Page 78 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Pailtyn

T he world narrows to the sound of my choked, strangled screams and the rush of water invading what feels like every orifice.

I thrash more out of instinct against the restraints that are cutting into my skin.

Only, the water keeps coming. It’s a relentless torrent that fills my lungs, stealing the air I so desperately need.

Time stretches, each second turns into an eternity of suffering. Just when I think my lungs will actually burst, it all stops.

I gasp, coughing up water, choking on the air that now feels foreign. The fabric is ripped from my face, and I blink away the tears and water, as my lungs physically burn.

“Ready to talk yet?” one of the men asks, his voice both cold and detached.

I can imagine the sneer that must be playing on his lips. I try to speak, but all that comes out is a wheezing cough that rips at my bruised throat.

I know I could play the part they want, that I could plead and beg as they expect. But why should I? Why do I have to pretend? I spent my entire life up to now pretending. Smiling, simpering allowing everyone to use and abuse me and it didn’t help, did it. It didn’t ease my suffering.

No, I won’t pretend. I won’t deny what I am now. What I’ve turned into. What I was forced to become simply to survive.

I take in one last delicious hit of air then shake my head as best I can. Let them do their worst. I fucking dare them.

The other man grabs my face again, his fingers digging into my cheeks. “Wrong answer.” he growls.

Fabric is shoved over my face once more and with it, my adrenaline surges, my heart beats so fast I think it might explode.

Now, wouldn’t that be a fine thing? I go out with a bang right when they think they’re winning.

My lips pull despite the pressure against them and I cackle sounding every bit like a witch on Halloween.

“Crazy fucking bitch is laughing.” One of them says.

“We’ll see how funny she thinks it is by the time we’re done.” The other growls, yanking on my hair enough that I know he’s pulled some from my scalp.

Water rushes in again. It swallows me whole, and I imagine I’m a fish, a whale even, that I’m in the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean and this is just part of it. That I’m gulping down fish, eating all that I can. I’m gobbling up mouthful after mouthful instead of drowning.

But then the waves get too high, the water is too much.

My fantasy shatters and reality hits me in a way I can’t deny. I thrash harder, I kick out and they must think I’m giving in, that I’m submitting because it all stops. Everything stills.

Someone pinches my face, barely letting me splutter up the contents on my lungs.

“Who else was involved? Who helped you kill Gunther?”

Fear, panic, so many emotions I’ve buried too deep to acknowledge come rushing back at the sound of that name. So, this is what it’s about. This is why I’m here. It’s the same old shit as before, the same ghosts still haunting me.

I hate it. I hate that even now this man has that effect. Has that power.

“I didn’t kill anyone.” I say, not that it matters. I know they won’t believe me. No one ever does.

The second man laughs, a harsh, bitter sound that echoes around this awful space. “We all saw you, we saw the blood, and the dagger in your hand. Question is, how you managed it considering you can’t see fuck all.”

I snarl back. I don’t even think it through but the way he taunts me about my sight makes me go absolutely feral.

His hands grab at my face, his fingers dig into my cheeks, and he holds me still, while that fabric comes down again.

The water starts, quickly filling my mouth, my nose, my lungs. I fight against it, my body convulsing as I try to find air where there is none.

The world starts to go dark, my focus tunnelling as oxygen deprivation sets in.

Just as I think I’m going to pass out, just as I’m so close to disappearing into the darkness, the fabric is pulled away and I gasp, choking and coughing once more.

“This can stop anytime you want,” the first man says, his voice almost gentle despite its distortion. “Just tell us who else was involved. Give us their names, and all this pain goes away.”

I shake my head, spitting water back at them. My breath coming in ragged gasps that hate I so much. I don’t want them to think that I’m afraid of them, that I’m afraid of this. I’ve endured far fucking worse and lived, haven’t I? But I’m stupid enough to try to rationalise with them all the same.

“I can’t give you what I don’t have. I didn’t kill anyone.” I retort.

Let me go. Let me slip back into the darkness and just stay there.

The second man growls, his grip on my face tightening. “You think this is a game? You think you can just lie your way out of this?”

It’s a fucking shit game, that’s what it is.

The first man sighs, his voice tinged with disappointment. “Very well. If that’s how you want to play it.”

The fabric comes down again, and the water starts like this is a bad movie on repeat. Only, this time, I don’t fight it at all. I lie there. I let the darkness take me, let it pull me under.

Maybe, if I’m really lucky, I won’t wake up. Maybe this will all be over and then I’m free. I’m done.

In my head I can hear a lullaby, I can almost hear the demons of hell singing, welcoming me home. I hold my hands out, offering them for all the devils to take. I’m coming home. I’m finally coming home.

But luck has never been on my side, has it?

My body convulses violently as I cough up the fluid from my lungs. Life, reality all of it hurts as I take in one horrible breath after another.

I know I’m back in the room, strapped to the board, and those men are still there, ready to hurt me more.

“Welcome back,” the first man says, his voice cold. “Ready to talk yet?”