Page 91 of Carnage

A smile graces her done-up face as if the idea of being tossed around like a rag doll turns her on. “Things have changed, Saint,” she says cryptically.

“Get the fuck—”

“Show him, boys.” She interrupts me.

One of the men move out from behind her and picks up the remote to the TV that hangs on the wall to my right. Pushing in a code, it goes to the surveillance system here at Carnage. It’s of the pits.

The view is from the corner of the room, pointed down at the concrete floor. Both pits on the outsides look dry and empty but the one in the middle is full of water. My chest tightens remembering what it was like to be in there, suffocating, cold and mind fucking. “What am I looking at?” I growl through gritted teeth.

“You asked where Haidyn and Kashton were. I’m giving you an answer.”

My head snaps to look at her, my heart racing. She remains smiling. “You’ve been out for two weeks, Saint. A lot has happened since then.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I look back at the TV. Stepping closer, I watch the water spill over the top of the bars onto the concrete floor. The five vertical bars recede three inches into the pit and lock in place. That’s why I couldn’t breathe when I lifted my nose through them when it filled to the top.

The water is dark, and given the angle, I can’t see down into it, but there is a tube of some sort popping out of the top where the head would be if someone were lying down. It’s black and rubber, maybe four inches past the water with a valve on the end. My eyes shoot to the wall across from the pit looking for a timer but I don’t see one.

“Your fathers are dead, and you and your brothers are to blame—”

“They’re not dead! And Haidyn and Kashton would never do that!” I shout, a sickening feeling in my stomach. “Who the fuck is in there?” I point to the TV, glaring at her.

She ignores my question. “They’re dead because of Ashtyn.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“You let her escape, Saint. The Lords didn’t like that.” She steps closer to me and I take one back trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. I’ve been in and out for two weeks but I haven’t been in a fucking coma.

“The Lordsthinkshe’s dead,” I grind out. I can’t lie and say she’s dead. This woman obviously knows she isn’t.

Her laugh makes my teeth clench. “If they wanted her dead, she’d be dead,” she says cryptically.

My eyes go back to the TV. “Who the fuck is in there?” I demand once more, a throbbing pain in my right arm. The last pain pill they force-fed me last night starting to wear off. Dropping my bag, I clench and unclench my right fist. My hand numbing.

“That is Haidyn,” she answers. “Sensory deprivation...”

I wrap my hand around her neck and slam her back into the wall below the TV. I hear the guys shuffling behind me and she raises her hand to stop them before her dark green eyes look up to meet mine.

“You better be fucking lying.” My body vibrates against hers. “Where is Haidyn?” I bark in her face.

Her eyes grow hard, and she lifts her chin. “He’s where he belongs.” They search mine, and she adds, “Go ahead, show him.”

My eyes look up at the TV that we stand underneath. The screen still shows the pits, but the middle one is empty and all three have the bars off.

The double doors open to the room and two men enter pushing a stretcher. Haidyn lies on it. He’s dressed in an all-black dry suit that divers wear. It’s unzipped down the front though exposing a cut and bruised chest. He’s also unconscious. His face looks swollen, lip busted. Whatever happened, he put up a fight that he ended up not winning. Something tells me it wasn’t a fair one.

I let go of her neck and step back, watching as the blood rushes in my ears. They bring him to a stop and lift up his head and shoulders, pulling a hood up from underneath him that’s connected to the suit. Lying him flat once again, one of them begins putting stickers on his chest. Four of them in various places before zipping it up to his neck.

The other man pulls out two small plugs and shoves them up his nose, taking away his chance to breathe through them. Then they both maneuver the tight hood over his head, covering every inch of his face except for his mouth. There’s already some sort of mouthpiece in and they connect a tube to it that has a ball valve on the end.

My eyes shoot to the pit as it starts to fill with water. So high to the point it slowly flows over the top and onto the floor. Their shoes splash the water as they step in it and pick him up before lowering him into the watery pit. One holds onto the tube to make sure the bars don’t knock it off while the other closes the hinged bars down into the pit and locks them in place.

The one holding the tube, twists the valve while the other guy pulls out his cell. He looks at it and nods a few times mouthing words that the video doesn’t allow me to hear.

Then they turn and walk away, pushing the stretcher with them, while locking my brother inside.

“He’s been in there for—"

“Fucking bitch!” I slap her across the face so hard it throws her to the side. I reach out to grab her by her bun, but the back of my legs are hit, knocking me to my knees and my arms are yanked up and behind my head, held by my wrists. The position has pain shooting up my chest momentarily taking away my breath.

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