Page 6 of The Cult

I closed my eyes awaiting Napoleon’s next move, wishing it’d been me. I could handle this fool just fine.

Seconds passed in a strained silence before a grunt escaped Colt’s lips. “My ear!” he yelped.

Shit. I clenched my jaw, my blood boiling. How much more of this could we handle?

Napoleon jabbed my side with his club. “Go help your fucking idiot of a friend.”

I pivoted, trying to ignore the wincing pain in my rib cage. Colt’s hand covered his right ear, blood seeping through his fingers and dripping onto his shoulder. The small gold loop that was in his lobe last night now rested next to his feet.

“Now!” Napoleon ordered, yanking my white tank top.

“Yes, sir.” I ushered Colt to the bathroom to help him clean up. The things I wanted to do to those fuckers flooded my brain, a defense I’d developed to stay level-headed and take the edge off my rage against Orcus and his puppets. Someday, they will get what they deserve.

Once inside the small, dark, cold bathroom, I braced myself on the stainless-steel sink that matched the only toilet in the bunkhouse. “He didn’t have to fucking do that,” I whispered before I turned the faucet to cold water and pulled paper towels from the dispenser.

“It’s my fault. I should’ve taken it off last night when you reminded me,” Colt replied.

“Let me see.” I slowly pulled his hand away from his ear. My jaw tightened at the sight of his torn earlobe. “That son of a bitch,” I murmured and applied pressure to his ear with the makeshift cold compress. “Hold this. It’ll help stop the bleeding.” I peeked through the ajar door, watching the loser’s reign of terror. Bile coursed through me when Napoleon rammed his club into Twenty’s stomach. I wished we could fight back. With our brute strength, we could take them down. But we knew better.

Napoleon directed his attention to the bathroom next and marched our way.

“Let’s hurry, Fucker is coming.” I grabbed more paper towels and wiped the blood off Colt’s neck and shoulder.

The guard kicked the door open, which barely missed us, his eyes bouncing between Colt and me. “You faggots done here?” he asked, his beady eyes raking over our bodies like a creep.

Keep your cool. I wanted to wipe the smugness off his face with a punch. Thank goodness for my self-control. “Almost, sir,” I answered instead.

“Hurry the fuck up. Meet us on the field when you’re done,” Napoleon ordered before turning his back, spitting phlegm on the floor as he walked away.

“Fucking classy,” I whispered. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Colt took hold of the compress, and we made our way outside. “I think so,” he said. “Thanks, Abel.”

“Of course.” I tapped him on his back before joining the row. “You’re my friend.”

“How much more torture are we going to let them inflict on us?” he asked.

“I dunno.” If I only knew.

The air was clean and brisk, while the purple sky gave way to the sun’s yellow-orange rays. The barbed wire wrapped around the top of the twenty-foot-tall concrete wall blocked our view of most of the forest outside, but not completely, thanks to the tall trees towering on the other side. Our only neighbors were birds and creatures living in the woods, since the closest town to this hell on earth was a good two hours away.

Speaking of hell, four more armed guards walked into view. Sandwiched between them was their puppet master, Orcus, wearing what I assumed was his US Army uniform. His chest was embellished with medals, while five silver stars decorated both of his shoulders. I wondered if those were even real. He could’ve bought them from some random guy off the street, for all we knew. One of the guards met him halfway and whispered something in his ear. Orcus nodded, keeping his attention on the lineup.

Sweat dripped down my face while chills shot up my spine; anxiety was a near-constant companion here.

“Whatcha think is gonna happen?” Colt whispered.

I shook my head slightly in response.

“Step forward when your number is called,” Napoleon said, scanning our faces.

The guys glanced at each other, their facade of indifference fading into fear and trepidation.

“Two,” Napoleon called. No one moved a muscle. I couldn’t blame them. We dreaded this convocation. Thank goodness it only happened once a year.

Seconds later, Orcus glanced at the guards next to him.

“Two,” Napoleon repeated, harsher this time around.

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