Page 31 of Hysteria Rises (Dark Falls Hollow #1)

TWENTY-TWO

DELILAH

The taste of freedom I’d been given had been fleeting, within my grasp one moment, then cruelly ripped away the next.

But that was always the intent. I’m no fool.

I knew when the words fell from Kiefer’s lips they’d been nothing more than a blatant lie.

There’s no hiding the evil that resides inside that man.

It’s only become more apparent with each new interaction I’ve had with him.

Did he really expect me to believe he was being truthful? Well, I didn’t.

It was a game to him all along—and it’s one he’s good at. I don’t understand what he’d gotten out of making another man fuck me, which was made even more sick by the fact that the man in question is his own flesh and blood. And the others who stood by and watched? They’re no better.

I chew on my lip as I lie still. Listening. I’m forever listening these days. It’s my hope that someone useful might venture close enough for me to speak to, but I also fear it’ll be any of the men.

I would have thought that this … society … these psychos live in would have some sort of order. The hysterical thing is, they act like they do, like there are rules and protocols that they follow. But so far all I’ve seen is regimented chaos.

We don’t have a choice. Those words have been stuck in my head ever since Malakai uttered them.

I should have recognized what he said as a warning.

If I take him at his word, they made him rape me.

I will forever be haunted by what transpired in that room.

There will be no forgetting what happened, not the horror-filled expression on Arrow’s face or his shouts of agony, not the misery flowing freely from Hayze as he wielded that whip, nor the lost expression in Cross’s eyes while watching the absolute madness unfold.

I’ve been over the entire sequence of events so many times it makes my head hurt, beginning with what I’d woken up to down in my cell.

Had they sent Arrow down there to do that to me, only to punish him for it?

I don’t have a fucking clue. It doesn’t make sense.

All the ways I’ve been assaulted—they’re a goddamn jumble.

Cross, Hayze, Arrow, and now Malakai. I no longer know which end is up or whether to believe a word out of any of their mouths.

This place is like the raging high water I encountered in my bid for freedom.

It threatens to drag me under the surface and drown me.

Motivations are distorted; sick secrets abound.

Loyalty among these men is twisted, having something to do with birthright, but the relationship among them isn’t straightforward at all.

One minute I think I might have things figured out, and the next, I find myself lost again.

Dampening my parched lips with my tongue, I absently pick at the medical tape holding the gauze on my forearm.

Twenty-three. An exhale skitters from me, and finally I can’t not know anymore.

I’m in the dark about enough without putting myself there.

One end of the tape comes up, and I slowly peel it away.

The bandage lifts easily, and I hold my breath with my eyes squeezed shut.

My heart thuds insistently, knocking at my rib cage, telling me I already know what’s there. Just look.

Sure enough, my gaze falls on an intricate tattoo. I stop breathing as I stare. Twenty-three: the numeral, bold and black and inked permanently into my skin. A flash of Hayze’s brilliant blue eyes as he’d glanced up from his work hits me like a punch to the solar plexus.

They’ve claimed me.

And there is no doubt in my mind, if I’m ever allowed near the women again, I will find similar markings. Access to them is essential. They’re the only ones who don’t mean me any harm.

These men, however—at least some of them, anyway—do.

I don’t know how many days I’ve been here.

My sense of time has become skewed with each abysmal hour that passes.

But one thing remains the same as it has since the day they found me in the woods.

I need to find a way to get away from this place.

There’s no hope of that ever happening if they never allow me out of this cell.

Slowly exhaling, I come to terms with the only thing that makes any sense to me, the only way I might find a way out of this fucking mess: I’ll have to comply.

Bile surges up from the depths of my stomach into the back of my throat.

I gag, lurching to the side so I don’t heave on the blanket—the only comfort I have in this cell—but I need not have moved.

There’s really not much of anything in my stomach, there hasn’t been for days.

I’ve drunk their water—if only because I know without it I will absolutely die—but food, though?

I’ve gone without before, and I knew I’d be able to do it again.

But is starving myself really serving any purpose?

As much as it makes me physically ill to admit I’ll have to pretend like I’m going along with everything they ask of me, I’m sane enough to understand kicking and screaming against them hasn’t gotten me very far.

They’re a bunch of men who get their rocks off on having women under their thumbs.

And these women—they’re here to attend to the needs of the men … whatever those needs may be. Or else.

At a noise from beyond the door, my entire body stills and when the footfalls prove to be heavy, fear lances through me.

I scramble to my feet. The door swings open and closes again.

“Twenty-three? Are you alive down here?” A rough chuckle sounds, like the question of whether or not I’m alive is a fucking joke.

I don’t have time for more thought than that because Kiefer appears. Shit.

“Don’t look so happy to see me. After all, you’re still alive because I deem it so.

” His lips curve up on one side, the grotesque half-grin a product of his attempt to not pull at the healing wound any more than he has to.

And that realization, the idea that every time he tries to smile, he thinks of me …

well, it makes me happier than anything could in this godforsaken place.

