Page 21

In the days where I’d train to withstand torture, it went on for days. They deprived us of everything—food, water, light, sound. The only times the captives were allowed any kind of break from the insanity in those rooms were the times they’d take us out to beat us again. I remember each day, every single thing they did to me. I forced myself to remember. If we were caught zoning out during the torture, they’d make it worse, give us breaks just to pull us back to the moment by breaking a bone.

I wasn’t sure who I was by the end of it. I had to be reminded. My name is Helena Kinsley. I am a staff sergeant and third operator of a combat Task Force under Colonel Anthony Bane. I was chosen among thousands to be a part of the special forces. I am lucky to get this far. I am grateful to be allowed to serve Colonel Bane. I will do what I’m told. I will follow orders. I will fight people others won’t. I will be strong when others can’t.

I will not break.

I didn’t break.

The name spilled out of me before I could say anything else. I don’t know why I said Lienz. I’m not sure if that’s a real place, or something that came to mind through the panic and pain. Baron and Castor will realize that soon enough too and god help me when they come back.

But it made them stop. It made them leave. It bought me time.

The sharp sting from the cuts on my body has faded to a dull throb across my legs and torso. I don’t know how long I’ve been down here. Hours. Days. My stomach gnaws at my insides and my throat is raw from screaming and lack of water. My jaw aches from where Castor’s fist connected with my face and dried blood colors my skin a dark crimson. The worst of it rests between my legs. A sharp unending stab on my clit.

I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see how it ruined my body or if Castor had bitten it off in an effort to make me talk, or what he planned to do with the knife if I hadn’t given them something to follow.

Pain shoots down my middle when I sit up. I bite back a cry and when I prop myself on my hands, another strike of pain radiates up my palm to my shoulder. I hold myself for a moment, waiting for the waves of pain to pass.

The wooden chair I was bound to is in tatters on the floor. The tray of tools along the wall is scattered across the room from the fight and the bright fluorescent bulb in the room reflects the remains of my own blood, highlighting the areas on the floor where I was dragged and pinned. It all converges on the spot along the wall where I force myself to sit against. Blood covers my torso, falling down to my legs where they were cut open repeatedly. Small calluses line the cuts from the corrosion of the poison as my body desperately tries to heal itself. My hair is stiff and matted from the blood and mud and small traces of it settle between my legs when I reach between them.

I hiss in pain when I graze my clit, the pain almost blinding, but it’s there. Any touch makes vibrant pain dance along my consciousness, but there’s no blood, no cuts. Just unbearable pain. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to touch myself again after that.

I drag myself to my feet, using the wall as a crutch until the overwhelming urge to collapse and fall asleep is gone. My legs drag behind me but I manage to limp over to the torn discarded clothes strewn about on the floor. The shirt hangs off my body, stretched and torn from Baron’s knife. Thankfully, my pants are less abused and I somehow manage to tie my shirt in a knot around the front and mostly cover myself. I slip my jacket on overtop. It’s not much but it’ll do.

I take another step forward towards the iron doors and my knees buckle.

Focus. You can do this. Keep moving.

I lift my head to the large handle on the side of the door.

Locked.

My head spins, demanding my body to give in, to shut my eyes just for a moment.

I grip the handle, pulling myself to my feet.

There’s always a way out. Escape.

I wander throughout the room, willing my head to clear long enough to think but the room is solid concrete, trapped in a metal structure hundreds of feet underground. There’s no way out from that.

My head lolls back and forth, weighted and heavy from my aching body. I take another step and my foot slides on something round. I narrowly catch myself on the metal table against the wall and through my blurred vision, I noticed a small tool—a chisel—resting on the ground.

My legs shake as I bend to pick it up. It’s round, but the edge is sharp and pointed, no doubt designed to chip away at the rocks harvested with raw diamonds inside.

Just small enough to slip inside the lock on the door.

I follow the wall back to the door, and my limbs become steadier under my weight. I nearly cry in relief when the chisel slips easily inside the lock and with a few seconds of working the metal, the lock clicks.

