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31

Cindi

The rag scrapes against my sweat-stained skin.

It burns against the tears and chafes my cheek, and the column of my throat feels like it has been tied off.

I struggle against the ropes around my ankles and wrists, trying to dislodge the makeshift gag, my movements sluggish.

Tires rumble against gravel.

It crackles and pops, filling the enclosed space.

A trunk.

They put me in a trunk after they drugged me.

Bile lurches up my esophagus.

The gag and sack muffle my cry.

This is actually happening.

They’ve found me.

They got to me.

They’re going to torture me until I beg them to kill me.

Ordus , I internally plead.

He has to be looking for me, has to come find me, but they already hurt him on the beach.

I don’t know what the Gallaghers did to him?—

Oh, God.

What if they’ve killed him?

My terror flares, and I kick my feet as hard as I can, over and over.

It gets me nowhere, other than wasting energy I don’t have.

I can already imagine the incoming pain.

The feeling of my bones crushing beneath a boot.

Blue and black blossoming from a fist. Starving.

Dehydrated. Locked away in a basement.

They could traffic me.

Please, please, please.

I pray to a God I don’t believe in, a Goddess who’s letting her followers be wiped out.

Ordus .

He’s the only one who will come for me, fight for me, risk everything to get me back.

There have only ever been two people in my life who’ve put me first, and fuck, I should’ve recognized it weeks ago.

I should’ve acted on everything sooner, run away or married Ordus to end the Curse.

Now? We have nothing to show for years of suffering and heartache, and everyone is going to fucking die because I’ve been dragging my feet, too stupid to realize children would be dying because of my choices.

The car comes to a stop.

The engine cuts off.

My fight renews. The second the trunk opens, I unleash everything I have.

I buck and kick, scream against the rag in my mouth, but it’s all hopeless with my hands tied behind my back.

Pinpricks of artificial light penetrate through the rag.

I can’t see anything, not even a vague outline of people or buildings.

Footsteps and tires crunch on gravel, but there are too many sounds for me to work out how many people surround me.

A solid shoulder stabs me in the stomach, leaving me winded.

I try kicking my bound feet, wiggling my body to throw the man’s hands off me but he’s too strong.

I keep going, attempting to gather details about my surroundings while throwing my weight around.

The moment we step inside, a door slams behind me, and I know I’m done for.

The smell of bleach, cigarette smoke, piss, and rotten flesh assault my senses.

I can hear more people.

The slap of sandals.

The scrape of a chair against the floor.

The crinkle of wrapping.

A TV plays what sounds like a game show in the background.

Male voices come from another room.

How many people are there?

Five? Ten? Thirty?

I’m never getting out of here.

Ordus will die trying to save me.

Fuck. No—he can’t. He has to go back to the island and forget about me.

There’s no point in the both of us getting captured.

I fight harder. I’d rather get a bullet through the head than deal with whatever’s coming.

Another set of hands lands on me, shifting my equilibrium by yanking my shoulder and slamming me down onto a seat.

It digs into my back, like sandpaper against my inflamed tattoo.

They tie me easily to it, like I’m not screaming and thrashing for dear life, and unfasten the sack on my head, though they leave it on.

I beg them to let me go in every language I know, but none of it makes sense through the gag.

I strain my eyes, trying to see.

Still, nothing but the light’s hue makes it through.

The echo of departing footsteps fills the room.

The gunshot sound of the slammed door makes things worse.

They’re calling for their boss.

Who is it going to be?

Tommy’s brother? One of their enforcers?

His dad?

The ropes burn my skin as I wriggle, trying to undo the bindings around my wrists or loosen the ties strapping me to the chair.

The bag is ripped from my head, and I scream from the shock and the sudden onslaught of light.

Breathing hard, I squint against the brightness.

A single, dreary, white light bulb hangs from the moldy ceiling.

Brown and black stains splatter the concrete floors and yellowed walls, a watercolor patchwork foretelling the agony in my future.

The peeling wallpaper curls around the rickety table loaded with guns, rusted knives, pliers, and tools I’ve only ever seen used on cars and construction.

Movement flashes from my side.