I’d like to slap him right across the cheek I’ve already scarred. Instead, I purposely keep my distance as he opens the cell. With my lips clamped shut, I watch him, full of wariness. I don’t want to know why he’s paid me a visit.

“We need to have a chat.” His brow rises on his lined forehead, mean eyes raking over me.

“I trust you understand by this point that we’ll do what we like with you.

” He gestures to my arm. “In case it wasn’t obvious, you will answer to Twenty-three.

Nothing else. And you’ll obey us or reap the consequences.

Speak, only when directly addressed. What do you have to say for yourself? ”

I slowly shake my head.

“Nothing?” His gaze pins on my chest. The stupidly thin gown they’ve given me to wear is nearly see-through.

Exhaling hard, I cross my arms over my chest to hide my breasts from his view.

“Put your arms at your sides.”

My eyes dart to his, and my jaw locks. This bastard. I do as he demands but can’t stop the glare I aim in his direction.

His chest bounces with his laughter, and he rubs a hand over his short beard as his gaze licks over my breasts. “We’ll see how far that attitude gets you. I hope you’re prepared to accept punishment for your transgressions. Do you understand what is expected of you?”

I stare at him, wishing I could shoot daggers from my eyeballs. If I could, he’d already be dead a million times over.

He shakes his head, striding quickly closer, and backs me against the wall. “Oh no,” he says as he secures me by the throat. “That’s not how this works. I ask you a question, you fucking answer.” He dips his head down so we’re nose to nose, his breath heaving in my face.

Forcing myself to speak, I spit out, “I understand.”

His eyes narrow, but then he releases me, taking a step backward. “Let’s find out exactly how quick a learner you are, Twenty-three.” There’s something about the look in his eye that gives me warning a split second before his mouth lifts into a mocking grin. “Disrobe.”

For a full three seconds, I can’t do anything but blink. I don’t even take a breath. Swallowing as discreetly as I can manage, I work my jaw to the side. The change in how I deal with these assholes has to happen now.

Eyes full of malcontent follow my every move, and this dick is way too fucking close to me, but I reach for the hem of the dress and whip it off over my head.

His lips curve upward as he takes the final step, closing the distance between us.

If I breathe too hard, my breasts will brush against his shirt.

He leers at me, and I swear if this were a kids’ cartoon, he’d be licking his chops like I’m his next tasty meal.

But I don’t scream, and I don’t even try to knee him in the junk, though the prospect is really fucking tempting. Instead, I stare straight at him and don’t utter a word.

He watches me like a hawk, and my lack of response seems to throw him off for a second. Then, he slowly nods. “Good. It’s about time you learned how a woman behaves so we don’t have to take more drastic measures with you.”

My stomach roils in response. How a woman behaves? What. The. Fuck. And what the hell could be more drastic than what they’ve already subjected me to? I have a few thoughts based on what I’ve witnessed so far, but I definitely don’t want confirmation that my suspicions are correct.

I give a slight nod, and do everything in my power to control the violent shudder that rolls down my spine as he lifts a hand, trailing the rough knuckle of his forefinger down my cheek.

“Such a pretty little thing.” Dark eyes trail over my features, then dip down hungrily roving at close range.

“Now that we understand each other, and you aren’t flailing or screaming like a banshee, you have nothing to fear. ”

I sincerely doubt that poor woman who visited me in the cell wasn’t afraid when they took her tongue.

The who or why of it hadn’t been anything I could fathom when I first saw the damage done to her, but now I can only assume these fuckers were responsible.

I imagine she was not a rule follower. And for that reason, and knowing she has already suffered, I can’t help but be grateful to her that she had even attempted to warn me.

The way she did it had been dramatic—meant to instill fear—but now I understand why. I should have fucking listened to her silent scream of caution.

Kiefer’s hot breath on my face as he edges ever closer is enough to make my stomach turn.

“You will do whatever members of the Collective tell you to do. This is our community. Our home. And you’ll follow our rules, adhere to our demands.

” My brows draw together, as I open my mouth to ask who exactly the Collective is, but Kiefer covers my mouth with a big, work-roughened hand.

“Eight and Sixteen will guide you. Do not ask questions. Do not cause trouble. Let’s get this straight.

If you do, being tossed back into this cell will be the least of your worries.

I will make sure you regret it.” He adjusts his hand over my mouth, lips twisting as he watches me struggle for air.

Flattening his fully clothed body against my nude one, he makes sure I feel every inch of him, including the hard-on that presses against my stomach.

“What you’ve seen so far is fucking child’s play.

” His voice is full of menace as he finishes, “Heed the rules we set forth, or deal with the consequences. Your choice.” Removing his hand from my mouth, he cocks his head to the side, eyeing me, then reaching between us, he palms my breast, then pinches at the nipple. “Understand?”

A small gasp breaks free from my lips, but I jerk my head in the affirmative.

“Now, you’ll come with me. One toe out of line and you’re right back in here.” Slowly, he removes his hand from my mouth. “Anything to say?”

I shake my head, looking down as demurely as I can. There’s not a hint of the rebellion that I’ve been employing as my main survival tactic in my gaze. It hasn’t served me well enough.

Time for a new strategy.