The door swings open with a loud groan. I wince at the sound, ducking behind the wall until I’m sure Baron and Castor are still gone. I try to count the minutes, but with no natural light, it’s impossible to know how long they’ve been gone or when they’ll return.

I can’t help the way my chest lifts at the thought of them being gone, but it doesn’t last. They killed my unit, and they still have the military files.

My legs finally even out and my limp becomes less of a hindrance. Pain is an old friend, and never one that’s stopped me before. I keep moving, though the navigation of the tunnels is still too intricate for me to weave through without getting lost.

I open each door as I pass one, finding different rooms, some bare and empty, some filled with jewels, boxes of papers and tools or computers that stopped working decades ago.

When I open the next room, it looks strikingly similar to the one they held me in, only instead of tables along the wall filled with tools to carve out gems, a small cot rests in the corner with a single blanket on top of it. Several guns rest next to it with the ammunition strewn lazily about the bed. Underneath it is a backpack and a small case similar to the other crates found throughout the mine, but this one is latched and hidden away in the shadows of the cot.

Bingo.

I kneel by the bed, fishing the case from the bed, but when I open it, there’s nothing in it except for a small red woven bracelet and a storage of knives.

Where is it?

I rip open his backpack, tossing its contents onto the floor. Packaged food and more ammunition spills out. A water bottle tumbles out alongside it with a small medpack, but no files. I reach in the bag, feeling around desperately for a hidden compartment, a small zipped section of the leather where they could be but it’s empty.

“Where is it?!” I shout.

My voice echoes back at me and I shrink away. It’s shrill and mocking, like birds screeching to scare away predators.

I reach back inside and my hand catches something hooked onto the side. I rip it from the bag and find a small flip phone.

Baron’s phone.

My eyes widen and I rip it open. Three tiny little bars in the corner of the phone and I laugh. Those three bars are worth more than gold or any of the Codex’s lives.

Escape.

The call logs on the phone all go to and from the same person. Fury. Missed calls, one after another for hours. Alastor is in the wind, lost and unable to go back to his friends. I never put it past him to call out for help. He’s hardly capable of navigating any natural terrain on his own. His job before joining Bane was in a private security sector that my dad worked under years ago.

Now he’s getting a full experience of what it’s like to live and breathe as a traitor.

I dial Bane’s number and hearing the rings on the other end is pure ecstasy. It rings again and again, and when he doesn’t pick up, my weight in my chest comes back.

“Come on, Bane. Answer.”

I try again and again, but the phone goes to voicemail each time.

When it rings out for the fourth time, I take a deep breath and speak into the phone. “Colonel, I need help. It’s Kinsley. I’ve been taken captive by the Codex. They’re looking for some kind of bunker. I managed to get away for now, but I don’t know how long it’ll be before they find me. They’re taking shelter in the old mine, not far from the outpost. I don’t know if you’re still alive but you can’t trust Alastor. He’s Fury. You need to send word from the rendezvous. I’ll meet you there if I can.”

The phone clicks off a second later and a pang of fear stings my chest. Even if Bane intercepts the call, the Codex could too if they’re monitoring the calls, or tracking the phone.

I slip it back into Baron’s bag, grabbing a nearby rifle and moving out towards the center. If I can’t find the files, at least I can make sure they’re dead and this mine is buried so Alastor can’t find them either.

I’ll happily repay the treatment they gave me. Maybe start off by castrating them both for touching me.

The tunnels start to widen and when I see the beginnings of the stone walls morphing into metal, I start to move faster. I trip over my feet but I keep moving, faster, faster, and I damn near cry when I come up into the central metal structure lined with the baking bright lights and the rounded glass ceiling.

Escape.

A large bang stops me in my tracks, dead center of the room. Two pairs of footsteps barrel down the tunnel, quick and heavy.

The Codex.

I turn on my heel and run, hiding inside the small metal office that splits the two large tunnels opposite of the entrances. Their footsteps grow louder and I crouch down low. My heart beats against my ribcage in time with their quick footfalls. I shake my head to clear my vision. Now isn’t the time to fall asleep.

Despite the visible tremor in my hands, I pull the rifle close to me. Their footsteps halt for a moment before they begin again, moving slowly towards the door.

