Page 34 of The Delta’s Rogue (Crescent Lake #4)

“Well? Is she a virgin?” Amara stands with her arms crossed. Her foot taps impatiently on the floor, and her eyes bore into Brenna’s head.

Brenna and I stare at each other. My fate rests in her trembling hands. Time stretches infinitely as everyone waits for her to respond to Amara.

I swallow the tangy, coppery blood in my mouth, unsure when during Brenna’s invasion of my memories I bit myself to draw it forward. The goosebumps on my skin spread and deepen at the taste, but I maintain eye contact with her.

I try to wipe the pleading desperation from my face, but I doubt I am successful. Not that it matters since Amara isn’t watching me at all. Brenna is the center of her focus.

Amara waits with bated breath, on the edge of her toes, for Brenna to seal my fate. Brenna blinks twice, and glances at Amara.

Panic rises within me.

I can’t go to Nuncio’s club. If I’m sent there, that may be the end for me. If I’m prepared for an auction, then there may be hope the others can find me and get to me in time.

Maybe. I’m pinning all my hopes on maybes, on what-ifs, but it’s my only option.

“She’s a virgin,” Brenna says.

I hold in my sigh of relief and clench my jaw to swallow back the words of thanks on the tip of my tongue. I can’t thank her, not here. Maybe not at all. I don’t know her motivation for choosing to lie for me. For all I know, she may be planning to use me and betray me later.

Behind me, Nuncio and his cronies huff their annoyance and disappointment.

Amara raises her sharply arched brow and flicks her eyes to me. Disbelief, icy and harsh, fills them.

“Hmm…” Amara circles me, heels clicking on the floor and the train of her dress slinking behind her. She traces the edge of my hair—the section framing my face—flicking it over my shoulder.

I tense, resisting the urge to flinch away from her touch. I won’t give her that satisfaction. I remain composed, even though my instincts scream at me to put distance between us.

Her sharp, pitch-black nails trail down my arm as she thinks. The stiletto-shaped tips leave behind the faintest hint of a scratch on my skin. Her gaze wanders between Brenna and me, her calculating mind forming a sinister plan.

“Brenna, dearest.” Her voice returns to the faux sweetness she adopts when speaking with me. “I’ve decided you will be directly responsible for training and preparing our sweet girl, Anaís.”

She speaks to Brenna, but her eyes stay on me. A cruelty—a threat—lingers behind the motherly attitude she displays.

Brenna sputters. “B-but I’ve never done it by myself before and—”

“It’s time you learned.” Amara spins on her heel and crosses to Brenna one slow, stalking step at a time. She oozes confidence and an ominous regality as she stares down her nose at the younger, more timid witch. “If she does well, if she pleases me, you’ll be rewarded.”

Her hand glides up Brenna’s cheek. Brenna flinches away, shrinking in on herself at Amara’s touch, but Amara’s fingers tighten on her face, the tips of her nails digging into her skin preventing her from moving.

She lowers her face to Brenna’s ear, threatening her in a stage whisper. “See to it that she pleases me.”

Brenna trembles, a whimper falling from her lips. Her eyes widen, and she nods.

Amara smiles at her, angling her body to gaze at me again. She sweeps her eyes over me one final time, then glides away, a dark laugh floating behind her—weaving its way through my ears and striking fear in my heart like a bolt of lightning in a withered tree.

Nuncio yanks me towards the door on the right, and Brenna moves with us, following him. My feet hurry to catch up to his pace. He practically drags me, and the silver collar around my neck chafes my skin, rubbing it almost raw.

“ ?Más despacio, cabrón! ” I snap, angling my chin, attempting to limit the contact from the collar.

The pain from the silver is a dull ache most of the time, but when they tug on the chains, the icy burn singes my skin. It bubbles and burns beneath the restraints, sending shocks of pain through my system. Each is a stark reminder of my circumstances.

Nuncio growls and rounds on me, anger flaring in his narrowed eyes. “What did you say?” His voice is low and layered with a warning.

I lift my chin, drawing myself to my full height, a sudden fury pulsing through me. It feeds my defiance and gives life to a hidden part of me. The part I keep secret and only show to a select few.

If he knew…

I should back down, clamp my mouth shut and bite my tongue. I should have a shred of self-preservation.

I don’t.

“ Dije: ‘Más despacio, cabrón .’” I lick my lips and then translate for him. “Slow down, fucker.”

I draw out each word, enunciating them precisely to ensure he hears and comprehends each and every one. I place every ounce of strength I have left into them, returning the glare he gives me.

“You insolent little…” He raises his hand to strike me.

On instinct, I try to cover my face with my hands, forgetting they’re bound behind my back.

They clang and jangle together with my efforts to move, the links brushing my lower back and forearms. I brace myself for the impact of his hand.

I shut my eyes and clamp my jaw so my teeth won’t hit each other or pierce my tongue.

But the impact never comes. The sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the room, followed by a sharp cry from a female and a shout of “fuck” from Nuncio.

I peek through my eyelids, heart pounding and breaths shaking .

Brenna stands between Nuncio and me, clutching her cheek, face turned sideways. Nuncio looks at his hand in horror. He backs away from Brenna, eyes widening with each tension-filled second that passes.

Kanon and Crooked Nose rush forward, grabbing Nuncio’s arms to usher him to the door on the left—the door they sent all the non-virgins through.

