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“Her red hair distracted me,” he offers, as if I really care, as if I’m jealous he chose her first. “You’re by far the prettiest girl I have ever seen. Ever.”
I blink at him. “Thank you. You’ve been surviving for a long time. Since you were ten?” I steady my breath, stay calm. I’m not afraid. “How old are you now? Have you got a House Girl?” I know the answer, but I need him to say it, for the conversation to continue as I plan.
He finishes the meat in his hand. “Twenty-two, I think. It’s hard to tell when the sun decides not to shine and the moon sleeps for too long. But I believe I’m twenty-two.”
“And girls?”
“Women don’t survive in this lifestyle. No. They don’t live long enough for me to keep.”
I stare straight into his eyes. “I could. I would.”
“You think?” Hesitant, he stares at the other men stirring on their mattresses. “You want to survive with me?”
I hold my panic inside.
What am I doing?
With his blade in his hand, he stands up and crosses the flaming barrel to get to me. He reaches down for my wrist, and I try not to flinch. He gazes at The Silk Girl Sigil in disdain, growling, “You want this thing on you? A womb. That is all you are to them. A womb.”
“I had no choice.”
“Prove it.”
I look at the drain.
Where does it lead…
They’ll be looking for us. Near the broken van? Near the mill? When we are a
The drains are ma
“I’ll cut it off for you.”
His words land a hard blow. “Pardon?” My voice strains with the thought of removing his mark. No. No, I can’t. I won’t. Will he eat it?
He sneers. “So, you’re a liar, then?”
I panic. “No. You just have to prove you don’t think of me as live meat and dispose of it. Do not eat it. Do not eat me. Put it down the drain or,” I swallow, “something.”
A smile moves across his lips. “When Shank told me our Snakes saw a Trade van on the road, I thought he was crazy. Trade vans don’t travel ‘ere.”
My pulse hammers. “What’s a snake?”
“Men that live in the desert for weeks—scouts. They rotate the sand around our Ruins. Our territories. Tell us what’s happening on the roads. They told us about you. Shank said to blow out the tyres, and I thought he was out of his fucking mind. Not a Trade vehicle. Askin’ for trouble.”
“Shank isn’t very smart. We could have had more Guards,” I mutter, keeping soft eye contact. He likes it. The way I am looking at him.
“Worth it; I have you now.”
“Lucky, sure, but not smart,” I confirm.
He sits beside me. I can see the bulge between his legs bunch upward. Yep, he likes my attention a lot.
He pulls my wrist to his lap, his dirty fingers and split nails curling around to hold tight. Drawing the knife up, I look at the rust and blood painting the shiny surface. I force bile back down my throat.
“Don’t eat it,” I say, head heavy.
“You’re nothing like I expected.”
“You’re not what I expected.”
“Come with me.” He is suddenly dragging me into the shadows, away from the others. I ca
I try not to panic. A girl who likes him wouldn’t panic over being alone in the dark with him.
“You want to be mine?” he asks. “I’ll keep you.” I can smell the death on him, his unclean flesh and putrid breath rolling down my skin.
His hands come up to my chest, my body jerking when they both paw softly at my breasts.
“Small. They are small.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no, I like them.” He opens my cloak to expose my dress. It’s a dusty lilac colour, the king’s hue, but he ca
Shit. My throat burns with bile.
Even as I try to remain calm, my body shakes violently. I’ve never been touched by a man before. My hands won’t move, but I think I am supposed to do something.
To touch him.
All I can do is steel my spine and let him fondle, but when his breathing becomes rough and his hands too firm, I blurt out, “I’ve never been with a man.”
I hope that he will slow down, but his hands continue to work on removing my dress; I block out the feeling. Bare, rough fingers slide along my skin; I concentrate on breathing.
Disgusting lips move to mine, meet mine. A tongue pushes in, and I twist my cringe of disgust into a moan of false enjoyment. But when the hard length between his legs presses against me, I stumble backward and hit a wall.
“Wait,” I pant, exhaling his horrid breath from my mouth and inhaling clean air to replace it.
“Okay!” He huffs. “I’ll cut it off first.”
“Cut into the fat, too,” the words spit out, “make sure it’s all gone. Then put it down the drain.”
“You’re a wild girl.”
I sob. “Then we can be free.”
“I am free.”
My hands shake. “We can be free together.”
This might keep me alive, might make him defend me against the others, might… give me time.
Or that piece of me might float down the drain. I don’t know what I’m doing. I grab my forearm, displaying the tattoo, twist my head away, and close my eyes.
A cold blade presses in and slides under my skin, curling the flesh and fat from my muscles, burning a trail so intense it sends violent noises up my throat.
I try to keep quiet, but it hurts, and a real groan crawls along my tongue before I can stop it.
I quickly mutter, “I’m sorry.”
But it is too late.
“Wait. What the fuck?” One of the men is awake, but we are still hidden in the shadows of the large room. “Where is she, you damn fool!”
On a mission, I grab the slice of flesh, perfectly removed—a strip branded by The Trade—and move to the drain. I squat, shoving it between the grates. It disappears under the building and out of sight.
Fat is less dense than water… It might float. It has to float. Float all the way to the dam or irrigate yards that are managed by Trade men. They will see the sigil; they’ll alert someone. It is a wildly arbitrary plan, but it is all I have.
I look down at my wrist, a shiny strip missing, the raw, bloody flesh screaming in the exposed air. My head spins. I lose my fight against the nausea. It swoops in, my muscles loosen, knees buckle, and I drop straight to the floor.
“Your tongue can’t be trusted, little girl. Let’s take it off for you. It gets you in so much trouble.”
His threat rattles between my ears moments before a black silence swallows my world.