I draw in a few rapid breaths and hold it. If I die, I’ll take one of them with me.

The handle on the door turns slowly and I charge the second it opens. I fall into the arms of a man and we are knocked to the floor. I fumble for my rifle but when I recognize the bare burly arms of my commander, I freeze.

“Bane?”

“Helena?” A woman’s voice calls out.

Sara stands above me, her eyes wide and her brows pushed together.

I scramble off Bane, dusting myself off while he slowly gets up. This can’t be real. Bane. Sara.

Sara steps forward, her hand falling on my shoulder. “Helena,” she says again.

Her hand is real. They’re both dressed in the same fatigues, camouflaged and decorated with stars on their chest. Sara’s hair is pulled to the side in a fishtail braid and Bane’s hair is neatly slicked back.

They’re here.

I pull Sara into a hug, my rifle clattering to the ground. I squeeze her tightly, tears streaming down my face, but I don’t care. They’re here. They’re okay.

“It’s okay.” Sara places her hand on the back of my head, stroking it while she hugs me back. “We’re here.”

“You’re alive,” I choke out.

Bane comes in behind me, wrapping his arms around me. It’s suffocating, and overbearing. Fuck, I’ve missed it so much.

“I know,” Bane squeezes me tighter. “I heard your call.”

“I’m so sorry.” My words come out garbled and strained, my already sore voice raw and wet with tears that drip onto their uniforms. “Everyone is dead because of me, and I thought you and Sara—” I choke down a sob, sniffling. “I should’ve listened to you. I was so scared.”

Sara grips me tighter, her voice dark and serious.

“Yes, you should’ve. You’re stupid for not listening.”

“I know.” I sniffle again and try to pull away but they only hug me tighter, capturing my body between theirs. “I was trying to be strong like you and Bane taught me, but I was so scared. I thought you were dead. I thought I was alone.”

“You are alone.”

His laugh rumbles in my chest, a similar feeling of dread looming overhead. I try to pull away but they both squeeze me tighter, forcing the air from my lungs and the pain in my body to spark.

“Bane,” I grunt in pain. “You’re hurting me.”

He squeezes tighter and Sara’s soothing grip on my head tightens, her sharp nails digging through my tangled hair. She leans down to me, a cruel smile in her voice.

“Oh, doll. You’re so naive, thinking anyone was coming to save you.”

The name sends a spark through my chest to my throat, forming a lump.

No…

They release me and I stumble back, my hands falling to my knees as I cough and gasp for air. Bane and Sara are gone and in their place are Baron and Castor, standing back and regarding me with cruel satisfaction.

I shake my head. They were here. She touched me. Her hands, they were real. It had to be real.

Baron grips my wrist when I move back, his grin turning into a sneer. “I don’t think so!”

Castor moves behind me, his body forcing me closer to Baron’s. My knee flies up between Baron’s legs but he blocks it with a kick of his own.

“That won’t work this time!” His hand wrenches my wrist back and I cry out in pain, the tendons groaning and snapping. I fall to my knees, forced to crawl while he drags me out into the open space. “Let’s have a little talk, hmm?”

Pain shoots up my arm when he yanks me to my feet. I grasp the knife at his hip, drawing it before he can stop me and slashing at his hands. His grip loosens just enough for me to untangle from his hands but just as I step back, Castor is there, and I crash into his large frame.

The scent of blood and ash floods my senses, intoxicating and foul over the pine and gun oil that usually emanates from them. That’s when I notice their faces are covered in it. Their black clothes hardly make it noticeable but on their skin and hair, the soot and blood mixes together, drawing across their face like war paint.

“What–” My word cuts off with a scream as Baron seizes me by my hair and yanks me back. I crash against the wall, the metal thudding against the already split crown of my skull. The blurry vision dots around the edges as I fall to my knees.

Baron crouches in front of me, his hand fisting my hair and forcing my eyes to meet his.

“If you thought that what we did to you back there was bad, you’re in for a rude awakening.” His voice is low and dark. That sadistic gleam in his blue eyes are gone, replaced by nothing but darkness that consumes them. This isn’t delight like before. It’s anger. Rage.

