Page 8

Louhi

It could be ten days, or it could be forty, that I’ve been here. I have no idea. Either way, I’m not a fan. The conditions are…subpar, and I’d like to file a complaint. I’m not sure how long my brother plans to keep me in suspense before busting in here and sweeping me away. He’s always been my hero—my steady ground, my protector, my best mate, my savior my entire life.

That’s why when he asked for help, I jumped at the opportunity. He’s never asked me for anything, and knowing I had the ability to repay some of his kindness from the last almost twenty years, I didn’t hesitate. Even if that meant ending up in the armpit of a torture facility.

This isn’t like a regular prison either. This is worse, more severe. Serial killers have it better. No one cares about you here. No one gives a shit if I die. For all I know, I’m already dead to the rest of the world. My name, my face, my identity are simply meaningless now. Obsolete.

I’d hate to have to get a new name when I bust out. I’ve always adored my name . In Finnish, it means “goddess of death” or “snake,” both meanings I claim with equal fervor. It’s what inspired my tattoo, but it’s more than the meaning of my name to me; it’s who I am. I’m the goddess of death to some, yet a snake to others .

Born in Finland, we lived there as a family until I was eleven and my parents were stolen from me. I haven’t resided there since my parents’ murder, but my brother and I meet at their grave on my mother’s birthday every year. A piece of my soul seems to linger in Finland, which is probably why I spend so much of my free time studying Finnish mythology and my heritage.

I miss Finland: the culture, the people, the weather, the history, the landscape. I miss being home .

Pulling my knees to my chest, I inspect my feet. Too bad Kiputytto never answered my silent summoning to erase my hurt. But what’s life without a little pain?

I’ve had to adjust my workouts with my mangled toes. It’s been aggravating, to say the least. At least Digs eliminated the need for me to clip my toenails. Silver lining?

My black fingernails have grown so long though that the black polish is nearly gone. It’s been driving me bonkers, but I can’t seem to chip off the last dregs of polish.

“Jeesus Kristus,” I mutter in my native language, as I run a hand down my filthy hair next. I’m far too vain for this shit. I need a shower in the worst fucking way. The first thing I’ll do when I’m free from this place is soak for hours in a steaming bubble bath with a fat glass of luxurious red wine.

I close my eyes now, attempting to transport myself to that blissful place in my massive washroom at home, but my eyelids fly open as I hear someone approach my cell. Things have been relatively quiet since breakfast, and I almost miss the barrage of noise that the metal music provides.

The guard I’ve heard referred to as Borman appears before my cell door a moment later, and he goes through the motions of unlocking my cage, giving the serpent within me a glimpse of freedom from confinement. I lull her back to her restful state. This is not the time. Not the way. I only need to wait. Practice patience, little sister, my brother would remind me .

Look, I am patient, but my patience has limits.

Never deviating from routine, he shackles me and leads me to the usual interrogation room, and I’m made to sit in a wooden chair this time. My arms are strapped to the armrests and my ankles remain chained.

Something new.

The different set-up tells me that Digs has something fresh up his sleeve. I have an appreciation for his artistic ability to inflict pain in imaginative ways. Digs isn’t as sly as he thinks he is, though. I’m all too aware of his penchant for pain. I’ve caught the way his eyes glint with the hunger to hurt, the desire to see me bleed. I’ve also noticed how his cock thickens behind his zipper when he does something especially heinous.

He’s a sadist, that much is obvious.

When the door eventually opens, Digs and Honey Eyes enter, the latter carrying a small cardboard box. Oh, the intrigue.

“Morning, Louhi,” Honey Eyes chirps, like he’s not about to do something grotesque to me. Both he and Digs have been growing more familiar over the last several sessions, and I can’t help but think that they enjoy my company. Under a vastly different set of circumstances, I might enjoy hanging out with them too. They seem like blokes I’d meet for drinks at a pub to catch up. Okay, so I understand those would be called friends , but it feels odd to see my captors that way.

“Good morning,” I parrot, as Honey Eyes leans against the wall in front of me, box still in hand.

“Feel like talking today?”

I only laugh in reply to Digs’s inquiry. I’ve got to give him credit for asking. Although, I’m smart enough to know that he’d kill me the second he got what he thought he needed.

“That’s what I thought.” Resigned, he holds his hand out to Honey Eyes, who passes him the mystery box.

He takes a knee, his large frame now folding in half so that he’s now eye-level with me. He carefully removes the lid to the small box, and I shift forward, peering inside. What I see has my internal excitement meter reaching new heights.

