Page 48 of Debt of My Soul

I reach up, swipe at my caking makeup, and pull my hand away, inspecting it. Ash flakes on my fingers as I rub them together. Running a hand through my hair, I pull down the strands to find more white ash. I fight more tears with every fleeting thought of my home.

It’s only a house.I repeat to myself.It’s only a house.

But the words do little to curb the sinking feeling in my chest. It was my fresh start. Something formein the chaos of my life in the last several months. I stare down at my empty hands. And now it’s gone. Burned down to ash and charred wood.

My wrists still sport two rubber bands, and I sigh. They both stick there, calling to me. I’m out of control again. My life is literally out of my hands. I pluck the strings, playing myself a tune of pain over and over until my wrist is raw with raised meat-colored welts. The sting bites into my flesh and I breathe easier.

A clanking sound gives me pause, and I jerk up to sit, sure to keep my knees tucked into me. The concrete wall is cool against my back as I move to lean against it. The sound of metalscreeching makes me want to rip my hair out as it grates at my pounding head.

A large, tall man with a long beard pulled into a ponytail saunters down the dimly lit hall. The two other cells across from mine rattle with his thundering steps. He steps into the light and his soulless dark eyes lift to mine, studying me. Gut large and round, he chuckles and the sound slithers through me.

I know that sound.

I lift my chin to get a better view. He’s familiar. One of the men who stopped while I was on the side of the road and gave me a hard time. More like gave me a very clear picture of what he would do if he got his hands on me. And right now, he’s standing outside my cell with the same focused and leering stare plastered on his face.

He fumbles with a key in his hand, turning it over between his grease-stained fingers before sliding it into the lock. A smug twitch lifts the corner of his mouth. He looks at me as he slides the key in, and he licks his lips when it clicks. As much as I dreamed of those bars being unlocked for the past hour, I want nothing more than to slam them shut, blocking him.

Feeling along the wall, I rise, using the chilled stone for support. My knees wobble, threatening to buckle as the ear-screeching sound of metal bars opening echoes off the cell walls.

I press my back to the far wall, as far from him as possible. But it’s no use. There’s nowhere to run.

“W-where am I?” I stammer, my voice cracking from my dry mouth. The words are sluggish and tumble from my lips in a slow slur. I tense. Perhaps I’m not as recovered from the injection after all.

“Doesn’t matter where you are, darlin’. Only matters what you’re going to do while you’re here,” the man says. His voice is laced with poison, and his tone hovers above a whisper but grates in my ears as if he yelled it out.

He stalks for me, and I shake, eyes widening as he reaches out to grab my arm. Pressure is immediate as he grips me. Each pad of his finger squeezes there, leaving bruises in his wake.

I yank on my arm, faltering when his vice grip bears down even harder and pulls a scream of pain from me. Stubby fingers grab my chin, the smell of cigarette smoke lacing them. He strums my lips, coaxing my mouth to open for his pointer finger, but I bob my head from side to side, trying to avoid his disgusting hand.

“Boss wants a word with you. But he didn’t say I couldn’t play first.”

I growl, angling my knee to try to deliver a kick to his groin, but a chilling laugh snakes its way through the cell. I wiggle, trying to remove myself from between him and the concrete wall I cling to.

“Leave me alone!” I topple forward, no match for his weighty form.

He slides a hand into my hair, grips it, and yanks my head back. I wince in pain, letting out a shriek.

“Not sure that’s what D meant when he said to get the girl.”

A scream lodges itself in my throat and my breath catches with that voice.Hisvoice.

The brawny man pivots to look behind him, giving me an unobstructed view of Liam. Casually, he leans against the bars of a cell across from mine while he studies his fist. Two rings reflect the minuscule light and the oddest thought of how he could possibly fit rings over his hefty fingers enters my mind.

Both of Liam’s legs are kicked out to the side, and he rests there. But I catch the flex of his muscles, the jerk of his biceps as they tighten when he opens and closes his fist. His hair is rumpled, matted on top from where I’m sure his helmet has been. The black V-neck molds to his upper body, the outlineof his pectoral muscles pressed against the fabric, and I blink finally looking at his face.

He looks bored.

His eyes meet mine and he smirks, looking faintly amused by his buddy’s handsy behavior.

“Darrin didn’t say I couldn’t sample the goods first. Get out.” The man snarls, his lip curling in disgust. Liam interrupted his attack, and I hold Liam’s gaze, silently pleading he won’t leave.

Don’t go,my mind begs.

Liam doesn’t say anything while he pushes off the bars and strides into my cell. Folding his arms in front of himself, he tilts his head in my direction, seemingly disinterested.

“Probably want her clean before you touch her,” Liam says, eyes racking over my body in revulsion.

I swallow the nausea, heat flooding my face at his mention of my current hygiene. It’s not my fault I escaped a house fire, fought on the grass, and was hauled off and dumped into this awful cell. But as much as indignation flares, I can’t help but exhale a short sigh of relief when the man roves his inspecting gaze over me and scrunches his nose. With ash tangled in my hair, dirt smeared across my face, and makeup sagging in streaks, he must finally reconsider.

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