Page 33 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

T hree days had passed in agonizing slowness.

Or at least, Gideon thought it had been three days.

The absence of windows in their stone prison, except for a tiny one obscured by debris, made it impossible to track time with certainty.

He estimated they were fed twice a day—once in the morning and once in the evening.

Gideon had counted the meals: six servings of that revolting gruel, marking three full days since their capture.

So far, none of the food appeared to be poisoned, though it wasn’t nearly enough to sustain them. Gideon could already feel his strength ebbing, his muscles growing weaker with each passing day.

He had been certain the Cardinal would arrive within hours of their imprisonment.

In his mind, he had prepared himself for the inevitable torture—the questions that would come with heated iron and sharp blades.

He was a valuable prize, after all: Gideon Grey, the powerful Duke of Wolverstone, leader of The Shadows, the infamous Erebus who had personally sent nearly a dozen of the Brotherhood’s best men to their graves.

His reputation alone should have warranted immediate attention from their captors.

But it seemed the Cardinal had other plans.

Perhaps he intended to let them die a long and painful death, living out their last days in this cold, hollow cell, forgotten prisoners left to rot in darkness until madness claimed them.

Perhaps he wanted to break Gideon’s spirit first—to make the proud Duke of Wolverstone beg for mercy before the real interrogation began.

Each possibility was more unsettling than the last, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. He was a man of action, accustomed to controlling his own fate. This helpless waiting was almost worse than any physical torture they could devise.

His stomach gurgled embarrassingly in the silence, the sound unnaturally loud in the confined space. The noise made him flush with shame, his pride rebelling against such a basic human weakness.

Suddenly, there was a sharp clink of metal against stone, and something hard flew through the darkness toward his face.

Gideon’s hand shot up and caught the object just inches from his nose, his fingers closing around it instinctively. What was that? A stone?

Some kind of projectile meant to injure him?

He squinted in the dim light filtering through the tiny window, trying to make out what he’d caught. After a moment, he realized it was a piece of bread.

Leila hurled her own piece of bread at him.

“What are you doing?” he asked sharply. He was angry at her pity, angry that she hadn’t consumed the bread herself, though she was probably as hungry as he was.

“You’re bigger than me. You require more food,” she answered simply.

“I don’t need your pity,” he said, his voice hard and cold. “And I don’t need your scraps.”

The chains rattled as she shifted position, turning away from him. “Then do with it as you please.”

Gideon rolled the piece of bread in his palm. It was barely more than a mouthful, but his stomach cramped at the sight of it, reminding him just how desperately his body craved sustenance.

It was also as hard as stone. Normally, he would have scoffed at such an offering, but now his mouth watered at the very thought.

He was still considering whether to eat it—whether he could swallow his pride along with the bread—when the screech of hinges announced the opening of their cell door.

But this wasn’t on schedule. They’d already had both feedings for the day. Otherwise, the guards had never bothered them.

This time, it wasn’t just the usual solitary guard. Two men stepped through the doorway, their bulk filling the narrow room.

They completely ignored Gideon, stepping past him as if he weren’t even there. Instead, they moved directly toward Leila, their forms towering over her chained figure.

She looked so tiny in comparison that she shrank even further, pressing herself against the wall as they approached.

Every muscle in Gideon’s body tensed, coiling like a spring ready to explode into action. His hands clenched into fists, and he felt his heart rate spike.

But he couldn’t do anything. The iron shackles around his wrists held him fast to the stone floor, rendering him as helpless as a chained dog.

“The Cardinal said not to do you in,” one of the men said to Leila, his voice carrying the casual tone of someone discussing the weather.

Good to know.

“But he ain’t said naught ’bout not touchin’ ye,” the man continued. There was something hungry and predatory in his voice that made Gideon’s skin crawl. “Or makin’ ye touch us.”

The implication was crystal clear, sending a surge of murderous fury through Gideon.

“Three bloody days we been watchin’ ye, and for what?” the first man said, his outline moving closer to Leila in the darkness. “Yer kind knows how to serve. Let’s see how good ye really are.”

The sounds that followed were unmistakable—the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt being undone, the whisper of trousers being pulled down.