I jump and cringe away from the person rounding me, body primed for an attack.

My brows stitch together, blinking to pinpoint why the blurry face is familiar.

“Deedee?” I croak, inspecting her up and down for bruises or ropes.

“What are you—what’s happening? Where am I? Why am I here? Untie me.”

Her arms are free.

She’s in the same jeans and T-shirt I saw her in during dinner—how long ago was that?

I crane my neck to find a window.

Is the sun about to rise?

It doesn’t matter. We need to get out of here before those men come back.

Deedee tsks, and the room spins when I snap my attention back to her.

“So many questions,” she muses.

My frown deepens. “Deedee, this isn’t funny—” The realization drops like a stone.

I suck in a sharp breath at the smile splitting across her face.

“The American,” I whisper.

She sold me out.

My friend gave me up to the fucking Gallaghers.

That bitch.

Rage slices through me.

Anger at her. Anger at myself .

I was stupid to trust her.

We were never friends.

Why the fuck did we get matching tattoos if we didn’t have some kind of bond?

“Cindi, Cindi, Cindi.” Deedee’s bottom lip sticks out in mock pity.

“I don’t even know your real name.”

It takes me a second to figure out what she meant.

When it finally sinks in, I want to throw up.

Deedee said there was an American going around saying my actual name.

Like I’m taking too long to fit the pieces together, she laughs.

“There was never any American, stupid.”

I think I’m going to throw up.

“But there was a man at my house. He—he took my phone,” I say in disbelief.

Deedee purses her lips in mock pity.

“Yes. One of mine, babe.”

“Why am I here?” I stutter, flicking my attention between her and the door.

How long until the Gallaghers walk in?

How much is she getting for handing me over?

Her smile twists into an ugly sneer.

“Because you found him, and you really shouldn’t have found him.”

“Who?” Tommy?

I—I don’t understand.

If this isn’t about the Gallaghers, then what?

Wait—“ Ordus? ”

“Yes, Ordus .” She spits his name.

“Monsters.”

I gape at Deedee.

How the fuck does she know what he is?

Ordus didn’t recognize her, and she was acting strange from the moment she saw him.

“They feast on human flesh. Children . What type of sick monster are you for spreading your legs for him?” She places her manicured hands on her hips, dragging her scrutinizing eyes over me.

“I thought you’d be smarter than to do something as stupid as go near his kind.”

“They’re not all bad,” I defend.

Ordus is kind and gentle.

Sure, he’s a bit crazy and unhinged, but that’s only because his culture is different to humans.

“I’m his mate,” I tack on like it might mean something or explain how I got into this situation.

“I won’t let you hurt him.”

“Cute. Like you’d be able to do anything,” she scoffs, looking down her nose at me like I’m the dumbest person she’s ever met.

And maybe I am. “You’re a human, darling. Humans and krakens don’t go together. Tell me, why does he think you’re his mate ?” she mocks.

“Let me guess: he feels a pull to you? He just knows or some stupid childish bullshit like that? Hmm?”

I shift in my chair, throwing nervous glances at the table full of torture equipment.

Deedee is who the krakens are afraid of—the humans they’ve been told to steer clear of because they’re hated for their mere existence.

I continue wriggling my hands to undo the ties.

“ Mates? ” A maniacal smirk warps her face.

“Hate to break it to you, girl. That’s because of me and the pretty little mark I left on your back.”

As if noticing the attention, the tattoo on my back prickles and sparks before catching fire.

I roll my shoulders to unstick the fabric from it.

“What does the tattoo have to do with any of this?”

I bare my teeth like an animal when she reaches over to tap my nose, like this is all some big fucking joke, and any second, she’s going to yell “just kidding.” “You know, it’s a good thing you haven’t let him sink his fangs into you, or else the Curse would’ve lifted, and I’d be very, very upset.”

I jerk back.

Deedee knows about that too?

“Why wouldn’t you want to end the Curse? They have women, children, fucking newborn babies.”

“Ni Luh was just a child, and they killed her!” Her voice takes on a deep rumble.

The dark browns of her eyes twist into the darkest shade of endless black.

