Page 64 of Silent as Sin
Bars.
I was in a cage. The space felt too small for my hands, for my breath. Panic rose like bile. Venom’s laugh cracked across memory—sweat, leather, the sting of a slap—and for a second I was back in his room.
Only it wasn’t Venom.
It was Bones.
He lounged like a man who built his own hell. One boot hooked on the rung of his chair, the other flat, arms draped loose over his knees. His grin was a slash, all practice and no warmth.
“Well, well.” His voice slid through the bars, soft as oil. “Puppy’s awake.”
The word landed like a stone. Venom had used it, ownership disguised as a pet name, and Bones made it sound even filthier. My body flinched before my mind caught up.
Bones saw it. His smile sharpened. “Oh yeah. That one fits. Soft. Quiet. Always following the leash.”
I pushed back until the bars bit through my shirt. My fingers curled around cold steel, nails scraping. “Why—” The word stuck. “Why are you—”
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes glinting like a trap. “Why am I keeping you? Watching you? Wondering how your Devil’s House assholes will look when I hand them back pieces instead of a whole?”
Ashen’s hands, Ashen’s smell, the way he said my name—all of it steadied something brittle inside me. I held it like a talisman.
He didn’t have to say Ashen.
My fingers tightened on the bar until my knuckles cracked white.
Bones’s laugh was low and mean. “Venom didn’t understand leverage. Thought you were a toy, broke it, tossed it to die. Me? I deal in currency.” He tapped his fingers together as if counting money. “You saw things, puppy. You saw the wrong people in the wrong places. You listened to the wrong men on the wrong nights. That’s worth more than flesh. You’re a leash. Whoever holds you owns the man who wants you.”
My breath caught. Images slid under my ribs, flesh traders, drug dealers, a ledger shoved under a mattress, men who werekilled at the ranch. Things I’d been forced to watch. That was why he wanted me. I felt small and dangerous all at once.
Bones rose with the silence of someone used to making rules. He crouched so his face hovered inches from mine; the air smelled of smoke and rot. Up close his eyes were small and hungry.
“So here’s the thing,” he said, voice almost tender. “You spill what you know, you make the man who owns you beg on his knees. You don’t? I keep you alive for a long time. Break you down slow. Make him watch. Or—” He tapped the chair arm, casual as a man scheduling an appointment—“I fold you nice and ship you back with receipts. Let him choke on the bill.”
Each word fell colder than the last. I imagined Ashen’s grief and felt something in me shift, a crack toward fury.
“You think breaking me will break him?” My voice came out watery but there, a rebellion in sound. “Ashen will kill you.”
For a heartbeat Bones blinked, surprised, then barked a laugh that tore at the air. He slammed the bars with his palm; the clang rattled my teeth. “Look at that,” he crooned. “Little puppy trying to bark.” His eyes glittered. “Bark louder if you want. Maybe he’ll hear before I cut your throat.”
My body shook. I tasted iron and fear and, beneath it, a whisper of defiance. I thought of Ashen’s rough palm closing over mine the night before. Small. Precious. Refusing to burn out.
Bones toyed with something on the table, a length of twisted silver wire, fingers idly coiling it. Up close I saw the tiny scars on his knuckles, a map of other fights. He watched my trembling like a man watching wires vibrate under strain.
“You know,” he said conversationally, tapping the wire, “you could make this interesting for me. Tell me something to make him hurt. Names. Places. Or keep trying to be brave.” He leaned in, cold breath brushing my cheek. “I do like it when they try.”
Oh, I knew. I’ve witnessed it many times over the past few years.
Still, I didn’t say anything. Instead, I folded the fear into something smaller, a bead I could roll beneath my palm and feel through the bars.
Minutes stretched. A vehicle passed somewhere far off, its sound swallowed by concrete. Bones’ shadow moved once, twice. He strolled back to his chair as if sheathing a blade.
“So, it’s break you,” he hummed. “I’ve got time.”
He fished out a key and I braced.
Then his phone lit up. He answered, listened, cursed. Shoved the key back in his pocket. “Duty calls,” he muttered, irritated at losing his sport. “Rest. You’ll need it.”
His laugh followed me as I curled into the corner of the cage, knees to chest, bars digging into my hip. Tears came hot, each one a small surrender, but under them the spark stayed—faint, stubborn.
