Page 81 of The Delta's Rogue
There, they use me as an example—an example of what will happen if anyone refuses to cooperate. If they refuse to submit.
At the end of every day, I’m chained to the bed again. I’m given no clothing, no blankets to cover myself when I sleep, and no food. Just sips of water.
Amara no longer forces Brenna to use my blood against me to do her bidding. Instead, she waits for the embarrassment and the hunger to overwhelm me.
She waits for me to break.
I do not know how many days it’s been since Brenna removed my tattoos. I don’t know if they bring us to the large room once a day or twice a day. There are no windows or clocks anywhere in the building, nothing to hint at the passage of time.
I lie on the bed, arms and legs spread and chained to the frame. My muscles spasm from fatigue and hunger, and my limbs shiver from the extreme cold in the bedroom, but I’m numb to everything.
I thought I could survive the loss of Sebastian’s words. I thought I could survive anything these awful people threw at me.
I was wrong.
Every day, the crack in my armor grows. Every day, the weight I bear is heavier. My resolve weakens.
But the thought of giving in, of playing along with Amara’s monstrosities? It boils my blood. It’s wrong on so many levels. It goes against every ingrained instinct I have.
What happens if Idogive in? How long will I be “safe” here in their headquarters or training facility, or whatever this is? If I give in, if I play their game, they’ll auction me off. I’ll end up in the home of some rich, sadistic bastard.
Y nunca me encontraré nuevemente con Sebastián. I’ll never reunite with Sebastian.
The door opens, and Brenna enters my room.
I no longer attempt to cover my body. There’s no point. I can’t move my limbs, and she’s seen all of me many times. I do, however, furrow my brow.
Why is she here? It’s not time for the next training session with Amara. I haven’t been in my room long enough for that. Unless I fell asleep and didn’t realize it.
Then it hits me. The scent of food, something warm and aromatic.
A groaning sob echoes in my chest, mirrored by the growl emitted by my empty, tormented stomach. I strain away from her, attempting to roll onto my side and curl into myself.
Brenna snaps her fingers, and the chains release from my cuffs. My groan morphs into a sigh of relief as I hug my stomach, curling into a ball. I stroke my ribs out of habit, tracing over the words no longer there, and my lip quivers.
“Get up,” Brenna orders. Her voice is sharper than usual, tinged with annoyance and urgency.
I turn my face into my pillow. “Whatever Amara sent you to force me to do, I’m not doing it.No lo voy a hacer,” I tell her, slipping into Spanish.
Usually, I keep this part of me hidden as much as I can, to prevent questions. Now, I cling to it to remind myself of who I am, especially since I no longer have my choker or my tattoos.
“Amara didn’t send me.”
Brenna’s words settle around me. I lift my head and meet her intense stare. It makes my breath catch with its ferocity. She holds a heavy, ivory silk robe and extends it towards me.
I flick my eyes towards the ceiling and the corners of the room. I don’t know exactly where they’re located, but Brenna informed me of the cameras the first night she bathed me.
“No me permiten usar ropa,” I remind her. “I’m not allowed to wear clothing,” I repeat in English.
“They’re seeing what I want them to see,” she says.
“Which is?”
“Me eating my dinner while I force you to watch.”
I grapple with my options, with whether to trust her.
“There isn’t much time, Anaís. Eating doesn’t take that long, so the longer I keep the illusion in place, the more unrealistic it seems.”