“Everyone in our village loved her, and his kind took her from me. She was innocent , and they tore her body to shreds. But you know what they did?” Her expression goes crazed.

“They left us her head.”

The air crackles with electricity, the type of charged energy of a haunted house, or a cemetery when the moon is at its highest. It’s an unnatural shift ten times stronger than the subtle tingle down my spine when the sigils into the cave flow.

Her shoe slides along the bloodstained floor.

“There are witches around the world, but none are as powerful as my mother. She was revered across the earth. My sister’s powers were manifesting to be just as formidable,” she explains, angry creases forming around her eyes.

My eyes drop to the bracelet she always wears.

Her sister’s bracelet.

Ni Luh.

“I was the only one in my family who could make sure the krakens suffered for what they did to my sister—long after my mother’s death.” The rope around my wrist loosens as she speaks.

“We knew she wouldn’t survive casting the Curse, and the only way for it to continue was for me to act as its anchor and choose the brides so there will always be two bearing its weight. One destined to die, one destined to live. Balance . She gave me part of her life force so I could live long enough to watch each and every kraken be expunged for their sins.”

Holy shit, she’s fucking crazy.

Ordus can’t come here.

How the fuck am I meant to fight off and run from a witch?

A witch who’s apparently powerful enough to single-handedly continue the eradication of an entire species.

“I’m sorry your sister died, but an entire species shouldn’t pay for the actions of one?—”

“They’re monsters!”

“You’re killing children too. Do you think that makes you better?”

“Yes.” Deedee raises her chin.

“It makes me stronger, because no other daughter or sister or brother will die by their hands.”

“It’s genocide.”

She smirks.

“It’s justice.”

I shake my head.

“You’re fucking sick. Go to a therapist and grieve like a normal person.”

“You do not understand my pain,” Deedee hisses.

“I lost my sister and my mother.”

“Maybe not, but I’m not going around murdering babies because someone I care about dies after casting a curse to kill krakens and all sea life in the area.” She has to realize how fucked up this is.

“It’s over. They’ve learned their lesson. They’ve suffered enough. This ends now .”

Scoffing, she paces the soiled room.

“Oh, it’s not enough. All their deaths will be on your hands too.” She points at me.

“They might not be as bloody as mine, but you’ll be a killer like me. That little tattoo you let me put on your back?” She taps the side of her ribs where she has the same leaf motif.

“The one we both have? You’re wearing the Curse.”

A cold chill races down my spine.

“The destined bride,” I echo.

I was never chosen by the Goddess.

I was chosen by her .

Deedee nods. “Now you’re getting it. If the monster thinks you’re his mate, it’s only because his magic recognizes the Curse pumping through your veins.”

Bile curdles up my throat.

It was all a lie.

“Whoever wears the mark is the one the kraken king must marry to end the Curse. They’d have to marry the thing they hate most, the kind they see as weak and lesser.” Deedee laughs.

“I thought it was an amazing idea.”

I breathe hard through my mouth.

“Why me?” I croak.

Did she sense the blood already soaking my hands?

Did she see me and decide I didn’t suffer enough with Tommy?

“I needed a bride, and you were available.” She shrugs.

“You looked like you were running from an army of demons, and I had the means to make you stay on the mainland. Control you. Monitor you. You hardly left the house, so when would you get the chance to run into him? I figured if the Curse didn’t eat your life force after a year, your demons would end you so I could transfer the Curse to the next naive girl. I didn’t mind those odds.”

Eat my life force?

The corners of my vision go blurry with rage.

Deedee’s the reason I’ve been growing increasingly tired.

It’s not stress , it’s her.

God, I want to fucking kill her.

“Why didn’t you put it on some random tourist who’ll return to their country and never come back?”

Her smile is sadistic.

“Because the further they are from the Dead Lands—love that name, by the way, my idea too—the slower the Curse progresses. And you’ve been right here, pushing the Curse along at breakneck speed. Good job.”

“And now you’re going to kill me.” So children can die.

So she can pass the Curse to someone else, wipe out an entire population, and destroy miles upon miles of land so it’s forever uninhabitable.

