Page 33 of Brutal Empire

“Tell Mr. Yates his package is here.”

My lip quivered.

I did not doubt that the package was me. When one of your senses is cut off, all the others rise to the occasion and become more hypersensitive. Someone was descending the stairs. I could hear the tap their shoes made against the floor. With each step, my heart thudded to the beat. When the steps stopped, I shrunk back but didn’t get far. The man who held on to me gripped my arm harder and forced me to step forward again.

“Remove the hood.”

Fear has many levels, and I thought I knew all of them, but at this point, I should stop feeling surprised by all the things that came my way.

The place was enormous. Beautiful marble floors and two huge windows on either side of the stairs. They cast light in the room, making it hard to see and causing my eyes to water. Sadness swept through me like a flood. This was the first taste of sunlight I’d had since the morning of my birthday—and I didn’t know how long ago that had been.

I blinked the tears away, trying to take everything in. The way sunrays touched the chandelier above us and cut through the glass, casting a rainbow effect. It was beautiful but not as beautiful as the man who stood in the middle.

I held my breath.

He was tall and slim. His hair was slicked back, and he had a perfectly smooth face. His eyes were dark, and his cheeks hollowed. He looked like he belonged on the front page ofVogue.

“P-p-please…help me,” I begged, surprised I could still speak.

His eyes cut to my face, and hope bloomed in my chest. Something so beautiful had to be an angel. I saw the corner of his lips tip up, and the smile started to make my hope soar—until I looked at it closely and knew a smile like that could only belong to the devil.

“You are a delightful little thing.”

All my hope shattered in that instant. He came closer until he was inches away from me. He raised a hand and touched my cheek. Shivers went down my spine, and my hands were covered in goosebumps.

“Welcome home, pet.”

* * *

The whimpers were louder,and for a second, I could have sworn someone was fucking outside our door until I realized that the sounds were coming from me.

I gasped like a fish out of water. The sudden rush back to reality always hurt from how the memories penetrated my mind like blades trying to cut down all the walls I had put up. My lungs burned as I gasped for air, trying to regain the composure that my memories threatened.

My back hit the wall, and I sagged. I brought the sleeping bag closer to me, trying to get some warmth back in my body.

I was such a mess, and I forgot I was not alone for a second.

“Does it happen often?” Bastian asked in a soft voice.

Since we left the bed lamp on for fear of bedbugs, it was easy enough to look at him. He was sitting down, his back against the wall. He sat on his sleeping bag, his legs stretched out and crossed over the other.

“Yeah,” I replied as I hugged my legs tighter.

“Maybe it’s a blessing that you don’t remember your past.”

I didn’t reply, but I shook my head.

“Not knowing is much worse.”

He snorted.

“Just because you remember everything, it doesn’t make it go away.”

I was sure it didn’t, but it was better than living in the in-between.

“I won’t be sleeping anymore, so rest,” I told him since he insisted on having the first watch. He tilted his head for a second, then proceeded to get under the sleeping bag. A few seconds later, I saw his chest’s steady rise and fall. He must have been utterly exhausted because no one slept at will.

At least not in a place like this.

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