Page 29 of Wrathful King
“H-how long?” I stammered.
“Years.” He laughed and strode to the wet bar, pouring himself a drink while I looked for something sharp I could use as a weapon. With each step I took though, I felt myself becoming even more sluggish. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, let alone allowed myself to sleep for more than a few scattered minutes.
My eyes blurred and I shook my head to clear my vision. A second later, my gaze caught on the ice pick on the bar counter. It was the perfect weapon. I could stab him in the eye. Fuck the eye, he could come back from that. No—I’d stab him in the throat.
God, is this what my life had become?
“Are you going to offer me a drink?” My voice grew distant, the fog in my brain thicker. I closed my eyes, giving my head another shake.
Seconds passed and turned into minutes. My eyes twitched as I fought the urge to glance at the ice pick. Instead, I stared at him, hoping he wouldn’t see right through me.
“Your poison?”Holy fuck.He fell for it. Heactuallyfell for it.
I’d stab him and scream for the guards, then I’d slip away while they were busy and make a run for it. I had no idea where the fuck I would go, but anywhere was better than here.
“Whiskey.” I squared my shoulders, my body trembling.
He shot me a surprised look, but I schooled my features and channeled my grandmother’s acting talent, already seeing my plan clicking into place. My strides measured and slow, I made my way to the minibar. One step, two steps, three, and I was next to my target.
“You’re lucky. This here is a three-hundred-year-old whiskey.”
When I could be sure that his focus was on the bottle’s prized label, I snatched the ice pick from the table. He heard the clank, likely from how my hands trembled, and turned just as I managed to plunge the pick into his shoulder, piercing his skin and sending blood spurting.
He let out a howl and backhanded me, sending me crashing onto the hard marble. My head hit the unforgiving ground and stars exploded behind my eyelids. Pain shot down my spine, ripping my breath from my lungs.
Before I could do anything, the guards were on me.
“Puta!” Perez shouted, kicking my ribs. Agony shot through me and the buzzing in my ears increased until it was a constant vibration in my skull.
His hands encircled my neck and he pounded my head into the marble, his knuckles turning white from the exertion. It felt like my skull was being cracked open, and before long, my vision turned black.
Panic reared its ugly head, and my earlier instincts dimmed.
Fight, cinnamon girl.Somewhere in the scuffle, I heard Amon’s voice.Fight, damn it.
My will to escape kicked in anew and had me clawing at his hands, leaving bloody marks over his skin. Another hit against the marble.
The taste of copper invaded my mouth.
“Clean her up and take her to the basement.”
This was it. My end.
My life flashed before my eyes, and I could do nothing but cling to the good memories. The happy ones.
Until I was out like a light.
* * *
Once upon a time, I sat on the floor of the shower in my Paris apartment and inflicted pain on myself with a blade. I craved the release of pressure in my chest, the feel of the metal on my skin… all so I could survive another day.
Yet, at this very moment, I couldn’t understand why. That pain felt insulting after the shit I’d been through lately.
I was forced to stand under a rusty hose while one of the guards leered at me. I stood there just long enough to wash the dirt off my body and brush my teeth, hurrying to wrap a towel around myself. I couldn’t linger in the comfort of the warm water on my skin, even after weeks without the luxury, because I had to stay angry. Determined.
The guard threw a white nightgown my way and I dressed, focused on shielding myself from his predatory gawking. Once I slid it on, I curled my brittle fingers around the stained yellow sink and found my reflection in the filthy mirror.
It wasn’t good. I barely recognized myself. My face was a palette of bruises. My curls were tangled and matted with blood, making me rethink my short shower. And my eyes… They couldn’t be mine. They looked hollow, dead. Black circles rimmed them, and the skin beneath was almost translucent.
