Page 7 of Striker

I nod, and the weight of his knee is lifted.

“This will be easier if you don’t fight us.”

The fabric over my head rips off, and I gasp as the sudden cold hits my face, my eyes scanning the space frantically. A door clicks quietly closed behind me, and I raise to my hands and knees, taking in the sight, arms tingling with pins.

The room’s dim, barely lit by small incandescent sconces on the wall. The large room has wood floors, and tall ceilings with ornate crown molding, the paint chipped and cracked in places. Faded wallpaper covers the top half of the walls, peeling off at the corners, some long strips completely gone. Decorative wood wainscoting covers the lower half, reminding me of an old estate.

My legs wobble as I stand. Pain throbs in my temples and I tilt, dizzy as blood rushes to my arms and legs. I scan the space, rubbing my forearms, as my gaze lands on a massive bed at the far end, resting on a rusted metal frame with a scrolled ironwork head and footboard. A small vanity with a chair sits at the other end of the room. Next to it, a massive armoire made from heavy, dark wood.

I spin to find a door, slightly ajar.

Please be a bathroom.

Rushing forward, I nearly melt with relief when I see the vintage claw-foot tub and clear shower curtain, the sink, and toilet. After I relieve myself noting the stacks of toilet paper and feminine supplies lining the counter, I slowly walk back out to the room.

My eyes land on the heavy floor to ceiling curtains and I dart forward, tossing them back, revealing a massive window. I press my hands to the glass as the landscape slowly reveals itself with the rising sun. My belly sinks. My knees hit the floor, hands sliding down the paned glass squares.

“Where the fuck am I?” I whisper as fear slips through me.

Below, a lawn sprawls out for several yards before falling off abruptly at a short craggy cliff. Waves crash on jagged rocks lining the empty shore, stretching for miles along the coast, smoothing out in some places. The sea stretches out beyond that, nothing but fading stars and a burning sun hung over an endless ocean.

Chapter 3

Striker

Large monitor’s line thewall, the starkly lit blue and grey images flooding the room with an eerie light. The screen that holds my attention shows the tiny figure lying on the floor of the last room in the west wing. She’s not moved in hours and my stomach cramps, worry making me doubt the dosage of the injection I gave her.

Did I give her too much? She’s so small. They both are, but the tiny, sweet flower curled into a ball on the floor has me more concerned.

Cora woke up several hours ago, crying a little at first before working herself into a frenzy. Then she screamed for Delilah a few times, her voice cracking as she got more and more upset. When no one came, she went back to crying and now…

Nothing.

She’s not made a sound in a long time.

A slithering sensation snakes through my gut. I don’t like this, even if it’s necessary. I keep reminding myself that we have to do this, but it doesn’t dissolve the black, tarry feeling.

Reaper says we’re not leaving her like this for long. He said we’re not leaving them like we were that first day at the school, but it’s been several hours, and even he’s becoming uncomfortable with watching their fear, though he’d never admit it.

When Delilah woke, we watched her lie still for a beat too long. My mind starting racing with doubts. I gave in to the impulse when Reaper left the room and went to untie her. Although he said nothing when he saw our Princess walking around the room, I could feel his anger as if it were a living thing. But Reaper refuses to untie Cora just yet. Even though she’s remained dangerously still for the last hour. He insists if we leave her a little longer, she’ll crack faster.

But still nothing.

My eyes snap to Delilah’s screen. She’s back to pacing the room. She spent a good thirty minutes screaming, banging on the door with frantic desperation before finally giving up. After she searched the room, clearly looking for a means of escape, she sat on the bed for a while, staring at her hands and rubbing the red marks on her wrists. Now she’s muttering to herself as she slowly paces at the end of the bed.

It doesn’t take long for isolation to create fear. You place someone in a dark room, leave them alone, and pretty soon they’ll do anything to be let out. It’s human nature. We’re social animals. Not meant to be by ourselves or locked in a room with nothing but our thoughts.

But we’re still animals. And a caged animal is easier to control.

We would know. My brothers and I all endured a similar introduction into the school. Although Fallon called it lessons, he trained us far more brutally than what Reaper has planned for our girls.

Fallon left us alone. Cold. Scared of the endless darkness in the room he locked us in, our minds warped by an intense fear that slithered into the deepest parts of the mind, creating nightmares. I know the feeling of being so scared that you think you might die from it. That your heart may give well before your will to live.

By the time Fallon retrieved us days later, we were so thankful to be rescued it didn’t matter our savior was the one who put us there. We would do anything to keep from returning to that black, lonely cold room, starved and freezing, not knowing if or when we would ever escape.

Delilah swipes at her cheek and I remind myself this is necessary. We need them to cooperate and we have little time. Reaper thinks Delilah’s abrasive personality, her hard exterior, and the things she’s learned from Rune will make it harder for her to submit.

He thinks the weakest link will be Cora. That she’ll break easier. Faster. Beg to be released, doing anything we ask. Reaper believes she’ll be the easiest of the two to break and bend to our will, but after watching her for hours, it’s clear. She may very well be the strongest one out of the two.

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