“All you had to do was give us the rendezvous.” Baron points the tip of his curved blade under my chin, the metal biting into my skin. “Instead, you saw fit to blow up a school full of children.”

I groan. The throbbing in my ears blocks out his words, and muddles mine, but the tone in his voice is unmistakable. I can’t formulate any rebuttal, any refute that proves that I don’t kill children, or hurt innocent people.

He doesn’t give me time to answer before he throws me to the ground, my hands narrowly protecting me from getting another concussion. His voice is an echo as he speaks and their bodies are shaded, morphing into the walls like ghosts.

“I hate liars,” he says. “They piss me off on a good day. On a bad…” He drives his boot into my side, throwing me on my back as I cry out in pain. “I hoped you’d know better than to try and piss me off again, but clearly you aren’t broken enough to behave.”

Anger boils inside me beneath the pain. They treat me like a fucking dog that needs to be trained—a dog that needs to be beat into submission. It dulls it and I lift my head long enough to spit at his feet. “You don’t know me well enough,” I bite back. “You and Castor can shove a dick up your ass.”

Baron steps forward, shoving me back down with his boot, but instead of lifting it, he leans on my chest, the heavy steel toe right on my ribcage, crushing any attempts I have to breathe.

He rests his arm in his bent knee, pressing down harder and harder until I cough and gasp.

“Ask me how easy it would be to kill you. Just a little pressure here…” The pressure on my chest tightens. My ribs groan and tighten under his boot and my limbs shake from the pain.

He pulls back, just long enough for me to breathe.

“…and I can crush most of your vital organs,” he finishes. “Does it scare you, doll? Knowing all that stands between you and whatever afterlife you believe in, is just one. Small. Step.”

“You won’t,” I say, my voice strained. “If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it already.”

It’s a gamble and one I’m not sure I want to make just yet, but truth settles in my chest underneath the weight of his crushing boots. If they had wanted to kill me, they would’ve. But whatever they found in Lienz wasn’t the bunker. They still need me.

He leans in on my chest for a second longer before the pressure eases entirely and he lets his leg rest on the ground next to me.

“I guess you’re smarter than I give you credit for. I unfortunately need your incessantly yappy mouth to find the rendezvous.” The sound of a zipper coming down makes my eyes snap to his. “The rest of you is optional.”

He grabs his knife, the metal falling free from his waist before he frees his cock.

My eyes widen, locked on the thick shaft. It swallows up his hands, pulsing and throbbing as he strokes it softly. Precum leaks from the reddened tip and he smears it over his cock with his hand.

“What’s wrong, doll?” He barks out a laugh. “Is this too much for you? You seemed to really enjoy yourself last time.”

“That was involuntary!”

“Was it, now?” His boot presses down harder and harder as he crouches down low to me, his face inches from mine.

My hands fall weak from the pain and lack of oxygen and only then does he let up, replacing his foot with his knee.

“Maybe we should give your clit some more attention,” he hums against my ear.

I pale, and he smiles.

His boots come down on each of my wrists as I try to lift myself off his weight. Blood drips down from his clothes, mixing with the precum as beads mix into my skin.

“I love that look on your face,” he groans. “Maybe you are starting to learn. You learned that Castor and I keep our promises.”

His hand moves down to the knot of my shirt tied tightly together. He laughs derisively before yanking the knot free, exposing my breasts to him.

He pinches a nipple roughly, relishing in the pained moan I give him after.

“Now look at these tits, already hard and ready for me.” His knife grazes against the sensitive bud, the blade digging into the hollow space between my breasts. “You’re so fucking responsive. How about you take care of one of us this time, hmm? It’s only fitting since we made you come last time.”

My pulse quickens and my hands start to tremble. Last time, I’d told myself they were bluffing, that it was a tactic to get me to talk, and I was wholly, desperately wrong. But this time, there’s a look in his eyes that wasn’t there the first time he tortured me. This is rage.

His brows lower in a scowl when I don’t answer and his hand releases from my abused nipples just long enough to crack a palm across my cheek.

