Page 22 of The Butcher

“They know I’m here. They wanted me to come ahead of them to give you the results.”

“Thoughtful.” I watch as she taps my vein, flexing my fingers to help the best I can. “And stupid.”

She snorts as a few more tears fall. “I know. It’s like they forget we have brains or something.” Scarlett looks up at me and smiles softly. “Ready?”

I nod and without hesitation, she sticks the needle in my arm, pushing the plunger all the way down as fast as she can before capping it and putting it back in her pocket. She rubs the spot a little then bends my arm at the elbow, moving it some to work whatever poison she injected through my system quicker.

“It’s not going to be instant, like I said, they keep the really strong stuff locked up, but it should hopefully work pretty fast.”

My eyes search her face then move toward the door as I hear the footsteps stop on the other side. “What… What’s it going to do?”

“It’s going to get you high.”

I grin and shake my head. Sometimes I forget Scarlett hasn’t lived here as long as I have. That’s such a strange way to describe it but it’s no less appreciated.

“You’ll get a body buzz but it’s not enough to stop you from feeling…” She swallows hard and swipes at her tears. “Your mind will get cloudy; you’ll probably nod in and out some. Once it kicks in all the way you’ll get really tired.”

Then I’ll fall asleep and never wake up.

She doesn’t have to say it, but the words are there.

That’s really the entire point. The pain can’t be stopped but it can be somewhat tolerable until the end, and that’s what she wanted for me. It’s why Scarlett is taking such a big risk by bringing it here before they come in. It was important to her to keep me from going through what either of our mothers did, and while it can’t be stopped or even completely numbed, high is the next best thing.

“Sorry about this, Red,” the herder says as he walks into the stall. “None of us wanted to see you go out this way.”

It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes at his line of bullshit.

Not one person on staff actually gives a damn about any of us, and I have no doubt that they get some sick level of enjoyment when things have to be handled like this.

Scarlett gets to her feet and scurries toward the door as a few more men walk in, men I’ve never seen before—I can tell by their nauseating scents—who are dressed in what looks like some sort of strange plastic, hooded suit with goggles hiding their faces.

“String her up,” the herder orders as the counter walks in with a clipboard. “Do your best to make it look like it was that guy who’s been in the news. We don’t need anyone else poking around if they find her, not after the last two. Copycat him if you can throw them off.”

What?

I don’t understand.

I know they beat my mother.

For hours she endured what could only be described as torture, but they didn’t bother doing much more than that before they broke her neck. They don’t have to do that; it would be just as effective and make the same kind of point to humanely euthanize an omega who isn’t able to get pregnant if they really think they should be killed at that point but that’s where the even darker side of the ranch comes into play. The men here, they aren’t humane, and they don’t have a merciful bone in their bodies.

More often than not, they abuse us, physically or worse, every day we’re here and that continues until one of the only two outcomes take place. When it ends with an unproductive omega, their sick and perverse fantasies really come out to play but I’ve never heard of anything like this.

Not that I hear much, but I’ve never heard of them doing more than beating someone to death.

This is not the same.

I was prepared for that, ready to spend my last few hours on earth being pulverized but this? This copycat thing? I have no idea what that means.

And I don’t get time to figure it out because before the questions even form, one of the strange men has my hands bound in front of me, the extra length of the rope thrown up and over a rafter, and I’m being hoisted in the air until my shoulders pop.

The herder walks around me slowly, his eyes scanning me head to toe. “Rough her up first but keep it minimal, they aren’t usually bruised up too badly. Avoid the major organs and throw in some superficial lacerations. Don’t go overboard but make it convincing. Harden has dealt with the cops twice now and he’ll lose his shit if we make it a third.”

Scarlett forces a smile, her lashes glittering with tears as she blows me a kiss before slipping out the door.

And as soon as it closes, one of the strange men comes directly into my line of sight, cocks his fist back, and punches me in the face.

My head snaps back on my neck and my vision goes white, and the taste of copper fills my mouth. I’m hit again almost immediately, whipping my face toward the right followed by a quick left before my chin drops to my chest.

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