Page 53 of Flame and Fury

We move silently down another corridor until we reach the very last door. The man opens it and impatiently waves me inside. “These will be your quarters. Stay here until someone comes for you.”

The door clicks shut, and I hear a gasp. Spinning around, I lay eyes on the one person I was hoping to see here. Lark. She’s sitting on a cot with her hands clasped over her mouth, shaking her head. Her eyes are wide as she stares at me. She looks worn out.

“No. What happened? Why are you here?” Lark hops off the cot, her voice a mere whisper. “Are you hurt?”

Lark reaches out like she’s about to give me a hug but cringes when she sees my torn and bloody shirt and bandages.

“Well,” I think through all her questions and try to answer each. “There was another challenge. I got shot. And stabbed.”

Lark sucks in a breath.

“Then I got sold in some creepy auction and, surprise, here I am.”

Lark nods. “I didn’t know about the auction. Did you?”

“No.” I grit my teeth. It’s all I can get out without the rage overwhelming me.

“Wren. They’ll be back in here soon.” Her eyes dart toward the door. “You need to be prepared.”

I groan and scrub my hands over my face. “What else?”

Lark holds out her arm, showing me a raised scar on her forearm.

“That greasy cleric had a pin with the same triangle symbol.” My shoulders ache. My Fury presses at the confines of my skin. “What did they do?”

“That’s Grima,” Lark says, pressing her mouth into a flat line. “He sucks.”

“No kidding.”

She pulls me over to one of the cots and tugs on my hand until I sit down. “Nathaniel likes to make sure everyone knows we’re his property. He brands all his servants.”

Gods, could the man be any more despicable?

Lark and I are left alone for a glorious twenty minutes where she fills me in on what’s happened to her since the Hydra challenge. I almost forget where I’m at when the door opens and four of the biggest dudes I’ve ever seen lumber inside. Lark grabs my hand and squeezes my fingers tight.

Oh, fuck, I know what this is. I really don’t want to go through with this. Short of beating these assholes up and running right now, I’ll have to suck it up.

Sweeping in behind them is the greasy-haired man Lark called Grima. I wonder if that’s his real name or a nickname. I once read a book with a character named Grima and I can’t imagine anyone naming their kid after him. People are fucked up, though, so what do I know.

“Miss Torres. I think we can all be civilized here, can’t we?” Grima purrs as he stands just inside the door. Clasped in his hand is the handle of a black leather bag reminiscent of old timey doctors.

“Considering you know my name, but you haven’t introduced yourself, I think we’re already failing?” Lark may have told me who this dick is, but he doesn’t know that.

Grima the Greasy glares at me and the tops of his ears get pink as if he’s embarrassed by my chastisement. And yet, he still doesn’t tell me his name. Instead, he squints at me with irises so pale they’re almost white.

He snaps his fingers. “Bring her.”

I’m getting really sick of people snapping their fingers at me.

The four goons march across the room and surround me. I give Lark a reassuring smile before I look up at the two men directly in front of me.

“I really don’t need an escort across the room.”

“Shut your mouth,” Brute Number One says. They remind me a little of Tyson with overly inflated muscles that swallow their necks. They’re all wearing the same clothing; cheap suits that barely fit. I wonder if they flex and their muscles rip through the fabric. The household uniform budget must be insane.

Standing up, I don’t bother fighting. I let the massive men pull me across the floor to a padded table in the corner of the room. The last thing I need is to be locked in a cell. Hell, this place probably has a dungeon. It’s going to be hard enough to escape without setting up more obstacles for myself.

“At least you’re good at obeying some orders,” Grima sneers, grinning at me. Even his smile is oily. “Strap her down.”

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