{Gait}

Dark. Always dark. People came at least three times a day. Ross left them face down on the floor. In the dark.

Somewhere in this hell, Bethany, her little sister, waited for rescue. For help. For her loving older brother and sister to break down the doors to her cage and set her free. But Kyle was busy on Earth. And Ross…

Well, Ross got herself captured. They changed her out of the silk formal wear into a form fitting jumpsuit. The hood over her head crushed the bounce of brown curls over her mouth and eyes, suffocating her. The bastard that locked her in the cage fastened a bit in her teeth. Her sore jaw ached, and she fought not to drown in her own spit.

Guess he didn’t like her rendering his men unconscious day in and day out. Good. Proudly, Ross sat straight on her knees. But found it difficult for the endless hours her wrists were bound and strapped to her tied ankles. Her shoulders wrenched on the verge of popping from their sockets. The leg cramps traveled from her toes up to her lower back. Spasms racked her until tears squeezed from her lashes and salted her cheeks.

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Just give in.

Fuck that. The moment Ross could reach her chain, she’d use it. King Rayne would understand.

The door made little noise when it opened. Perfectly oiled. They climbed the stairs. Slowly now. Ross hoped her reputation reached them all over the course of a week. Yet still they tried to force her to participate. It gave her some practice.

No words exchanged. They never spoke to her or each other. She sensed them in every way but vision. They smelled of expensive colognes that tasted bitter on her smothered tongue. Ross heard their footsteps and their breath. Easy. Sure. Confident and athletic people. And when they touched her, they employed a professional touch. Firm, but not rough. And that’s when she got them.

Dug into their skulls. Scraped at the walls of their memory. Raked her nails on the division of past and present. Left scars.

They groaned and sometimes wailed. This pair fainted without a word. Soon, another person would open the door, check on their progress, and collect them with a heavy sigh.

And so the cycle repeated itself.

When would the monster that ran this place realize, he would never see Ross willingly participate in whatever “daily program” he assigned her? He must watch somehow. Get off on it. Like he did Bethany’s daily torment—

No. When he looked in Ross’s cage, Razor would see her straight and tall. She wouldn’t bend for him. And she’d never break.

Bethany needed her sister strong. And by Elden, Ross would get them out.