“If I’m going let you keep your tongue, then I expect you to answer me.”

I pull my head back, tears sparkling in my eyes. I can’t force myself to speak. The lump in my throat chews at my lungs. My vision starts blackening and despite my best efforts, my voice won’t even utter a plea.

“Fine,” he says and his eyes darken. He picks up his knife, gripping the handle tightly as he points the blade directly in front of my eyes. “Consider this lesson number one: Don’t fucking lie to me.”

A scream rips through me as he digs his blade into my sternum, dragging it down until he reaches bone. My eyes squeeze shut, my vision turning white even through the darkness I try to force myself not to look.

He drags the blade across my skin, the flesh tearing all too easily under his hand.

“Come on, doll!” He changes direction sharply, forcing another agonized wail through me. “Come on! You can do better than that. Louder!”

My screams echo back at me through the sounds of tearing and ripping of my own body. Each time I thrash, he digs the knife deeper until Castor’s voice cuts through my shrieks.

“Baron! What the hell are you doing?!” He booms.

There’s no answer, or perhaps Baron simply doesn’t care. He changes direction again, slicing another jagged point across my sternum and collarbones. Tears stream down my face and it’s earned with another slap.

“Don’t you dare fucking close your eyes!” Baron shouts, digging deeper until my eyes pop open, wide and wild.

I can barely see him through the tears brimming my lashes, but his voice is all too clear even through my screams.

“Louder!” He shouts over me, slashing again. “Those kids screamed louder than that. Go on! Show them how fucking sorry you are!”

Baron brings down the knife again, barely connecting with my skin before Castor grabs his wrist, ripping it back.

“Baron, stop!” he orders. “This is too far!”

“Fuck off, Castor! I’m taking over the interrogations from now on!” He slashes at the dead air, but Castor dodges and grabs the hilt, both men wrestling for control while I bleed out underneath them.

“You’re going to kill her!” Castor growls. He grasps the knife only for a moment before Baron slams his fist into Castor’s face, grips the knife in his hand and slashes it deep against Castor’s cheek.

“You had your turn, so stay the fuck back.” His lip curls up in a snarl as he points the tip of his blade at Castor. “Unless you want to take her place.”

Castor peels his hand away from his cheek, his hand stained bright red. His horrified eyes fall on me, and my heart sinks—a heavy drop that settles in with the sharp pain radiating across my sliced chest.

Baron turns to me, his eyes narrowed as he takes in my shallow breaths. He runs the knife over the tip of his cock. My blood smears on the head and his other hand moves over it again, lubricating his slow and harsh thrusts of his hand.

He tilts back his head, a low moan vibrating in his throat. His grip on his knife tightens, and his moan turns to a harsh growl before he brings down the knife again, carving into the opposite side of my skin.

My body shakes and an agonized wail rips through me but I can’t will my limbs to move, even as Baron grinds against my body. The pain takes over, and I lose sense of everything else around me except the knife etching into my skin and Baron’s hand speeding up as he works his cock along my body.

“That’s it, you fucking bitch.” he moans. “Scream for me.”

His movements stutter, the lines becoming more jagged and uneven on my chest. “Beg me to stop,” he growls. He drives it in deeper. “Say it!”

I can’t form words, only an anguished scream as Baron moans loudly in my ear, and cum spurts from his cock directly onto the jagged lines.

Baron holds me down, forcing me still until he finishes with a heavy groan. My chest is a mix of red and white, my skin marred and unrecognizable, with a hard weight that settles beneath it while Baron dresses himself.

A star is carved into my chest, five unconnected jagged points, stretching across my sternum, from the bottom of my throat to the tips of my breasts. The Codex star.

“I want you to remember the screams of every single child you killed when you look at that scar,” he snarls.

Castor hasn’t moved, his eyes wide but motionless, frozen in the same fear I’d been paralyzed with.

When I try to move, Baron places his foot on my chest, making me wince.

“Stay down, doll.” He pushes the toe into it, dragging it along the wound before he lifts himself and turns around moments later, both men leaving the room with his words echoing off the metal walls.

“Lesson over.”