.

One day, I won’t be weak. One day soon, I will be strong like my grandmother, sister, and all the other Stratford women who have come before me. Then he’ll experience my vengeance for what he has done. At least, that’s what I repeat to myself asdarkness once again claims me, as the medic injects something into my arm. One day, I will be strong ordietrying to be.

I pace back and forth from one wall to the next, one bare foot in front of the other, filled with restless, unsteady energy. My skin feels too tight, as if insects are crawling all over it. I scratch down my arms with my broken, jagged nails, causing my flesh to bleed. It’s not enough; I want to rip my skin from my bones, and watch myself bleed out on the floor. The morbid, deranged thought should scare me, but it’s made itself at home with the rest of the darkness that inhabits my mind.

How could he have done this to me? How could he have hurt me in this way?The thought keeps circling round and round in my mind, keeping me in a manic state. Of all the shitty things to do to me, including throwing me in a fucking hole, this might be the worst of them.

I release a pent-up scream as I once again do a circuit of the room. Visions and sounds keep trying to accost me, but I know they’re not truly here with me in this stifling room, and in this unforgiving jungle. It’s all in my head. I repeatedly slap both palms against my skull to stop their sounds.

The medic hasn’t been by in hours, and I need another hit of pain relief. I need something to numb all these sensations that I’m feeling. I don’t want to feel anything; I desire the nothingness that the drugs provide. They temporarily bring quietness to my head, so that I don’t have to hear how I’m worthless, over and over in my loved ones’ voices.

Why are you afraid of the truth being spoken, Isabella?My mind plays tricks and asks the question in a voice that sounds suspiciously like my grandmother’s.

It’s been two days since Diego removed me from my earthy hole-in-the-ground prison, and placed me in this new confined prison of four sturdy walls. At least the view is slightly better, and I have a more comfortable bed to sleep on. Regardless of the better accommodations, one fact remains:I am still a prisoner.

Is my grandmother out there looking for me? She has to be, right? She has to be tearing the world apart, searching for me. How come she hasn’t found me yet? It’s been more than a week since that lunatic drugged and kidnapped me. She should have found me by now.

Unless she’s given up searching. I was never as valuable to her as my sister, Mia. Constantly disappointing her with my inability to behave like a Stratford heir should. Always causing embarrassment to the Stratford name. Perhaps she has finally realized that she can be rid of me now.

How convenient for her that Diego has provided her with this opportunity. She won’t have to watch me self-destruct with drugs, men, or having my face splashed across the tabloids and social media. I’m the constant bane of her existence, one that she has to continuously save, and hide my misdeeds in dark places.

She has the Stratford heir she always dreamed of; I was just a spare heir. The one she had to love because I was part of her bloodline. Her beloved son’s child. The one she felt sorry for because I was a weak orphan.

Defective. Useless. A disappointment.

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