“It’s all right, Olivia,” Number Eleven whispers. “Just say it’s me.”
I push my face close to Number Ten’s. “What did Number Eleven promise you? That she could save you? I hope you didn’t pin your hopes on a liar and a slut.”
Number Ten clenches her fists. “I’m not going to point the finger at any of these women. Kill me if you like. If I die in here, it’s going to be on my terms, not yours.”
Rage erupts through me, bursting forth like molten lava. Before I can move, Number Eleven tries to throw herself in front of her friend. Kirill lunges forward, wraps his arms around Number Eleven from behind, and drags her back.
I grab Number Ten by the throat and force her into her cage so fast that her back hits the wall. “Your terms? Your fucking terms? Everything that happens here is onmyterms.”
Behind us, Number Eleven is screaming at me to let her go. I tighten my hand around Number Ten’s throat so everyone can hear her struggling for breath. This is what happens to anyone who chooses sides against me.
Just before the dark-haired woman passes out, I turn on my heel and storm out of her cell, slamming and locking it behind me. “Number Ten is eliminated.”
When I turn to the others, Numbers Twelve and Fifteen both reply in frightened whispers that the rat is Number Eleven. I stride over to the golden blonde, trapped in Kirill’s iron grip. Her eyes are sparkling with panic and fury. She wants to kill me. She wants me dead more than anything she’s wanted in her whole life.
“They all think the rat is you, Number Eleven. Anything to say in your defense? Will you point the finger at one of the other women?”
She wrenches herself from side to side in Kirill’s arms but doesn’t speak.
“No? So, you admit it’s you? Thank you for your service, rat. It’s not needed anymore.”
I take a deep, satisfied breath, enjoying this moment. Number Eleven no longer has anyone who looks up to her. The nagging feeling I’ve had all week that she’s been destabilizing my hard work finally dissipates.
“String her up.”
Kirill cackles with delight as he drags Number Eleven over to the chains. Beneath her feet is the bloodstain left by the last Number Eleven. With her wrists bound, Kirill drags on the chains and wrenches them over her head. Number Eleven’s body hangs suspended for all to see, the tips of her toes just touching the ground.
I saunter over to her. How I love to see my enemies defeated, especially the ones who were so confident that they could get the better of me. “They all see you for who you really are, Number Eleven. A deceitful, traitorous whore.”
Elyah is watching from the doorway. A wall has slammed down behind his eyes.
Number Eleven notices him lurking in the shadows. “You’re the one in prison, Elyah. You always will be. You’ll be in a cage long after I’m dead.”
His jaw tightens, and he turns away and pounds up the stairs. Leaving his former lover to her fate.
“Lilia, we know you’re not a rat,” Number Ten calls. “They had to say someone so they wouldn’t be hurt, that’s all. I’m sorry.”
Icy silence follows her statement, and fourteen sets of eyes are watching Number Eleven. No one else speaks up to defend her. I wait for Number Eleven to address me. Surely she has something to say to me when I’m the one who bested her.
But Number Eleven’s lips are sealed tight. She twists her wrists, trying to free herself, but the chains merely clank against each other and hold her fast.
I move close so that only she can hear me and murmur, “You tried to be these women’s savior, but you couldn’t even save yourself. You’ve failed, Number Eleven, as I always knew you would. It was amusing to watch you struggle on the end of my rope for a few days.”
Number Eleven stays silent when she should be begging for my mercy. That chain is going to bite into her wrists all night. Her muscles will scream for release, and she won’t know a moment’s rest unless she passes out.
Hardened bitch. I would have liked to hear her beg but she won’t give me the pleasure.
“You’re eliminated, and tomorrow, Elyah is going to kill you. Enjoy your last night on this earth,milaya.”
15
Elyah
The moment I open my eyes in the morning, my stomach heaves. I pull myself over the edge of my mattress and vomit onto the floor. I retch painfully half a dozen more times until my stomach is empty.
I roll onto my back with a groan, realizing I’m covered in sweat. Bile burns the back of my throat. It must have been the cold chicken I ate last night that’s made me sick. Halfway through eating, I thought it smelled suspect.
What a fucking night. I dreamed I was in prison back in Russia, only my cell was in the basement of this villa and Lilia was my jailer. She crowned herself with Konstantin’s pink diamond tiara, only she didn’t realize it was covered in murderous spikes. I shouted at her to stop, but she merely looked at me while she pulled it down on her head with all her strength and drove the spikes into her skull. Blood ran down her face and dripped from her hair, and she whispered with blank, white eyes, “I win.”