Page 112 of Jagged Souls

The growling of my stomach undermines my defiance.

“Just fucking come eat. Then I can take you for a shower before you’re raped again.”

I turn towards him. Most rapists don’t like to admit it’s rape. Except for the fuckers like Sadist. The fact that he’s so blatant about it oddly makes me more at ease. And I hate that. I hate that I can feel akinshipwith one of my rapists.

Was it rape if he made you come?

“What’s your name?” I demand, mostly to quiet the voice in my head and to distract myself from the shame in my belly.

“Why?”

“So I can tell my friend to kill you slowly when he gets here.”

He laughs. “It would be a shame if you lost your tongue. There’s no one here for me to talk to.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“You talk a lot for someone who doesn’t.”

I purse my lips together again.

He chuckles. “I’ll show you how to get to the shower on your own if you come eat.”

“Why?”

“Because being malnourished is shit for pregnancy.”

My pulse spikes at the idea of carrying the child of one of these fucker’s inside of me. The only solace I have is I will die before I ever make it to term due to the blood bond not being fed. Or Varius or Dayne will rescue me, and I’ll get an abortion.

“So is being stressed,” I say, “and he doesn’t give a shit about that.”

“If your lover boy didn’t attack the school, you would’ve got moved into your own quarters after you got pregnant. That’s what he does for all of them. But now, well, space is limited on a boat. So –”

“I’m on a boat?” The air drains from my lungs, those words taking every last bit of it. If Eduardo or Terra is able to cloak large objects, we’ll never be found.

“A super yacht. So there’s ample space, but not many berths.”

Something this big, they might not be able to cloak –

“Eduardo can cloak it on his own,” he says.

But he’s used a lot of magic recently, having kept my brain alive while Sadist killed me, then reviving me twenty-nine times. He has to be short on –

“We’re drifting afloat somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, so give up your hope,” the man says. “You will survive better without it.”

Tears choking me, I go back to tugging off the sheet. It comes free of the bed, but now I don’t know what to do with it. Angry and terrified, I squeeze it in my fists.

“Come on,” he says. “I know you’re hungry.”

My damn stomach hasn’t stopped growling.

I drop the sheet, wishing I had a knife so I could open myself up and pull out the fucking traitor. Desperate to hold on to some semblance of power, I snap, “Can I at least eat at a fucking table?”

“Oh, right. You can’t see I’m standing beside one. Walk three steps to your left.”

I hesitate for a moment, but I need to learn the paces of the room. I need to build it up in my head. So I breathe out and shuffle three paces to the left.

“Two more steps,” he says. “You didn’t walk far enough.” Then, “Turn right. Now walk towards my voice. There is nothing in your way.”