Page 7

BENJI

I hum softly, letting the sound carry through the quiet of the cell block.

It’s an old tune, one my mom used to sing when I was a kid.

I can’t remember all the words anymore, only the melody, slow and soothing like ripples in still water.

It’s enough to calm the oppressive silence.

Even the rotters’ endless scratching fades into the background, drowned out by the low, steady notes.

“You always hum when you’re bored, or is this a special occasion?

” Zoey’s voice drifts over from her cell, dry with a tinge of curiosity.

She’s lying on the cold stone floor, one knee bent up, her golden hair fanned out around her like some kind of halo.

Sunlight filters through the tiny window above her, catching the dust motes in the air and making her glow against the otherwise dark and lifeless walls.

She’s the only thing in this place that looks like it belongs to the outside world.

The rest of us? We’ve been swallowed by the darkness for so long that I’m convinced the light will burn us if we get too close.

I grin from where I’m leaning against the wall, facing her. “ Trying to class up the place. Thought you’d appreciate the ambiance.”

She snorts. “Ambiance? In this dump? You’re ambitious.” Her fingers absently rub against her side, like there’s some hidden pain she’s trying to soothe.

“Hey, a guy’s gotta aim high.” I tap my fingers against my knees, keeping rhythm with the song. “Besides, I figured you’d prefer this over listening to Damon brood, or Cole…well, do whatever it is Cole does over there.” I snap my fingers. “I got it. He can glare you to death.”

Zoey chuckles. The sound is lighter than I’ve heard from her so far. A small victory, but I’ll take it. “What’s the song?”

I shrug, then remember she can’t see me. “Something my mom used to hum. She used to say I’d grow up to be a musician. Guess I disappointed her there.”

“Considering the fact that music draws in hordes of rotters, I’d wager to say it’s probably for the best.” Zoey pauses and picks at the hem of her shirt. Her voice dips lower. “Although, I have a friend who saved us all one day by playing a guitar, so maybe becoming a musician isn’t all that bad.”

“Oh? Color me intrigued.”

Maybe you two can meet when we get out of here. “Besides, I’m guessing you didn’t disappoint her half as much as my mom would be disappointed in me right now.” The humor in her tone doesn’t quite mask the pain beneath it.

Despite my curiosity about this guitar-playing friend, I let the silence stretch for a beat before speaking again. “You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s something. I know I’m proud of you for that.”

Zoey lets out a slow exhale. “Feels like the bare minimum these days.” She doesn’t sound bitter, only tired. Morose, even.

“The bare minimum?” My brows pull together in a scowl.

“The bare minimum isn’t as easy as it sounds.

It’s really fucking hard to stay alive nowadays.

Add in the fact that we’re currently imprisoned by dregs.

Yeah, staying alive is a lot more than the bare minimum.

You can’t see it, but I’m scowling at you right now. ”

She rolls her head against the floor so her cheek rests against the stone while her gaze turns in my direction.

It’s a little off, but for the most part, she’s looking right at me.

“What I don’t understand is why we’re alive.

I’ve seen them kill people, but this is the first time I’ve heard of them taking captives. What do they do to you guys here?”

I shrug, then remember she can’t see the motion.

Damon answers first. “Torment us. Have their fun.”

Zoey’s face loses color. “What kind of fun?”

Damon’s voice sharpens like a blade. “Don’t worry. They won’t lay a hand on you again.”

The certainty in his voice makes my stomach twist. It’s an impossible promise to make. She was extremely lucky she was pushed up against those bars instead of the stone wall at the back of her cell. I shudder to think what would have happened if no one could have stepped in.

For the first time since we were thrown into this place, we have a reason to get out. A purpose. I never thought I’d have one again, but then she came along. Besides, I need to meet this friend of hers who redirected a whole damn rotter horde with a guitar.

“That’s a hell of a promise to make,” Zoey says, though her tone sounds like she doesn’t believe him. She stops fidgeting with the hem of her shirt and drags her palms absently along her arm.

That’s when I see the growing discoloration. “Come over here.”

She hesitates. Her eyes dart toward the shadows that engulf me, searching for something she can’t see. Then she sits up and crawls forward. The closer she gets, the more I can see her electric blue eyes, and the hesitation, wariness, and exhaustion that swirls within.

“Over here?” she asks, her voice uncertain while she peers around my dark cell. Her hands brush against the bars before her fingers curl around them.

