Page 24 of The Deadliest Game

He frowned. “Eat, or I will bring you Magda’s body in a bag.”

Fear jolted through me. He said horrific things like that every time I so much as frowned. My heart sputtered, but I opened my mouth. The spoon hit my teeth as it went in, and I winced, but I swallowed the food. It tasted fine, but it might as well have been charcoal.

So we went, spoonful after spoonful. Captor and captive. I hated him so much.

Once finished, he stood. “Rest up, Chica Dorada. I have come up with something interesting for later.”

I didn’t respond when he walked back out of the door to my prison.

* * *

A metallic scrapejerked me awake. My eyes flew open to find a blade pressed against the tender skin of my throat, and Omar Gálvez watching intently from the doorway.

"Wake up, little bird. It's time to sing for us again." The newest patron leaned in close, his face was covered but his fetid breath blew hot against my face. I recoiled, but with my hands bound behind the chair, I had nowhere to go.

“Not the throat. She can’t die,” the Comerciante Nocturno said impassively.

The faceless man traced the edge of the knife down my collarbone, splitting the skin. Blood welled up in its wake, but almost instantly glowed with an unearthly golden light. The patron's eyes lit up from behind the mask. "Exquisite."

The knife dipped lower, carving a jagged line across my chest. I bit my lip against a scream, tasting blood as fire raced through my veins. The pain was blinding, white-hot, but I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing me cry out.

"Do you feel that?" the patron crooned, and grabbed my hand. "Your magic awakening?" He slid the blade under one of my nails, prying upward. I whimpered, unable to stop myself, as my nail tore free from the sensitive skin.

It had already started to grow back, but the image kept replaying in my mind.

"I’ve never seen anything like this," he murmured, almost reverently.

I closed my eyes, breathing through the pain until he left. It would all be over soon, anyway.

It wasn’t.

The door creaked open again to admit another patron. No sooner than my first client had left than another stepped into my room. Each took their turn with blades and needles and scalpels, cutting and carving and prodding. Watching with something like awe as my wounds knit themselves back together, only to slice into me anew.

By the time the fifth patron left, I was covered in a latticework of scars, most crusted over with golden blood. The pain and damage were too relentless for my body to keep up, which resulted in more scars across my upper-body like the ones on my thigh and ankle.

Everything hurt—my body, my pride, my rage at being subjected to this torment for the last day. I slumped in my bonds, too exhausted even to glare at the Comerciante when he returned to gloat over the how much money he earned today.

All I wanted was to escape. To be free of this place.

To make them pay.

* * *

I was givena small break for lunch. My body was completely worn out, and all it would take for me to enter hibernation was a few more ‘meetings.’ The remnants of a sandwich, rice, and water were spread before me. My bindings had been released so that I could eat, though I didn’t doubt Omar wanted another chance to put his fingers on my lips.

There was no wine, because my Blood Magic didn’t work well with pollutants in my blood. The hour to myself proved insufficient solace before the door inched open.

I sank back into my seat, not feigning my exhaustion.

It wasn’t the Comerciante Nocturno this time; it was Lidia. She was smiling and wearing a bright pink dress, completely at odds with the deep colors in the room.

“Hola Carmen,” she said brightly, then hurried over. Her hands moved from the folds of her dress and revealed a long stretch of rope. My skin tightened all over my body.

I did my best to appear weak.

She picked up one of my hands, which I was letting hang over the side of the chair.

“Please,” I whispered. “Don’t bind me. It makes it hard for me to use my magic.”

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