Page 86 of Royal Havoc

“Or what?” she asks casually, standing, twirling the metal rod like a baton.

Footsteps sound from the left. “I don’t think she’s happy,” Mr. Brickman’s voice crawls from the shadows.

“The dark queen’s never happy,” Amy responds, and the name she uses to refer to me punches at my sanity.

“The fuck? What did you just call me?” I hiss, panic battling with the confusion in my throat, almost choking me.

Her evil laugh boomerangs off the cinder block walls surrounding us. “You’re the queen.”

“You don’t know shit about me.”

Again she laughs, pissing me off more. Clicking her tongue. “It’s better to be quiet if you don’t know something. If not, you end up sounding stupid,” she lectures, tapping the rod on my foot.

My toes curl as all my muscles contract at once. I groan loudly, rolling around on the concrete.

Copper lingers on my taste buds. “I’m going to shove that rod up your ass,” I slur, trying to regain control of my quivering body.

Mr. Brickman finally appears, hovering on the opposite side of me. He stares lovingly at the lunatic for a second before he speaks. “We should sit her on the bed,” he suggests hesitantly, and it seems as though he’s trying not to frustrate her.

“We should let the rats chew on her for a while.”

“Do you… Are you guys friends?” I ask him.

His signature wicked smile covers his lips. “I love her,” he answers simply.

“But you said you weren’t married?” I question, shimming around, testing the zip ties holding my wrists and ankles.

Both of them laugh together. “She’s my princess.”

Fuck me, don’t vomit.

I huff, swallowing the hateful words teetering on the edge of my tongue. “What is this place?” I ask her, hoping to distract them until I can figure out a way to get myself free.

“The Row. The place good girls can be as bad as they want. Unless you cut a girl's tongue out, and carve slut in her chest. Doc didn’t really approve of that. Although, I sliced his jugular and danced in his blood. So he doesn’t really matter.” She shrugs, completely void of any remorse.

It’s like she just told me the sky is blue.

My eye starts to twitch hearing her explanation. “Is this a prison?” I ask, glancing at the bars now that my eyes are growing used to the darkness.

They look at each other. “It’s an asylum,” Mr. B answers, and I notice her nod in agreement.

She really is a psycho.

Should crazy really be calling names?

Fuck off!

The sound of a phone vibrating breaks the silence. “What’s up, Ollie?” Mr. B answers, the light from the screen revealing the reality of the grotesque floor they’ve thrown me on.

It appears years of dirt covers every surface in this place. Red and brown stains litter the concrete around me. My belly turns when the thought I might be lying in someone’s dried blood occurs to me, and I shove it away as fast as I can. Chipped paint and decay cover the bars, while tiny piles of what I assume are bones fill the corners of the cell.

“She’s here. We were chatting before you rudely interrupted,” B jokes into the phone, pacing around the small space. He stops beside me and looks down, holding out his phone. “Tell him you’re alive.”

My brows scrunch at his request. “Fuck you.”

“See? That’s proof, right?” he counters, returning the phone to his ear.

“My arms are going numb,” I grit up at Amy, wiggling around to try and gain some circulation. “Can I sit up?”

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