I twist my hands and thrash against the bindings.

I need to get out of here.

“It’s nothing personal, darling. You were kinda okay to be around, I guess, but I can’t let you break the Curse.” Deedee huffs.

“I must admit, it was cute seeing you worry about the pirates. You were so blind, it was almost endearing.”

I still, internal temperature plummeting.

“What?” I breathe.

“Darling, I am the pirates. So is Nat.”

What?

No. “But—but they stole?—”

She nods.

“For me, yes. I have another factory—a bigger one. I knew you would never have agreed to work alongside the men, but I wanted your brains. Your ignorance was a bonus.” I hate the look of pity she’s giving me.

That—that can’t be right.

“The machines had a fifty percent success rate?—”

“Don’t look so confused. You were always holed up in your house and fell for whatever we told you.”

Swallowing, I read between the lines.

“You were undercutting me.” There I go again, proving I learned nothing.

I fell for Tommy’s tricks, and I fell for Deedee’s.

I try hard to imagine a reality in which Ordus might only be using me for his own personal gain, but I don’t see it.

“It’s just business.” She ambles over to the table and waves at the items on it.

“Do you have a preference? Bullet to the head? Knife across your throat? I can arrange to have you drowned, if that’s what you prefer, so you can be reunited with the kraken. It’d be romantic?—”

Screaming starts before I can answer, followed by a gunshot, then a bark.

Then a familiar, deafening roar rattles the walls.

He’s come for me.

The cacophony of ensuing sounds renders me frozen as my eyes slide to Deedee, gun in her hand, sights trained on the door.

Fuck . She’s going to kill him.

I struggle against the bindings.

Deedee launches over to me before I can break free of the ropes.

The wooden chair skitters back against the bloodstained floor, a low screech against the battle cries and snarls rattling the thin walls.

My seat teeters on two legs before falling as the back of my head crashes onto the concrete floor.

White light bursts behind my eyes as a scream tears from my throat.

Deedee reaches for me.

“No!” The syllable comes out garbled.

I blindly kick out, unseeing, gasping for breath against the pain radiating through my skull.

My heel makes contact with bone, then a body topples onto me.

Something clatters to the side.

“Bitch!” Knuckles collide with my cheek.

My head whips to the side as my arms scrape against the floor.

She tries to scramble upright, reaching for the gun several feet from us.

“Fuck you,” I hiss, driving my knee up.

She tips forward, straddling me, her legs on either side of my body.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” she screeches.

Talons wrap around my throat in a bruising grip, cutting off my oxygen.

I sputter and cough, attempting to jerk away.

My surroundings blur, deaf to the sounds of death and destruction.

Black spots mar my dwindling vision.

Fatigue sinks past flesh and bone, burrowing deep into my marrow, spreading its poison to every corner of my body.

Air slams into my lungs at the same time a loud boom shotguns through the room.

Then a roar—a thundering crack so loud, I expect a blast of fire to follow.

Yet all that’s there is him, standing before the broken doorway, crowding the room with his presence until it feels too cramped to move an inch.

His shoulders are wide, tentacles suspended in the air, coiled to strike.

The heat of his rage bursts from him in violent shockwaves that rip through my flesh.

Deedee drops her full weight onto the hands around my throat, and they’re ripped away just as fast.

Everything happens so quickly, my brain and eyes experience a three-second lag.

A ball of yellow and cherry brown comes flying out of nowhere and latches onto Deedee’s limb.

Crimson explodes throughout the room, spraying the walls, the floor, my bruised skin in putrid warmth.

The walls bleed with each body part ripped to shreds.

And then I feel it.

The pressing, cloying weight on my chest, like a living entity taking its first breath, a sickly puff of condensation rolling down my spine.

It pulses. A thud. A shattered heartbeat right up against my own struggling one.

My limbs are weak, broken without real breaks, muscles atrophied without the passage of time.

A presence leeches me of life and warmth.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispers.

Not my own, but someone else’s.

Hers. Them . The Witch and Deedee.

The Curse made to be carried by two.

It’s been transferred to one. I’m going to die.