Page 42 of Born for Lace

“Where is the infant?”

“You leave that girl alone,” Tide warns, lifting a weak hand and pointing a shaky finger. “She is just a House Girl. We don’t want trouble.”

Thick, rough fingers pinch my nose, stopping all air from entering and exiting my body. Panic pours through my veins like an icy blade. I need air, thrashing around in his hold as darkness slowly creeps into my peripherals. Losing consciousness.

The man releases me, leaving me confused and gasping for air. I collapse to the floor. The world spins, but I fight the dizzy feeling, desperate to stay on all-fours.

“Say goodbye, old timer.”

I crawl on my hands and knees, struggling, and I watch. That’s all I can do. I watch as the drifter steps onto the boat and plunges a knife into Tide’s stomach.

A choked scream tries to break free as I gasp for air. Tide’s trembling hands cover the wound, blood trickling through the gaps of his fingers. He looks past the man to me—looks right into my eyes as though he wants to step toward me, to help me, but his legs give out.

He drops on his knees. Sways. Then lands on his face.

“No!” I manage to scream, but then the man is over me again, moving with a gracefulness a person of his size shouldn’t have. It reminds me of Lagos—the way he moves. Lagos. Tomar. I could run to them. Can I run?

“Where is the infant?” My scalp burns as the drifter drags me to my feet by my hair, strands ripping from my crown.

I cry out.

I look back at Tide, unmoving, lifeless. It’s my fault. Unable to accept what I’m seeing, I shake my head, shaking the horrific sight. Drowning in guilt, in fear. “No. I don’t know what you want.” I know there is pain racing along my head, but I’m still wheezing, staring at Tide’s body— shock a blanket of disorientation.

“The infant you had at the cove, Lace Girl.”

I don’t respond. Can’t.Tide…

The drifter holds me up and punches me in the face, beating a black world into my vision.

I groan, blood trickling from my nose. He’s going to kill me. Like he did Tide.

He releases my hair.

My body drops to the hard ground, my hands meeting wet puddles of blood from my gushing nose. I sob on my hands and knees, willing myself to get up, but my legs tremble.

“The infant?”

“I won’t—” is all I can spit out.

When a boot collides with my stomach, I jerk to the side. An unyielding heel rolls me to my spine. I cough blood upward, spraying my face with the wet, hot fluid.

Stepping either side of my body, the drifter leans down and takes a fist full of my hair again.

“Tell me where the infant is, Lace Girl,” he hisses, face close to mine. “And I’ll cut out your tongue so you can’t share your story, but let you live. How’s that sound, baby? Fair? I think so. If you disagree, I’ll get it out of you eventually. Another woman’s infant isn’t worth the pain you’ll experience at my hand.”

Another woman… I sob.

Maple.

Spero.

Worth every inch of pain I can endure. I don’t want to die, but that doesn’t cloud or confuse me. “I won’t tell you.”

A cruel laugh escapes him, the heat of it slithering across my face. “Yes, you will, baby.”

I roll my head on the ground, confused, my ribs aching and nose swelling, constricting air. And the blood. I can taste boiled metallics, iron or… I can suddenly smell it in the atmosphere.

I struggle to stay conscious so I can fight back while he pins my wrists above my head. “You’re a mess, baby. You should see your pretty face covered in blood.”

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