Page 77 of Wicked Deceit
She snarls at me like a rabid dog, growling and spitting saliva. “Shut up!” She shouts, waving her hands. “Shut the fuck up!”
I manage a manic grin through ragged breaths, revealing my blood-soaked teeth, trying as I might to seem tough and put together while my reality is closing in faster and faster. Here and now are the last seconds I’ll be on Earth.
“Make me,” I growl. My throat aches. Everything aches. But I hold tight to the wrench, heavy in the palm of my sweaty, tingling hands.
Hadley’s screech is the only sign she’s coming for me. Her feet pound against the floor, fist rising above her head to strike, leaving her face vulnerable and primed for my ambush. She never questioned why I wasn’t tied up.
None of them did. They simply faced me and took in our exchange with pleasure. It was all part of their plan.
I was sure it was, up until the wrench pounds into her cheek, crushing her teeth and jaw, sending her to the floor with a squeal of pain.
“Fuck!” the other hooded figure shouts, marching toward me.
“Theee hissttt meeee!” She wails on the ground, rocking back and forth, clutching her bloody cheek.
“I’ll do it again, " I wheeze, clutching onto the pole for dear life. My knees knock together, my ankles weakening, and I know I'm about to go down.
The hooded figure closest to me wraps an arm around my neck, applying pressure to all the right areas. I laugh at Hadley’s injuries.
“That’s—what—you—get!” I cry out with all my might as darkness takes over my vision, plummeting me into oblivion.
Silencegreetsmethemoment my mind rouses. Pain sings a song of sorrow and defeat throughout my body, aching and throbbing with every slow heartbeat thumping in my chest. Static rings in both ears, drowning out any other sound. For a suspended moment, I forget where I am and what’s happened to me over the course of—well, I don’t know how long. I know I'm somewhere strange, locked with killers I want nothing to do with. But how did I get in this wooden chair digging into my butt? And why are my hands locked to each chair's armrest, secured with more rope digging into my previous wounds?
Keeping my breathing the same, I try to take stock of where I am without alerting my captors that I’m awake. I take several deep breaths, listening as hard as I can through the constant ringing in my ears. Silence greets me in every direction, giving me the impression I’m alone. But I know I’m not. I feel their heated stares from somewhere. Whether they’re viewing me from their control room or standing across the room silently waiting for me to wake, I know their eyes are on me—their prey.
A gloved hand moves to my throat, lifting my chin from my chest. Agony spears through me from the movement, and I swear I’m about to shatter into a million pieces. I cry out from the pain, unable to hold it back.
"Open your eyes, little rabbit," a distorted voice demands, prying my eyelids open with their fingers.
Pain pierces like a knife through my swollen-shut eye, feeling like broken glass sitting beneath my puffy lid, poking and scratching my eye. I cry out as water fills my eyes, leaking down my face. My cry reverberates through the small room as my eyelid slams back shut. I shake out of his hold as much as I can with the person holding my neck from behind, leaving me be.
A chuckle rumbles in front of me, pulling away from my body toward the other side of the room. "Wakey, wakey, rabbit. We have big plans for you." His distorted voice sends shivers down my spine, and dread pools in the depth of my belly.
This is my end.
Through ragged breaths, I peel my good eye open. Water continually pours from it, blurring the hellish room they’ve put me in. Slowly, it comes into focus. And God, I wish I was dead. I'm in yet another room decorated the same way: moldy orange carpet, peeling flowery wallpaper, holes in the plaster, and water stains on the ceiling. A long mahogany bar sits toward the edge of the room, wrapped in a worn black leather, ripped and torn from years of neglect. A large dirt-caked mirror with liquor shelves sits above it, empty, with smears swirling across the glass. Thick black curtains hang from poles attached to the worn ceiling, blocking any windows from view. How they attached it without bringing the place down baffles me.
Reservation settles over me, and my shoulders slump in defeat. A festering feeling deep in my gut lets me know my fate has been sealed. It’s been sealed from the moment they brought me to this decrepit house and put me in that fish tank. From the moment they tied me to a pole, letting their minion beat the hell out of me. The clock is ticking on the last seconds of my life, and death is imminent. If a miracle doesn’t happen, I’m leaving this place in a black body bag, and the authorities will find my body sometime later. A sad story will follow a small headline about another suicide victim being found, and that will be that. The Apocalypse Society will continue their reign of terror without any recourse to their actions, and I’ll be in the dirt and forgotten.
Three red-hooded figures stand side-by-side in front of me with their arms crossed over their chests. Devious masks are sitting on their faces, much different from the masks of the others. These are intricate, making each individual in red stand out from the sea of black cloaks, giving me the impression that these are the leaders of the society, conducting the choir of chaos.
Their equally scary, black-cloaked minions fill the room with black masks covering their faces again. Even the slumped-over figure in the corner of the room, moaning and groaning with a hand near her face. Hadley—I recognize her instantly without seeing her face. Good—I hurt her and knocked her smug face down a notch. She deserves a million more wrenches to the face until she feels my wrath and pain for everything she made me endure. I’ll even add a little boot kick to the jaw for good measure. Despite the situation, a warm, giddy feeling bubbles up my throat in the form of a giggle, thinking about the scars she’ll wear for the rest of her life. Whenever Hadley Lacey looks at herself in the mirror, she’ll see the reflection of someone who got bested by me. She’ll never forget the day she broke me open, but she’ll never forget that the rabbit fought back and got her small measure of justice.
"Welcome," a distorted voice booms through the room, still hidden behind the mask in place.
I narrow my eyes at the man standing before me, speaking through the mask.
“Coward,” I hiss through my broken teeth with venom, eyeing the man who doesn't flinch at my words. They continue to stare, ignoring my outburst. I don’t dare bite my tongue now because I know whatever they have up their sleeve will hurt. They’ll torture me more until I’m a bleeding stump, and I’ll have no chance of escape.
These villains are nothing more than cowards hiding behind false faces because they can’t fathom facing me themselves. For months they’ve made my life agony. The least they could do is show me their true selves. Even from here, I can tell who they are. It doesn’t take a genius to decipher the three Van Buren brothers, who hide behind false names given to them at their adoptions, standing tall before me.
"We have another exciting event for you this afternoon," says another voice, stepping forward towards a camera placed on a tripod in the middle of the room.
"One of our last events is lot four hundred and seventy-five!" The fingers around my throat flex, forcing my head to the side.
Muffled screams come from the doorway, a desperate woman pleading and begging for her life. Two black-hooded minions carry in another chair similar to mine, occupied by a very distraught and bloodied woman—a familiar woman—I’ve only seen on two occasions before. My aching heart falls into my ass at the sight of Francesca Hurst, Piper’s mother. Cushing's girlfriend, or wife, or whatever she is. Carter mentioned before that they were never married, and I never found solid information about their union. So, what is she doing in my realm of Hell, almost as bloodied and bruised as me?
"For the first time, we are bringing our lots together. Give a round of applause to lots two hundred and twenty-six and four hundred and seventy-five! Facing off in a new game created for your viewing pleasure. Place your bets now on who our victor will be!" The red-robed figure continues speaking into the camera, throwing his arms around in excitement, talking with his hands, and moving his body for the show. He’s perfect for this circus, the ringmaster of it all.
