Page 22 of Bones
I resisted the urge to look at the bite mark on Trey's arm.
“Madame will have—” he hesitated for the briefest moment, “—special projects for you from time to time. But if you follow orders, you can make a real place here.”
After last night I knew what sort of “special projects” I’d be expected to do. I couldn’t torture anyone like that again. Icouldn’t.
You’ll do what you have to to survive,Wolf growled.
Angry tears burned my throat. A small part of me had hoped this would be different, and I hated myself for it. They may have treated me better, but nothing had really changed. I’d exchanged Juck for Madame, the Reapers for Mac’s crew. With Juck I’d been forced to watch people Icouldsave die, and here I’d be forced to heal people who’d probablypreferto die than experience endless torture. Gods, I would never be able to atone for anything. Why couldn’t I just heal people without hurting them?
I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but my temper got the best of me.
“So that’s what you two did, then?” I asked in an impudent tone I knew would not end well for me. “Followed orders? Just torture a few people here and there?”
Trey recoiled, but Mac’s expression turned dark.
“Watch your mouth, Bones,” Mac snarled.
He sounded so much like Wolf that I saw red. “Or what?” I snarled right back. “You’ll tell Madame that I’muncooperative?”
“Bones, we’re trying to help you—” Trey tried to interject.
“I don’t want your fucking help!” I leapt to my feet, my voice raising. “I never wanted it! I don’t want to be a part of your fucking crew. I didn’t ask for any of this!”
I raised my arm, preparing to hurl the empty ceramic mug at his head, but Mac darted between us and seized my arm. The cup shattered on the floor by our feet, and I gasped as Mac jerked me closer, his flinty eyes glittering.
“Weare not trying to help you,Treyis trying to help you. I didn’t ask for this either, but it’s done, and I sure as hell am not gonna let you endanger any more of my crew with your attitude. You wanna be uncooperative? Fine by me. I’ll give you up to Madame. She loves sending people to the whipping post.”
“Madame oryou?”I hissed, trying to wrench my arm free.
I thought I saw the hit I expected coming and flinched, but Trey grabbed his shoulder and yanked him away, whispering to him. Mac shrugged him off, still glaring at me, but he stayed back.
“Rations are handed out at dawn and dusk at the bells. You don’t go anywhere without a guard, and if you even think about trying to get through the wall, Madame will make you wish you were dead. And then you’ll have to answer tome.” He gave me a final glare before he turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him.
In the silence, Trey let out a long sigh.
“I’ll be outside if you need anything,” he said before following Mac out the door.
I clenched my jaw hard to keep from screaming in frustration as angry tears pricked at my eyes. I wished I’d let Trey bleed out on that rooftop. I wished I’d let Mac bleed out in Madame’s dungeon. Mostly I just wished Lana had shot me.
Survive,Wolf snarled.
I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to get my raging emotions back under control. It didn't work much, so I cleaned up the shattered mug at my feet and started stomping around the small clinic, taking stock of what supplies I had. Judging by how much dust and cobwebs covered everything, the clinic had been empty for a while. The few mismatched cabinets in the kitchen contained a random assortment of medical supplies like IV tubing, scissors, a worn stethoscope, tourniquets, needles, and neatly folded bandages. An ornate hutch held various tiny bottles labeled in spidery handwriting and a few ancient bottles of pills with faded print. The steel sink in the corner actually worked, with cold clear water gushing out when I turned the knob. A wood-burning stove stood in the other corner, and large pots to heat up water hung on the wall. A faded leather chair sat near the cabinet. It had a footrest and a headrest and as I stepped on the lever by the floor, I discovered it moved up and down too. I also found a notebook with notes about patients and procedures and recipes for various ointments and tinctures. Whoever had been the healer before me had put in a lot of work to keep the clinic neat and organized.
I eyed the small safe. I’d occasionally had narcs to use on the Reapers, but they were a luxury and a liability. Nine times out of ten, they were stolen and used recreationally unless Juck kept them locked up in his tent. I tried lifting the safe. It didn’t budge. At least somebody would have a hard time getting it out of the clinic.
Three small windows in the loft let in some sunlight. I couldn't see anything but the sky, but I liked the natural light. I tried flipping the light switch near the door, peering up at the single-bulb head hanging from the ceiling. Nothing happened, but I knew the hold had power because there'd been lights on in the watchtower. I climbed up the loft ladder to find a less dirty square where the mattress must have been, a small dresser, empty except for a few spiders, and a wooden chair.
I stood in the middle of the loft, a lump in my throat. This could have been something special. I had my own clinic. Icoulddo good here, but would it even count with all my “special projects?” I remembered the awe I felt the first time I healed, my childish excitement that I could ease suffering. It seemed so simple then, but instead I’d been forced to hide my power my whole life. Now I finally didn’t have to hide, but I was…I wastorturingpeople.
If my brother could see what I’d become, he would be horrified.
I shoved that rogue thought back into the dark depths of my mind where it belonged. All I could do was keep going, even as the thought filled me with a bone-weary exhaustion. I had to keep going. I had to keep trying to make up for all the blood on my hands, it was the only option, and it was my burden to bear. I would find a way out of here. In the meantime, I just had to play along.
I scared the shit out of Griz when I threw open the door, sweeping a cloud of dust outside. He peered inside coughing as I dumped out my bucket of dirty water, noting my progress at cleaning everything.
“Lookin’ good,” he said before returning to his chair, leaning it back to balance on two legs with a rifle resting on his knees.
I stared at the gun, my stomach turning. I wasn’t sure if he had it to keep mecooperativeor to keep other people away.
