Page 3 of Sweet Nightmares (Wicked Mirrors #2)

Chapter Two

P ain.

All Jane knew was pain.

It clung to her skin and soaked into her hair. But the worst of it felt like it was coming from her wrists. She swallowed, trying to get her bearings, but the world was all black.

A flash of wet coldness hit her.

She tried to blink her eyes open, but it was difficult; they appeared to be swollen shut. From drugs or abuse? She didn’t know. She didn’t remember anything past the ballet.

“Welcome back, little whore.” The words echoed through her brain, but she didn’t understand them or their origin.

Water hit her face again and dripped from her eyelashes as she desperately tried to pry open her lids. With considerable effort, she eventually managed to do it. She blinked open her drugged and droopy eyes.

Everywhere she looked was grey concrete and silver chains, and she was hanging from metal cuffs and chains with her hands stretched up above her.

Her shoulder ached. No, scrap that, everything hurt, and she felt the blood draining further and further from her fingers and arms.

A black haze stepped in front of her, and she blinked again, trying to focus.

“What do you want from me?” Jane croaked, her mouth dry.

“Oh, we don’t want anything from you,” a man who had finally come into her vision said, as he grasped her chin. “You are the payment. We are going to torture you until you die, and then we are going to hang your mangled body from the ceiling in your husband’s living room.”

Jane sucked in a breath. She’d known she would die young, but she never imagined it would be because of her horrible husband. The idea made her livid.

“He won’t care,” Jane said through gritted teeth.

“We shall see.”

Then the torture began.

A high-pitched ringing sounded in Jane’s ears as she blinked and tried to open her eyes again. One of them was swollen shut and leaking blood.

The disorientation hit her in waves. Jane knew she should remember where she was, how she’d gotten there, and why her wrists felt like they were burning. But she didn’t, at least not at first.

So, she tried to take in her surroundings. The room was pitch black, or at least she thought it was because she couldn’t see anything, and she was pretty sure she managed to get one of her eyes open. Pretty sure .

Jane didn’t mind the darkness as much as the sound.

Drip, drop. Drip, drop. Drip drop .

A sound that would haunt her nightmares for years to come.

Drip, drop. Drip, drop .

She shuddered and tried to pull her hands up to inspect her wounds, but her wrists chafed against the ropes that stopped her from moving more than an inch or two.

She was trapped, tied to a chair, and hurt… badly.

It was then that the world came crashing in.

She’d been kidnapped and endured three nights?

Four days? Seven? Jane’s nose bunched as she tried to remember, the movement shooting pain through her cheeks.

She moaned. Everything fucking hurt, and she didn’t know how long she’d been in this room, and whether it was a blessing or a curse not to remember.

She vaguely remembered being hung from the ceiling, so the chair was a relief at least.

The one thing she knew for sure was that they had a healer. After she’d passed out from the beatings and carvings, she’d wake up, and someone would come and fix her flesh just enough for her to take it all again.

Again and again and again.

Jane sat in the darkness and silence for what felt like an age, and in that time, her memories seeped back in.

Fear and anticipation were her constant companions.

They sat on her chest like a heavy weight.

She didn’t want to die. She’d just become the prima ballerina.

She had too much to live for, and she refused to let this end her. But how could she get out of it?

These men wanted her to pay for her husband stealing from them. Was there anything she could offer to fix it?

Eventually, three men entered the room and turned on the light. It took her too long to acclimate, and she blinked several times to do it, each movement causing a rippling of pain through her.

When she was able to see again, she noticed that one of the men was burly, another was average in build, and the third was muscular, but dressed in a sharp suit and cravat.

“Please stop.” The words came out as a low, husky whimper. Her throat was raw, too. Had she been screaming? “Please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

The burly man stepped forward. “Unless you have a magic pussy that can grant us the 100,000 siennas your husband stole from us, there is nothing you can give us.”

100,000 siennas? What? That was the fortune of several men combined. What a fucking fool. Her husband would never learn.

“Unfortunately, deary, you are the lesson,” said the one in the sharp suit. “We’re going to kill you and leave you for your husband to find.”

“Then why torture me first?” Jane said with a sarcastic lilt. Sometimes, her tongue was a bit too barbed for her own good. Usually, she chose to respond to situations with calmness, but on occasion, she just couldn’t hold herself back.

The sharp one’s eyes flared—clearly the leader. “Because we enjoy it.”

Jane clenched her teeth. Where was the honor in beating a woman? These men were just as bad as her husband.

Acid frothed in Jane’s esophagus. She hated these men. No, more than hated them. If she could, one day, she was going to make them pay. But first, she had to survive, and if it was money that they wanted, then she’d get it.

She only had to Bargain with a Mirror God.

Easy…

The punishment for getting caught bargaining underage was high. However, how could it be worse than this?

She’d have to do it.

In New Swansea, the country was run by Mirror Gods, also known as Bargainers, who traded magic, wealth, and knowledge for a cost…

often a wretched one. However, people couldn’t bargain with them until they reached the age of majority, twenty-three.

However, that often didn’t matter because there were entire markets and businesses devoted to making mirror bargains, so people didn’t have to.

They would get mirror objects and then sell them to the public.

That was how Jane could easily buy Mirror Cosmetics to cover her bruises.

At twenty-three, every citizen had to do their Mirror Rite—bargain at least once with a god—or receive seven years of bad luck. Gangs, businesses, and markets took advantage of this fact and paid those performing the rite to bargain on their behalf.

Jane hadn’t thought much about her rite yet; she still had two years before she was of age, and she figured she’d take one of the businesses up on their offer. She’d make a low-level bargain with a harmless mirror and get some money out of it.

But now, if she wanted to live, she’d have to bargain for seven fortunes’ worth of money, and lower-level, harmless mirrors would never, ever make that deal. Jane wasn’t even sure if they could. There seemed to be a hierarchy of Mirror Gods, but they were never made public.

One thing for sure was that the Looking Glass—also known as the Mirror of Nightmares—was the most powerful god in the country. He was one of the only gods whose deals and magic extended outside of his mirror cage. But there was no way in all the heavens and earth that she would bargain with him.

So, who else?

Midnight was powerful but known for being unhinged.

Beautiful Decay was powerful but cruel.

Chaos had been dormant for years, but she would have been a good option. She was a psychopath, but she enjoyed making good deals with pretty women. She especially enjoyed talented women. Jane was both beautiful and talented, but sadly, Chaos hadn’t let anyone inside her prison in thirty-nine years.

Jane was pulled out of her thoughts by a young brunette woman, possibly Jane’s age or a bit older, who approached her and murmured, “I am sorry, miss, but it’s time to heal you.”

Jane flinched. This woman’s healing hurt just as much as the beatings, which was precisely why every time the brunette came to heal, she apologized for it.

“Wait, wait,” Jane said a little frantically. “Before you do all this again, perhaps we could make a deal.”

The leader raised an eyebrow.

“I might not have a magic pussy, but I can make a mirror bargain for the money you need.”

The leader narrowed his eyes. “A bargain that size would come with a steep price.”

Well, considering you’re going to murder me, a steep price seems far better cost than that, Jane thought, but instead, she said, “I’m willing to pay it.”

“I want an endless supply of riches.”

Jane swallowed. That was an impossible deal.

“And I want it from Nightmare.”

Jane gasped. He was playing with her. No one got a good deal from Nightmare. No one. This was just another means to torture Jane. What the fuck had her husband done for them to hate him—and by association, her—so much?

“Why not Beautiful Decay?” Jane dug her fingernails into her wooden armrests.

“Only Nightmare will do.”