Page 117 of The Firebrand
Braelyn didn’t pick up on any talking. Across the way, a dark-haired woman curled into a fetal position.
“Hey,” Braelyn whispered.
Instead of turning around, the other captive rhythmically banged her temple against the floor. Her clothes were thread-bare. The soles of her feet were filthy, and her hair was matted.
Braelyn whispered louder the second time. Still, the woman didn’t respond.
When loud voices floated toward her and boots thudded on the concrete, Braelyn stumbled to the spot where she had awakened, throwing herself back onto the dirty, cold floor. The sounds passed her, heading down the hallway.
Snick. A key slid into a lock.Skwee. A cell door creaked open. Braelyn peeked under her arm, but the action was outside her range of vision.
A woman wailed, her cries desperate. “No, please, leave me alone. I can’t take it.” In moments, her wails turned to whimpers.
A man with a thick drawl said, “Come on, you’ve got a visitor. Make nice now or no food later. If you want a yummy dinner, you know what to do. Yell when you’re done. I’ll be back.”
“No, please,” she pleaded.
Thwish. Thwish.Something was dragged along the floor. Or someone. “Oh my God, no,” the woman shrieked.
A bestial, low growl drowned out the prisoner’s whimpered pleas.Whap.A slap connected with something soft.
Braelyn pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block the horrible noises.
Growl. Whap!
A nasal voice protested, “Wake up. I’m coming. Yes, yes. Wake up, bitch.”
Whap.
“What the hell? I didn’t get my turn. Look what you did.” The bestial voice snarled.
The nasal voice responded, “Look what I did? We are both here. Not my fault you didn’t get to fuck her.”
Their guttural laughter echoed through the hall, followed by fists pounding on a wall or door. “Open up. We’ve finished. You’ll want to toss the bitch out.” More low cackling.
“What have you done?” asked the returning man with a drawl. “You owe extra for killing her, bastards. Now I’ll be in deep shit with the boss.”
“Fuck if we give you anything more, Kur,” said the nasal voice. “She wasn’t much good anyway. I hardly got off.”
Braelyn scuttled to the wall, burying herself under her arms.
Where the hell am I?
When she peeked, a shadow crossed in front of her cell, followed by its owner, a man with long white hair swinging around his shoulders. He was an ominous specter, wearing black pants, a dark untucked shirt, and rubber-soled, silent boots. Braelyn didn’t lift her head to see him more clearly, but he could be Silas.
The shadowy presence bellowed, “What the fuck is going on, Kur?”
No, he was not Silas. He was a different monster.
Kur drawled, “She’s dead.”
“Damn you. Who did this?” asked the specter.
“They did, Aisen,” drawled Kur.
“How did they get in here?” asked the Silas look-alike.
“He let us in,” explained the bestial, gruff voice. “We paid fair and square for her. Hey, wait. What are you doing?”
