Page 97 of Buried in Blood
And that’s all. No explanation. No clue. Just silence. And that silver tray.
Waiting.
* **
The tray shines under the overhead light, as if it doesn’t belong here.
Like it’s clean. Like it’s merciful.
It’s not.
I flinch when he lifts the cloth covering it.
Underneath—cold metal. Tongs. Gauze. A gag. And at the center, glinting like a predator’s grin, the freeze brand.
My knees give before I realize I’m falling. I catch myself on the edge of the table, breath sharp and ragged in my chest.
Damien hums behind me. Softly. Satisfied.
Like a wolf admiring the trembling of a lamb.
“I thought,” he says, “that since you’re going to be on display soon, you should have something permanent. Something that reminds you where you came from and who you belong to.”
My mouth opens. Closes. The air leaves me like a prayer swallowed by fire.
“Lie down.”
I don’t move, so he grabs me. His fingers are like chains.
I thrash beneath his grip, screaming—begging for him to stop. It’s no use. He is stronger.
He forces me onto the table, straps biting across my wrists and ankles before I can fully register what’s happening.
“No—” I gasp, but the gag is already in his hands.
It’s black. Thick. Fabric that tastes like iron and rot. I scream—only for him to shove it between my lips. Tightly.
He ties it behind my head with slow precision.
“There we go,” he murmurs. “Don’t want you biting your tongue off.”
He leaves the room for only a second. Long enough for my pulse to scream louder than I can. When he returns, the brand is in his hands. It’s misting cold. Frost smokes from the end. It’s shaped like numbers. Four of them. I can’t read them from this angle. I don’t need to.
They’ll be on my body soon enough.
I’ll forever be his property now.
“Breathe through it,” he says gently, like this is a lesson. “Or don’t. It makes no difference to me.”
I try to thrash. I try to twist. The straps cut deeper.
He pins my hip down with one hand.
And presses the brand into my skin.
Right beneath my ribs.
The sound I make isn’t human. It’s muffled and wet and ripped from someplace deeper than I knew existed.
