Page 54 of The Delta's Rogue
Her eyes narrow. The air in the room grows colder and thinner by the second as we wait for her response.
Even with the silver binding me and the wolfsbane repressing my senses, I can sense the power rippling from her, coasting through the air like a gliding, soaring vulture. It circles and descends, honing in on its next meal: Nuncio.
He screams, and his hands fly to his crotch to cover his dick. Pain pulses through him, his body convulsing and trembling. He falls to his knees, and his companions laugh at his misery.
My eyes are locked on the female, though, on her collected exterior and haughty expression as she watches him writhe in pain. Her hand extends outward, clenched in a fist that twists tighter and tighter.
Nuncio’s cries grow louder until she unclenches her hand and flicks her wrist in his direction. Nuncio, on the floor, gasps for air.
Her attention returns to me as I realize what she is.
A witch. A powerful one. She’s likely covenless, working and living outside the oversight of the thirteen crones. But even though she punished him for violating my body against their rules, she isn’t on my side. She isn’t an ally.
Ella es mi enemiga.She’s my enemy.
Her eyes scan me again, slower this time. They brighten as they travel my body, shining with approval, and I’ve never felt more naked in my life. I squirm beneath her appraising stare, trying to cover myself with my restrained hands.
Hopelessness floods through me, and I squeeze my eyes shut again. I’m trapped. Defenseless. My body is bound, and they’ve repressed my senses and abilities.
“Take her inside and put her in a cell,” the witch says. Her heels click on the floor of the vehicle, and her voice fades as she retreats. “The others are still making their way back. I’ll have Brenna examine all the girls together.”
Nuncio continues gasping as the other two flank the gurney. They wheel me out of the vehicle, down a ramp, and into a vast, empty white hallway.
I keep my eyes trained on the ceiling, counting the fluorescent light fixtures above me as we travel through the building.
Ten…eleven…twelve…
We turn left then right and then left again, and then they finally stop. I angle my head subtly, flicking my eyes towards the door on my right just in time to witness Crooked Nose press his thumb against a fingerprint scanner. The device beeps, the door unlocks and swings open, and we’re on the move again.
Eye Patch parks the gurney parallel to the back wall. With swift and precise movements, he moves around it, placing new silver cuffs on my wrists and ankles right above where the cuffs bound to the gurney sit. These new cuffs are heavier, thicker, and attached to the ends of thin but sturdy chains that extend from the wall.
As he works, I conserve my energy, breathing through the sluggishness in my muscles.
Once he’s secured the new cuffs, he unlocks the old ones and unhooks the chains connecting the collar to the gurney.
In a heartbeat, I’m on my feet, lunging towards them with my teeth bared and my arms outstretched. But the chains attached to my cuffs retract, yanking me backwards as I attempt to continue forward. I tug and resist the movement, eyes wildly scanning the room, hair flying and whipping around me.
Crooked Nose sneers. His hand snakes around the door frame, pressing a button out there that controls the restraints in here.
I charge forward again, a growl grinding in my throat, muffled by the gag. But the chains continue retracting. The crank within the wall they’re attached to spirals, and even with all my fighting and straining, I’m too weak to prevent it. I’m pulled backwards with them.
My bare feet slip on the smooth concrete, unable to find traction. The chains hauling me across the room keep me from falling flat on my face, but my knees slam into the floor with a resounding crack. Stars explode behind my eyelids at the impact, and if not for the gag in my mouth, my scream would echo off the walls of the almost empty room.
And still the chains drag me backwards until I’m crouched next to a cot that’s bolted to the floor. My nails scrape against the concrete, and I glare at the two males laughing at me from the doorway.
“This one will be fun to break.” Eye Patch snickers as he wheels the gurney out.
Crooked Nose nods his agreement, sneer growing and eyes glinting. “The feisty ones are always the most fun to break.”
The door slams shut, and their lingering laughter echoes in the room, ringing in my ears. The howls of cruel amusement pound into me, twisting my stomach into knots. Despair claws at my throat, mimicking the clawing of my fingers on the floor.
With trembling limbs, I lift myself onto the cot to scan the room—my cell. It’s small, with nothing in it beyond the cot, which is more like a raised dog bed with no mattress pad, pillow, or blanket in sight. Even the bolts holding it to the floor are welded into the metal frame. The chains disappear into holes in the wall, locked into place by the machinery that operates the crank or pulley they’re wrapped around.
There’s nothing to be used as a weapon, nothing I can defend myself with. All I can do is hope the others heard my cry for help through the mindlink.
I scoot backwards on the cot and sit with my back against the wall. I hug my knees to my chest, fingers absently trailing down my leg to the thin, fraying piece of red fabric I’ve worn around my ankle for the last four years, hidden away from my friends by my clothes or shoes.
But it’s not there. It’s gone.