“Is that a yellow fattail scorpion?” I inquire, barely containing my awe. Those incredible, hearty little creatures are hard to come by, and I’ve never seen one in real life. They’re magnificent, if you’re into tiny venomous beings with impressive exoskeletons, which I am. Really, I’m into anything with venom and poison pumping through their veins. I feel as if I can relate to those buggers, you know?

Tamping down my buzzing sense of exhilaration, I question, “Can I pet it?”

Digs’s head flies up, his blade-colored eyes widening briefly as they meet mine. Just as quickly, his gaze sharpens and narrows as he growls, “No, and if you don’t tell me what I want to know, you won’t get the antivenom if he stings you.”

I roll my eyes dramatically as I sigh. “Of course it’s a male. Did you know that female yellow fattails eat their male partners if they don’t satisfy them during mateship?” I ask, waggling my eyebrows.

“Uh, no, I didn’t know that.”

“I do the same thing.” I bare my teeth and clash my teeth together a few times in a mock display of biting.

Against the wall, Honey Eyes starts chuckling, his laughter growing louder, and I shoot him a wink. I think he presumes I’m kidding, but I’m sort of not. I really did kill a man once after failing to make me climax. In my defense, he was my target before I ever climbed into bed with him. But his lack of bedroom skills certainly made that elimination more satisfying.

“Lou,” Digs chastises on an exhale.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to tell me what I want to know?”

“I think you should refresh my memory. I seem to have forgotten the question since yesterday and the day before that, and the day before that, and the day— ”

“We get it,” Digs says, cutting me off. “What’s the next target?”

Wow, I can’t believe the bellend fell for that. I say nothing, my face a mask of blandness.

He doesn’t speak as he tilts the box so that the Androctonus shuffles out of his home, his tiny feet dancing across my exposed forearm. The hairs covering the scorpion’s legs brush against my own pale olive skin.

Marveling at the little monster the size of my hand as he skitters across my arm, I smile down at him. As arguably the deadliest scorpion, surpassing the Deathstalker in terms of venom, he’s a sight to behold.

I won’t die today, at least this way. I know this for two reasons. The first being that Digs won’t kill me until I tell him what he wants to know. Secondly, because I do not intend to make this little guy crawling around on my body feel threatened in the slightest. I maintain a steady rhythm of breathing, careful not to cause a spike in my heart rate. This scorpion poses no threat to me, and I would rather rip off more of my toenails than hurt him.

I’m not incapable of feeling fear, not by a long shot. I’ve been in terrifying situations before, but none of those have happened since I’ve been here. No, to get to me, you’d have to reach my heart, but I cut off all communication with that disastrous, wayward organ within my chest a long time ago. She’s dead to me, entombed within its ivory coffin, at least where human beings are concerned. So, this scorpion isn’t the danger that these men think he is.

All three of us watch the fattail scorpion fall from my arm to my thigh, thankfully landing on his feet. The room is silent as the miniscule beast pitter-patters over the curves of my thighs that I keep tightly jammed together.

Horror jolts my senses as Digs pulls a lighter from his trousers pocket and flicks it open.

No, no, no .

“Don’t hurt him,” I rush out to stop him, while feverishly attempting to keep my body’s rhythms steady. No way am I going to sit by while I watch him light this little guy on fire. Keeping my gaze on the critter on my lap, I analyze the scorpion’s body language, ensuring the hiccup in my pulse isn’t setting him off.

Glancing up at Digs, while keeping one eye on the venomous creature, his masked head tilts to the side as he studies me, his expression curious and slightly dubious. I clarify by adding, “Don’t hurt him. If you want to hurt me, burn me, watch my skin melt, cut me open and make me bleed, be my fucking guest, but put the scorpion away first.”

His expression morphs into one of surprise and mild confusion. “Will you tell me what I want to know?”

I thought this might be a problem; nonetheless, I reply honestly. “Likely not, but that’s still no reason to drag an innocent animal into our toxic dynamic.”

His face gives nothing away as he stares at me for one, two, three beats. Eventually, he holds out his hand, and Honey Eyes pushes off the wall and once again places the box in Digs’s waiting palm. I swear Honey Eyes smiles behind that mask of his, but even if I’m wrong, his eyes certainly beam sunshine. Well, until he winks at me. I don’t respond—not with my eyes or otherwise—since I don’t want to push my luck.

