Page 29 of A Light in the Darkness
“Very well.” She agrees.
The guard laughs at her. “You’re gonna piss the masters off, you dirty bird.”
“I’m a woman free to fuck whomever I please for whatever sum I wish.” Natalia replies curtly, her eyes snapping to me. “Have you made a selection? The men are at the back, if that’s your preference?”
“Just so many options.” I sigh to cover the nausea threatening to turn my stomach. “But I think I’ll have this one.” I point at the picture, and Natalia smiles a little.
“Our special of the day. Good choice, Mr. Boudreaux.”
The way she says my name tells me she knows who I am, but nobody’s come to escort me off the premises yet, so I guess I’ll just lean in. “I’m assuming your special is usually more compliant as the day wears on and I won’t have to resort to excess force?”
Natalia offers me a small smile. “You may use as much force or as little as you wish, but I assure you by this point, it is well aware of the consequences for failure to comply.”
It.
Kent is assuming that Natalia is a victim here in some capacity, but given her blasé attitude, I have to wonder whether she isn’t here by her own volition. She taps around on the computer, presses a few keys, and then smiles. “The products are being delivered to your room as we speak. If you will have a seat, the escorts will be here momentarily to show you to your room. We hope you enjoy your stay.”
John and I go to sit together, waiting for the guards to come back for us, while Natalia catches Kent’s eye and gestures for himto follow her. He does, tailing her up the steps that she ascends quickly, unhindered by the stilettos on her feet.
I breathe a sigh of relief when she’s gone, wondering what Kent’s game is here. Next to me, John flips through a menu that has been left on the coffee table, as if we’re just at the car dealer waiting on an oil change or something.
We aren’t alone long when two guards come from opposite directions to gather us. “Mr. Boudreaux,” the first says, ushering me toward the other staircase that Kent and Nataliadidn’tgo up.
“Inmate 4152 is currently in use,” the other man tells John. “But they’re just finishing up. I’ll escort you to the room in just a minute.”
John nods, though he looks displeased that someone else has visited the person he’s here to see. “Have fun!” He calls behind me. His laugh follows me up the steps that I trail the guard on. My eyes focus on the briefcase in his hand, assuming that’s where the knife I ordered is stashed.
I’m going to have a very slim window of opportunity here, but my anxiety has gone away only to be replaced with fury. I’ll kill every guard in this place myself, and Natalia too, and I’ll do it without remorse. I haven’t even seen the cells yet, and I’m already so rattled by the horrors here that I want to burn it to the ground. And I will, just as soon as we finish what we started.
We studied the schematics of the castle from before it landed in Davos’ ownership, and with the information John gave Michael, I know when we pass the second-floor landing that the control room is just down there. Once I overtake my chaperone here, I’ll backtrack this way and meet Kent for shift change. A glance at my watch assures me we have twenty minutes left… plenty of time.
Hopefully John has the wherewithal to lie low, given that our timelines will differentiate.
Chapter eighteen
Remy
We take the third-floor landing—or at least, I assume it is the third-floor landing, though when I glance over the balconette as we pass, it looks like we’re much higher than that. To my surprise, there aren’t many doors… just a few on each side, with tarnished gold letters instead of numbers pinned to the dark wood doors. We stop outside of room C for just a moment as the guard ahead of me pulls a key from the ring at his waist.
When he gets the door open, I realize why there aren’t many rooms. If they’re all the same size as this, no wonder there aren’t more. It’s a massive space, with light filtering through a stained-glass window that casts a red glow over the four poster bed in the center of the room. And on the center of the bed is a woman whose long legs drape over the side of the satin sheets. Luxurious, but not very practical.
The woman, 2278, is newer. I know as much because the ‘special’ is, according to John, usually a recent inmate they intend to break. But she doesn’t look broken as she looks at me with hatred in her dark eyes. She looks pissed.
I don’t pay her any more attention as the guard sets the briefcase up on the table and spins the combination. He steps back as I step in, watching me appraise the blade. “This is what you selected, sir?”
I purse my lips, squint my eyes, and lift the knife, testing the edge against my finger. “It seems rather dull.”
The guard furrows his brow and steps toward me to test my claim himself. It gives me the opening I need to lungeat him, wrapping one arm around his mouth and nose and the other pinning him to my front.
I don’t waste a second, ignoring the woman’s scream. I’m sure that no one will think twice about a woman’s scream in a place like this, but I can’t have the guard calling out for help. I press my hand tighter over his mouth as he tries to gnash at me with his teeth, and I let the blade fall to the ground as I grab his chin with one hand, jerking his neck with every bit of energy I have.
I’ve never snapped anyone’s neck before, but it’s surprisingly easier than I thought it would be. My hatred for these people seems to give me animal strength, and I don’t even think about it until it’s done.
The guard falls slack against me before I drop him to the ground, his death instant. He got off easy compared to the torture his prisoners go through, but this mission isn’t about trying to make them pay. This is about doing the greatest good.
I let his body fall to the floor without ceremony and glance up to see that the woman is now holding the blade between us. And it’s all that’s between us, because she is entirely naked, showcasing the bruises and welts across her skin in varying stages of decay—older and yellowing ones beneath purple and blue, intersecting red welts and older scars. I decide to focus on her eyes, which are glaring at me with abject hatred. They don’t even betray a hint of fear.
“It’s okay,” I tell her honestly. “I’m here to help.” I raise my hands to show her that I’m harmless, and then slowly reach for my jacket. I don’t even know if she speaks English, a thought that didn’t occur to me until she stares blankly at me. Hopefully, she at least understands the wordhelp.
