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I grit my teeth as I try again to unzip my pants. The rope digs into my chafed wrists, and they scream in protest. It takes an agonizing amount of time, but I finally manage to unbutton my jeans, then drag them, the long johns beneath them, and my underwear all down.

Pestilence’s impersonal gaze is on me, looking at my lady goods, which are on full display.

Kill me now.

He curls his lip.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “but if this fucking bothers you, then you can step outside.” And let me pee then escape in peace.

“Empty yourself, human. I’m tired of standing here.”

Muttering several curses beneath my breath, I do just that.

A horseman of the apocalypse is watching me pee.

Of all the sentences in the English language I could’ve come up with,thatis not one I ever imagined thinking. I bite back a crazy laugh. I’m going to die, but not before my dignity is murdered first.

Wiping myself, flushing, then pulling my pants back up takes even longer—as does washing my hands.

At least there stilliswater to wash my hands with. Unlike household electricity, running water was hit far less severely. Why beats the hell out of me, though I’m not going to complain. It’s helped put out many a fire since the world ended.

Once I’m finished, the horseman leads me back down the hall, giving my restraints a jerk that nearly throws me off my feet. And then I’m tied to that damn railing once more and he’s back to the fire.

“So is this what you do?” I ask. “Go from town to town and invade people’s homes?”

“No,” he says over his shoulder.

“Then why did we stop here?” I ask.

He exhales, like I’m impossibly tedious—which I am, but honestly, homeboy has a long learning curve ahead of him because he ain’t seennothingyet—and ignores me.

That’s his main move, I’m coming to find.

I turn my attention from his back to my injured wrists.

“What happened to the others?” I ask, more subdued.

“What others?” he responds gruffly.

I’m honestly shocked he’s still engaging with me.

“The others who tried to kill you.”

The horseman turns from the fire, his icy eyes catching the light from the flames. “I ended them.”

I don’t see any remorse on his face for those deaths, either.

“So then I’m your first kidnap victim?” I probe.

He huffs. “Hardly a victim,” he says. “But I will keep you and make an example of you. Perhaps then your dimwitted kind will think twice about plots to destroy me.”

Now and only now is my predicament really hitting me.

I’m not letting you die. Too quick, he’d said.Suffering is made for the living. And oh, how I will make you suffer.

An unbidden shiver runs down my spine. Bloody wrists and aching legs might be the least of my concerns.

The worst, I’m sure, is yet to come.