Page 105 of The Delta's Rogue
The last wisp of hope I felt withered away, deteriorating into bitter nothingness, as I sat on the edge of my bed and Brenna explained what happened—that she couldn’t bring me with her because of the magic keeping me hidden, but that she was able to reach him alone and give him our message.
There’s no way for me to know for sure if she’s telling me the truth. All I can do is trust that she is, that she spoke to Sebastian and gave him the information he needs, and that Sebastian can formulate a plan to save me.
Before it’s too late.
That’s part of why I haven’t spoken much to her. I have to protect myself, protect my heart. I don’t know if she’s lying. For all I know, she could have been lying to me this whole time, tricking me into trusting her so she can betray me to Amara and secure safety for herself.
The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. There is no reason for Brenna to risk everything to help me. She knows things about me that only a few do, things Amara would reward her handsomely for if Brenna revealed them to her. She could help theseassholes spin all my secrets to their advantage, use them as leverage to gain a foothold in the lower ranks of their hierarchy.
All I have to offer in exchange for her help is a promise that I will try to rescue her once I am free. A promise I might not be able to fulfill.
So, I’ve retreated into myself, cutting off any deepening of the tenuous bond we’ve formed during my time here. If I’m prepared for it, if I’m expecting it, her betrayal will sting less. Maybe.
“How are you feeling?” Brenna asks. “About the upcoming auction?”
Her tone is light and conversational—surface level, like two friends chatting about the weather or an upcoming dinner party. Beneath her guise of small talk, I sense the true purpose behind her words. She’s checking in on my emotional state.
“It’s all I can think about.”
It’s not a lie. The upcoming auction consumes my thoughts, both waking and sleeping. How can it not when every day is one day closer to it? How can it not when every day is like a visit to the spa, with skin treatments and hair removal and deep tissue massages to have me relaxed, glowing, and perfect for the auction?
The girls working on me—pampering me, as Amara says—speak about me as if I’m not there or can’t hear them. They discuss which parts of me are the most eye-catching, which parts should be highlighted by my outfit and my makeup. They predict how high the price will go when I’m on the stage and whisper about how exciting it will be to watch the bidders lose their minds over me when I’m presented to the audience.
When I’m alone in my room at night, curled into a ball in my massive bed, their words warp my dreams.
These “spa days” are meant to relax us, to help us be well-rested for our auction day. For me, they do the opposite. I still sleep—they dose us with a sedative every night to ensure we’re getting enough rest—but my slumber is far from dreamless.
Nightmares plague me, dark visions where Sebastian doesn’t save me and I end up in the hands of a cruel master. A nameless, faceless, sadistic male who forces himself on me over and over, tying me down to ensure I never escape him. A male who offers me to his equally heartless friends on a silver platter—friends who use and abuse me, who take turns violating me as he watches with a drink in his hand and a smile on his face. He reclineson a couch while another sex slave bounces on his lap and a third kneels at his feet, poised and ready for his instructions. All three of us are helpless to stop it.
The dreams are relentless, ending only when the crackling electric pain of the blood magic wakes me in the morning as Brenna enters my room. The nightmares fade and the terror ebbs, replaced by a vast, gaping despondency—a despondency so ingrained within me that it no longer fazes me or brings tears to my eyes.
I’m empty. Vacant. A body. A vessel.
It’s all I can be.
La única manera fuera es através.The only way out is through.
Unless I end it now.
I’m in a tub. I could slip beneath the surface. I could drift away, immersed in the warmth of the water, and leave everything behind. The dread of the unknown, the clawing, cloying fear of ending up somewhere worse than here… All of it would vanish, along with me, if I closed my eyes, let myself slide down the side of the tub, and never came up for air again.
It would be so easy. The pain of dying would be brief compared to the pain of my time here.
The only things stopping me are Brenna’s hands in my hair, massaging the suds of the shampoo into my scalp, and the cameras positioned throughout the room. She’d never let me stay under the water long enough for my life to end, and even if she wasn’t here, whoever monitors the security feeds would alert Amara. They’d fish me out of the water and do whatever it took to revive me so they didn’t lose their investment. Their prized show horse.
Brenna finishes bathing me, helps me to my feet, and wraps a fluffy white towel around my body. My eyes flick towards the corners of the room. I still don’t know exactly where the cameras are, but I know they’re there, filming my every move and recording my every word.
Those cameras are the other reason our conversations have been limited in the days since I was supposed to see Sebastian in my dream. They’re the reason Brenna is bathing me today instead of giving me privacy and allowing me to bathe myself. She’s held back on her use of illusions now that we’re closer to the auction and there are others letting themselves in and out of my room as they prepare me for my “big day”. We neverknow when someone may enter, so to protect ourselves—to protecther—we’re following Amara’s protocols down to the letter.
I follow her to the vanity, steps sluggish as I place one foot in front of the other. Over the back of the chair, a sheer robe waits for me, the exact shade of red as the dress Sebastian made my collar from.
I wonder if he still has his piece of that dress. Did he keep it, hiding it away in a place only he knew of, like I did? Does he pull it out and think of me, the way I would think of him as I ran my fingers over the frayed piece of it around my ankle? Or did he dispose of it, choosing to rid himself of any reminders of me and our time together?
Is he really looking for me? Does he care about what’s happening to me?
“I will find you,”he said. “Te lo prometo.”
For all I know, I dreamt that promise. For all I know, that entire night was completely in my head, crafted by my wild imagination and my dread of leaving him behind. Like the echoes of him declaring his love, maybe I conjured up his voice and all those wonderful, tender words to soothe my broken heart and ease the difficulty of our separation.