Digs gently coaxes the golden-colored scorpion back into the box, thank fuck, and shuts the lid, passing it back to Honey Eyes. My body sags, my lungs burning slightly as I release a full breath. Digs grows to his full height, which is mammoth tall, considering that I’m average height for a woman and he towers over me even when I’m on my feet.

His hulking frame marches over to the wall, and he snatches a blowtorch from the shelf. Oh, fuck me, this is going to hurt like a right bitch.

I was right. It hurt. Hurt like hell incarnate. I have a gash on the inside of my cheek and laceration on my lower lip to prove that I used and abused my own mouth like it was a leather bit. Leather would be preferable next time. I think I’ll be tasting the metallic effects for weeks to come. Good thing the food here is bland.

I brought it on myself, though, and I still say it was worth it to save the scorpion.

Slouched on the floor of my newly cleaned cell, I attempt to breathe through my mouth so the smell of my burned flesh won’t reach me.

My patience is beginning to fray with my brother and how long it’s taking him to pull me out of this place. “I’ll come for you, little sister. Just hold on until I can get there. I’m proud of you, Lou.” My brother’s parting words flit back to me as well as the memory of our foreheads pressed together as he held me to him.

Be patient, Louhi, I remind myself.

To pass the time, I close my eyes, filling my mind with pleasant thoughts of my closest friends: competing with—and beating—Viktor for the first time at his newly completed gun range and helping Conall track down a business adversary and eliminating them.

After an indeterminable amount of time lost in happier memories, I recognize the cadence of Digs’s marching footfalls through the mostly silent cell block. He appears before my cell a moment later and unlocks my cage, allowing himself access inside. As he crouches before me, a tub of, what I guess, is burn cream is in his hand.

I watch him as he wordlessly grasps my left arm, turning it over gently to reveal the bubbling, angry skin just below my elbow. Wordlessly, he unscrews the lid to the salve and scoops some out with his fingers. His massive hand engulfs my elbow as he holds me firmly to apply the cream expertly .

This is beginning to feel like a bizarre form of aftercare.One I truly don’t understand. Isn’t the entire point of being imprisoned here to make me break? Why would he take the time to heal me at all? He’d likely be better off letting the infection set in and praying that I’ll spill some beans in my delirium.

Not even gangrene could get me to talk, but Digs doesn’t know that.

I hiss when he makes contact with my angry flesh, but the cool cream quickly goes to work soothing the irritated burns. After distributing the ointment thoroughly, he applies a dressing to the area, then he screws the lid back on the small tub.

Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulls out a small tube of ointment, dabbing some on the pad of his thumb. His hand moves toward my face and my breath catches in my throat as I realize his intention. I hold my breath as his thumb makes contact with my swollen lip, swiping gently across my split skin. My eyes are locked on his, tracking the way his gaze fastens on my mouth and doesn’t let go, like a wolf with a prize in his sight.

The ointment is cool against my warm, irritated skin, soothing it instantly. Digs’s touch lingers even after swiping on the balm, making my lip burn for an entirely different reason.

When his thumb releases my lip, I exhale, my breath whooshing out of me as it chases his retreating hand.

“Open,” he orders next, his low, gruff voice bouncing off the walls.

“You’d like that, yeah?” I glance away with a snort, desperate for some distance from this man.

He doesn’t speak until our eyes meet again, but when he does, his tone is softer, not quite tender, but close. “Come on, I know you ate your cheek for lunch. Let me look.”

I wait for the please, but it never comes. Figures.

Still, there’s something almost vulnerable swirling in his gaze, and it’s that unguarded glint that has me parting my lips and showing him the inside of my mouth.

“Does it hurt?”

Why does it matter to him? My brow furrows, and I have the urge to scoff, because obviously, it hurts. Instead, I lie, shaking my head.

His gaze bores into me for so long that I wonder what he’s seeing. With his eyes still on mine, he reaches into his back pocket, producing a small cloth like the gag I had in my mouth when I first woke here. He blinks a few times, like he’s clearing his vision, as he shoves it into my hand before stretching to his full height.

Seeming to have eased his conscience enough for him to sleep—probably in a comfortable bed—tonight, he retreats down the hallway.

Digs is a hard guy to try to make sense of. He looks ready to eat me alive, his body nearly vibrating with anticipation and excitement every time he’s about to inflict the maximum amount of pain and suffering to my body, yet he looks guilt-ridden and tormented every time he comes to care for my wounds afterward. I’ve been telling myself that he’s been coming here to check on me because I’d be useless to him dead. But maybe that’s not it. Maybe he likes me.

Sod off, Lou. He does not like you.