For the briefest moment, I’m frozen in place, watching the scene unfold.

Brenna glances at me, her eyes flicking to my chains before meeting mine again. My head swivels to the three males making their way out of the room, who aren’t paying us any attention.

Then I run.

I run for the door we entered through. I run as fast as I can with my arms bound behind my back, as fast as the chains allow. They’re just short enough for it to be awkward, to take me a moment to find a steady gait, but once I do, I’m barreling towards the door and through it.

My heart in my throat and lungs burning, I take off in the direction we came from when they dragged me out of my cell.

I don’t let up on my speed, even with the aching of my muscles.

The drugs and the silver limit my strength, but I grit my teeth and push through.

If I can make it to my cell, I can retrace my steps to where they unloaded me from the vehicle, and—

Two females step directly into my path. They’re dressed similarly to Brenna—long, velvet gowns, one burgundy and one navy blue—and I can only assume they’re witches too.

I’m sure I can bypass them easily. I can plow through one, shove her into the other, and continue on my way to freedom.

As I’m about to reach them, the air around my feet thickens.

It twists and spirals and grabs my ankles, anchoring my feet in place.

My momentum doesn’t stop, though. My body continues moving, and I freefall forward, twisting myself so my shoulder will hit the floor first, instead of my chin or my face.

Before I hit the ground, the females catch me, one grabbing me around my shoulders and the other around my middle. My eyes shut in devastation as heels click on the floor with the speed of a typewriting secretary, the slinking of a metallic gown following them like a slithering, scaly snake .

I have no time to reevaluate and get out of their clutches.

Amara reaches us in a heartbeat. She glares at me with cold fury and grips my chin in her hand, clenching it tight and digging her sharp nails into my skin.

“What’s wrong, sweet thing?” she coos, stalking closer to me, her sugary voice contrasting her frigid stare. “Why would you run away from us?”

Her thumb runs across my trembling lower lip, and this time, I can’t hide my flinch. I rear back, but her hold grows tighter and the females keep me in place. I fight them, straining my neck and ignoring every ounce of pain, every jolt that pierces and burns and nicks at my senses.

I have to get out.

Her thumb rubbing my lip is a twisted reminder of the times Sebastian did the same. The cuffs and collar are a sadistic version of the restraints he used on me when we played, when I was his sub and he was my Dom. When we were together and everything was the way it should be.

“We don’t want to hurt you.” Amara raises her volume but keeps in her voice the false sweetness that I swear could curdle milk. “We want to take care of you.”

My upper lip curls at her words, my thrashing increasing.

“We’re going to clean you up, train you, dress you like a pretty little doll, and sell you off to the highest bidder—someone who will take care of you and keep you all to themselves like the gorgeous prize you are.”

She gestures behind her with her free hand, curling her finger as she beckons someone forward, that cruel yet saccharine smile painted on her face. Brenna walks up tentatively, stopping right beside Amara. A bruise blooms under her eye and across her cheekbone from where she took the blow for me.

Amara flicks her eyes towards it and clicks her tongue. “He won’t be happy about that. Nuncio will pay. I promise you, Brenna dear.”

Brenna nods, but she doesn’t seem at all reassured by Amara’s comment. Instead, she seems more frightened. Her already pale skin turns a deathly shade of white as the blood drains from her face.

Amara ignores Brenna, her focus already back on me. “Take her blood, Brenna,” she orders, eyes locked on the fluttering artery in my neck .

Confusion flashes through me, and I frown, my fighting temporarily paused as I process her command.

Brenna sends me an apologetic look then darts forward, yanking my bound arms from behind me and wrenching them around until I grunt in pain.

A needle drives into a vein in the crook of my arm, piercing precisely into it on the first try.

I scream, and my fighting resumes even though I know it will worsen the bruising from the needle, especially since I don’t have access to my enhanced healing.

Amara laughs and spins my head so I’m forced to watch Brenna fill a large vial with my blood.

I pant. Large tears streak down my cheeks, dropping onto Amara’s hand.

The red in the vial reminds me of my red dress—the one I turned into a top, the one Sebastian used to make my choker for me—and I can’t hold back the sob that escapes me.

“Shh…” Amara smooths my hair away from my face, her hand cold against my forehead, the touch all wrong. It tries to be gentle, to be motherly and soothing, but it’s condescending and manipulative. “Shh…” she repeats. “This is for your own good, sweet girl. This is to keep you safe, to protect you.”

Ella es una mentirosa . Such a fucking liar. But I can see how her tone and composure could give someone a false sense of security. I wonder how many girls have fallen for her lies, how many victims she’s caught in her web of pretend benevolence.

Brenna removes the needle from my arm as Amara continues to murmur softly to me.

One of the two witches holding me in place covers the puncture wound, putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding.

The blood flows down my arm even with her hand on it, matching the stream of tears falling from my eyes.

Amara lifts her fingers to her mouth, licking my tears off them while holding eye contact with me. This time, I don’t cower away from her. I lift my chin higher, grit my teeth, and swallow back the rest of my sobs.

“See?” She angles her head. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

I don’t respond, but my muscles quake with exhaustion, both physical and mental.

Amara hums out a laugh, her tongue sliding across her teeth. “We’ll leave you to it.” She beckons to the others to follow her. “Don’t be afraid to use her blood,” she adds to Brenna as she passes, touching her forearm as she addresses her. “It’s the only way she’ll learn.”