Page 17 of Risk
“What I don’t understand is why you’re not more of a mess, Isla. I was in a corner rocking myself when I was taken. I’m not computing why you’re not a drooling disaster or having an epic meltdown.”
“Because this is the safest I’ve felt in weeks, McKenna,” she explains. “It’s the first time I’m not surrounded by men who leer at me and say nasty things in regard to my body.”
“It’s how they desensitize you, Isla.”
“Well, they did a mighty fine job of it,” she laments. “Plus, today’s my birthday.”
My eyes widen and I drop my cup onto the counter and the contents of it splash on my wrist. “Shit.” I begin to hiss like a wet cat as I run over to the freezer and grab one of my cold packs and place it over where it’s burning. “I hope that doesn’t blister.”
Rushing over to me, Isla asks, “Do you have any aloe?”
“I have a plant in my bedroom,” I answer as I begin to dance in place while my eyes water.
“Straight from the source. I’m gonna go break off a stem and I’ll be right back,” she tells me but I’m so busy concentrating on not crying that I don’t respond. Minutes later, she comes back and is applying pressure to the shoot and as liquid oozes from it, I know in mere moments I’m going to have some sort of reprieve.
“It’s not usually this hot,” I remark as she fights me to remove the ice pack.
“We have to get this salve on there or it will blister,” she chides, sounding a helluva lot like my mother when she chastises me. “I promise, it’ll feel better as soon as you let me slather this on.”
“Fine,” I grumble but relent because she’s right.
After she gives it a thick coat, I sigh. “Better?” she asks.
“For now,” I convey. “Happy birthday, Isla. I’m sorry this is how you’re spending your… eighteenth birthday?”
“Yeah. I’m the big one-eight, or I will be once the clock strikes six forty-three tonight, according to my birth certificate. Sucks, huh?”
“It does,” I confirm. “All we can do is make the best of it.”
“How do you propose we do that?” she inquires. When I look over at her, I see sadness written all over her. “From what I took from the conversation yesterday between you and Marshall, this will be my first official training day.”
The reminder slaps me in the face. I was already making mental plans to hit the grocery store, grabbing a pint of ice cream, a couple of cupcakes since I’m not a baker, and whipping her up some spaghetti and garlic toast for dinner. Cheap but filling. “Yeah, but it’s a short day for me. That means I can hit the supermarket around the corner and grab some things to make this day better for you.”
“Pretend like we’re normal?” she snickers.
“At least for a little bit,” I tack on. “Two new friends celebrating life.”
“What there is of it,” she snorts.
“We have to make the best of the hand we’ve been dealt. We’ll never survive otherwise and drown in depression. One day, we won’t be fresh faces or desirable and they’ll let us go.”
“You and I have different presumptions about that,” she whispers. “I don’t see them cutting the strings and wishing us the best.”
“Hopes and wishes are all I’ve got, Isla.”
She tilts her head to the side and counters, “Or we can pray for a knight in shining armor to find us and rescue us like the maidens we are.”
Risk’s face flashes through my mind but I quickly shake that off. He’s better off not being dragged into the middle of this shitstorm. “From your mouth to our knight’s ears.”
“One can only dream,” she subtly adds.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Risk
We’ve beenat this for hours, and so far, these pieces of shits have kept their mouths sealed. We’ve pulled out some of our best tricks, and yet they’ve stayed silent.