With mute movement, I move closer until I’m right in front of her.

She’s looks directly at me, mere inches away, and she doesn’t even know it.

I take advantage of these few moments to study her.

Her face, her golden hair, all the way down to the growing bruises on her arm in the shape of fingerprints.

The curve of her cheek, and the hope still shining in her eyes.

“Yes,” I say with a softness I haven’t felt in a long time.

She startles at my closeness and her breath catches. Her gaze shoots straight at me. We’re eye level now. Well, almost. She’s still a couple of inches shorter than me, even when sitting down, yet she has the confidence of someone twice her size.

Her breath fans against my face, and for the first time in months, I realize how close I am to another human being. Other than fighting our dreg captors, I haven’t touched another human being since being thrown in here. Not in a way that I wasn’t trying to kill them.

I reach a hand through the bars. The light from her window barely reaches over here. The edges of it are only enough to illuminate her without touching the darkness in which I reside. So when my hand appears in front of her face, she gasps. “You’re real.”

That makes me chuckle. “Of course I’m real, golden girl.”

“Golden girl?” She arches a brow.

I take a few strands of her hand and run it between my fingers. It almost looks wrong to see my palm skim against her vibrant hair. “Your hair. It’s like strands of gold.” I smirk. “You’re the first exciting thing to happen here since the day a wasp found its way in. ”

“A wasp?”

“Yeah. Stung Damon on the ass, and he’s been a real pain ever since.”

“It did not,” Damon calls out, making Zoey laugh.

She doesn’t pull away when my fingers trail across her cheek. So soft. Warm. My fingers curl in and knuckles brush against the curve of her jawline. To my surprise, she leans into my touch and sighs.

Fuck.

My fingers twitch, and for a second, I almost pull her closer.

Almost.

“It’s not fair,” she says.

“What isn’t fair?”

“All of you can see me.” She tilts her head. “But I can’t see you.”

I exhale through my nose and spread my fingers against the smooth curve of her cheekbone. I’m tempted to pull her against the bars and kiss her. To see if her lips are as soft as her skin.

The sound of scraping concrete comes from Cole’s cell. It’s a subtle, low noise, but it’s enough to break the moment. My hand falls away from her face and trails along her arm. She flinches when my fingers brush against the fingerprint bruises, and my stomach hardens. “Hey…” I say, my voice thick.

Zoey pulls back and covers the bruises with her other hand. “It’s fine.”

The metal bars on Damon’s side rattle. Damon’s voice is razor sharp. “What’s not fine?”

Zoey stiffens. “I said it’s fine.”

“Yeah, I heard you. What’s not fine?”

“Yeah, and I’m a world-class chef,” I retort. “Come on, golden girl. Humor me. What’s the worst that can happen?”

She hesitates, then lets out a sigh and extends her arm into the light so the bruises are in plain view.

I rest my palm along the back of her arm, tilting it toward the dim light streaming in from her window to get a better look.

It’s a good thing the other two guys can’t see this.

The sight of the deep, ugly splotches that run from her forearm to her elbow makes me, the least violent of the three of us, want to murder every other person on this godforsaken planet.

It takes everything in me to not slam my fist into the bars.

Instead, I force a light tone. “You’ve got a real knack for pissing people off, huh?”

Her smirk is faint. “It’s a gift.” She winces when I brush my fingers over the worst of it.

I raise an eyebrow. “Does it hurt too bad?”

She pulls her arm back before I can ask more questions. “I’ve had worse.”

That’s not the answer I was hoping for. In fact, that answer makes things so much worse.

I watch her carefully, noticing the way she shifts just a little too carefully, and the slight wince she tries to hide. She wasn’t wincing like that before, but the dreg didn’t touch her anywhere else. Which means golden girl is hiding something.

“Okay, what else are you hiding? I saw you clutch your side just now.”

Zoey slides away from me and presses her back against the stone wall. More distance. More barriers. “It’s nothing,” she brushes off.”

“Don’t make me sic Damon on you.”

She lets out a huff of a laugh. “An old injury is all.”

“Old injury?” My eyes narrow. “What kind of old injury?”

As if summoned, Damon’s voice cuts through the air like a blade before Zoey a respond. “Tell us what happened, Zoey.”

Her fingers twitch against her ribs for a moment. I think she’s going to dodge the question against. She doesn’t owe us anything, after all. Doesn’t mean we’re going to let it go, even if we have to annoy her to death.