Page 46 of Whispers of the Dead

Curses ring out from the surrounding cells. No one noticed this guy.

“What the hell?” the dreg starts.

My grip slips, and gravity takes over.

The fall isn’t far, but it’s enough to knock the wind out of me. Pain jolts through my back and shoulders when I crash onto the cold concrete. I gasp for breath, my lungs burning, but there’s no time to recover. The dreg steps forward with an expression that twists into fury.

Panic surges through me, and I act on instinct. My hand flies out and grabs the only weapon I have. The bucket. Still the one and only thing they’ve given me. I hurl it at the barsand flinch when the contents splash through the metal slats and straight into his open mouth.

The moment freezes and seems to stretch into eternity.

Shit. I’m going to pay for that.

Benji lets out a strangled, horrified laugh. “Holy shit.”

The dreg recoils. He sputters, gags, and wipes at his face. “You little…” he lets out a growl to rival Damon’s. His rage is thick enough to drown in.

The door to my cell flies open with such force that it slams against the bars behind it. I scramble to my feet and try to dart past him, but he’s on me in seconds. His hand clamps down on my arm like a vise. I yank away and try to bolt, but he’s too fast. He yanks me back. His other hand rises, ready to strike.

Shouts erupt from around me. My guys roar threats, all three of them, but they can’t do anything while trapped in their cages other than rattle the bars.

Before the blow can land, a voice cuts through the chaos like a whip. “Enough!”

The dreg stiffens. His grip loosens. His head snaps toward the doorway.

Eugene’s face is a mask of cold amusement that sends a chill through me that’s colder than anything I’ve felt before when he strides into the cell. His eyes flick between me and the dreg, and a slow, dangerous smile curves his lips. “She’s mine. You don’t touch her without permission.” His gaze darkens. “And I certainly didn’t give it.”

I would be grateful to him for stopping the dreg, but the venom that drips from each word makes me think I had a better chance of being locked in here unarmed with rotters again.

The dreg hesitates, then decides to argue. “But she?—”

Eugene moves faster than I realize he’s capable of. His fist connects with the dreg’s jaw in a brutal arc. The crack ofbone reverberates through the cell. The dreg stumbles back and clutches his face in shock.

Eugene steps closer to me. His eyes roam over my disheveled form. My chest heaves. Anger and disgust coil in my stomach like a living thing, clear in the glare I give him. “Let me know whenever you’re ready to stop this little rebellion of yours. I’ve got a much nicer room waiting for you. Comfortable. Cushiony.”

His voice is all mock kindness, laced with poison.

My fingernails dig into my palms, but I don’t say a word, even though his mere existence makes my skin crawl. Eugene chuckles, then turns to the dreg, who’s still groaning from the hit. “Clean this mess up,” he orders, gesturing at the bucket’s spilled contents that are splattered all over the bars and the floor. Everywhere, really.

With that, he strides out, leaving the door wide open behind him. The dreg he leaves behind glares at me with a challenge. “Go ahead. Try it again, and it’ll be the same outcome. Only this time, Eugene won’t be here to stop me.”

He stands blocking the doorway, waiting for me to move, but I don’t.

A voice from the dark corridor makes me jump. “Maybe not, but I am.”

I whip my head around to find the source. Avery steps into the light with his usual smug grin in place, but there’s something else in his expression. A flicker of amusement, but also curiosity. Like he’s watching something far more interesting than he expected.

“In fact,” Avery muses, leaning against the doorway, “I’m curious to see exactly what would happen.” His gaze flicks to me, and his smirk widens. His expression fills with humor. “My bet’s on the firecracker.”

17

AVERY

Itake my time strolling down the corridor, unbothered by Eugene storming off like a tantrum-throwing child. His boots hammer against the concrete with every furious step, and his men scatter like rats, desperate to look busy with anything but him.

Pathetic.

“What’s all this, then?” I ask. I keep my tone calm, almost disinterested, despite the electric anticipation thrumming through me.

---