Page 66 of The Delta's Rogue
“Dije: ‘Más despacio, cabrón.’” I lick my lips and then translate for him. “Slow down, fucker.”
I draw out each word, enunciating them precisely to ensure he hears and comprehends each and every one. I place every ounce of strength I have left into them, returning the glare he gives me.
“You insolent little…” He raises his hand to strike me.
On instinct, I try to cover my face with my hands, forgetting they’re bound behind my back. They clang and jangle together with my efforts to move, the links brushing my lower back and forearms. I brace myself for the impact of his hand. I shut my eyes and clamp my jaw so my teeth won’t hit each other or pierce my tongue.
But the impact never comes. The sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the room, followed by a sharp cry from a female and a shout of “fuck” from Nuncio.
I peek through my eyelids, heart pounding and breaths shaking.
Brenna stands between Nuncio and me, clutching her cheek, face turned sideways. Nuncio looks at his hand in horror. He backs away from Brenna, eyes widening with each tension-filled second that passes.
Kanon and Crooked Nose rush forward, grabbing Nuncio’s arms to usher him to the door on the left—the door they sent all the non-virgins through.
For the briefest moment, I’m frozen in place, watching the scene unfold.
Brenna glances at me, her eyes flicking to my chains before meeting mine again. My head swivels to the three males making their way out of the room, who aren’t paying us any attention.
Then I run.
I run for the door we entered through. I run as fast as I can with my arms bound behind my back, as fast as the chains allow. They’re just short enough for it to be awkward, to take me a moment to find a steady gait, but once I do, I’m barreling towards the door and through it.
My heart in my throat and lungs burning, I take off in the direction we came from when they dragged me out of my cell. I don’t let up on my speed, even with the aching of my muscles. The drugs and the silver limit my strength, but I grit my teeth and push through. If I can make it to my cell, I can retrace my steps to where they unloaded me from the vehicle, and—
Two females step directly into my path. They’re dressed similarly to Brenna—long, velvet gowns, one burgundy and one navy blue—and I can only assume they’re witches too.
I’m sure I can bypass them easily. I can plow through one, shove her into the other, and continue on my way to freedom.
As I’m about to reach them, the air around my feet thickens. It twists and spirals and grabs my ankles, anchoring my feet in place. My momentum doesn’t stop, though. My body continues moving, and I freefall forward, twisting myself so my shoulder will hit the floor first, instead of my chin or my face.
Before I hit the ground, the females catch me, one grabbing me around my shoulders and the other around my middle. My eyes shut in devastation as heels click on the floor with the speed of a typewriting secretary, the slinking of a metallic gown following them like a slithering, scaly snake.
I have no time to reevaluate and get out of their clutches.
Amara reaches us in a heartbeat. She glares at me with cold fury and grips my chin in her hand, clenching it tight and digging her sharp nails into my skin.
“What’s wrong, sweet thing?” she coos, stalking closer to me, her sugary voice contrasting her frigid stare. “Why would you run away from us?”
Her thumb runs across my trembling lower lip, and this time, I can’t hide my flinch. I rear back, but her hold grows tighter and the females keep me in place. I fight them, straining my neck and ignoring every ounce of pain, every jolt that pierces and burns and nicks at my senses.
I have to get out.
Her thumb rubbing my lip is a twisted reminder of the times Sebastian did the same. The cuffs and collar are a sadistic version of the restraints he used on me when we played, when I was his sub and he was my Dom. When we were together and everything was the way it should be.
“We don’t want to hurt you.” Amara raises her volume but keeps in her voice the false sweetness that I swear could curdle milk. “We want to take care of you.”
My upper lip curls at her words, my thrashing increasing.
“We’re going to clean you up, train you, dress you like a pretty little doll, and sell you off to the highest bidder—someone who will take care of you and keep you all to themselves like the gorgeous prize you are.”
She gestures behind her with her free hand, curling her finger as she beckons someone forward, that cruel yet saccharine smile painted on her face. Brenna walks up tentatively, stopping right beside Amara. A bruise blooms under her eye and across her cheekbone from where she took the blow for me.
Amara flicks her eyes towards it and clicks her tongue. “He won’t be happy about that. Nuncio will pay. I promise you, Brenna dear.”
Brenna nods, but she doesn’t seem at all reassured by Amara’s comment. Instead, she seems more frightened. Her already pale skin turns a deathly shade of white as the blood drains from her face.
Amara ignores Brenna, her focus already back on me. “Take her blood, Brenna,” she orders, eyes locked on the fluttering artery in my neck.