The second man turned toward Gideon, and even in the dim light, his sneer was clearly visible. His voice dripped with venom as he said, “An’ you can watch.”

* * *

Leila froze in absolute horror as the man’s words sank in. The crude implications crashed over her in waves, and for a terrifying moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She could do nothing but stare at the approaching threat.

Instinctively, she pressed herself back against the cold stone wall, as if she could disappear into it entirely.

The rough surface scraped against her shoulders through the thin fabric of her shirt, but she barely registered the discomfort.

Her heart hammered against her ribs so violently that she was certain everyone in the cell could hear it.

Without thinking, she threw a brief, panicked glance toward Gideon across the cell. For just a moment, some desperate part of her hoped— prayed —that despite everything he’d said and thought of her, he might—

She caught herself immediately, forcing her expression back to neutral.

She couldn’t afford to expect a rescue. Even if Gideon could save her, he had made his position crystal clear: he wouldn’t.

There was nothing between them but loathing and mistrust. She was on her own, as she’d always been.

And even if he hadn’t loathed her, he couldn’t help her if he tried. He was shackled, just as helpless as she was.

She wouldn’t give these animals the satisfaction of seeing her panic, her fear, her terror. She’d learned long ago that showing weakness only made predators more vicious.

The familiar weight of resignation settled over her. She would do what was required of her, just as she always had.

The goal was to stay alive.

The goal was to somehow reach Emir, to see her little brother again, to keep him safe from the horrors that had claimed her.

If she died here, fighting these men in this wretched cell, who would take care of him? Who would ensure that the same fate that had befallen her would never touch her innocent little brother?

The thought of Emir alone and defenseless gave her the strength she needed to prepare for what was coming.

So she forced herself to move, rising slowly to her knees on the filthy stone floor. Her legs trembled, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from whimpering… crying… shouting.

She watched with growing revulsion as the man began lowering his trousers to his hips, revealing hairy, unwashed thighs, and the sight of him touching himself with obvious anticipation made her stomach lurch.

I’ve done this before, Leila told herself firmly, trying to summon the disconnected numbness that had helped her through similar ordeals in the past. It will not be any worse than before. I can survive this too.

After experiencing true passion in Gideon’s arms just days ago, she had thought that precious memory tucked away in her mind would make subsequent violations easier to bear. At least she had a moment of real pleasure, real tenderness, to hold on to.

But somehow, this was infinitely worse.

Now she knew how it could be. She’d seen Gideon in all his glorious nakedness, felt his gentle hands and passionate kisses, and understood what it meant to be truly desired rather than simply used.

The contrast between that beautiful memory and this current nightmare was so stark it felt like torture.

Staring at the man in front of her, she wanted to die rather than submit to what he demanded.

Don’t think about Gideon, she pleaded desperately with herself. Think about saving Emir. Think about staying alive. Nothing else matters.

“Yes, be a good lass,” the man said, his voice thick with anticipation as he moved closer to her kneeling form. “Don’t resist.”

Gideon let out a laugh.

The sound was so unexpected, so completely at odds with the horror of the moment, that Leila jumped. Her head snapped toward him, confusion and disbelief warring in her chest. What could he possibly find amusing about this situation?

“Oi, what’s so funny, eh?” the guard demanded, clearly as confused as Leila by this unexpected response.

Gideon’s voice, when he answered, dripped with contempt and, oddly, dark amusement.

“Why would she resist? Perhaps because you smell worse than pigs in a sty, but with a pecker as small as yours, she won’t even feel it wherever you’re planning to stick it.”

Despite the horror of her situation, Leila couldn’t suppress the startled chuckle that escaped her throat.

Gideon wasn’t wrong.

Not about the smell, and definitely not about the man’s pecker . Not that it mattered.

It seemed to matter to the guard, though, as he took it as the greatest insult.

His face flushed dark red with rage and humiliation. He whirled toward Gideon, barely containing his fury.

“Maybe ye’d like the pleasure o’ feelin’ it yerself, eh?” he snarled, his voice shaking with anger. “Reckon it’ll give yer throat a good tickle.”