Page 12

Chapter 12

EZEKIEL

I set the now empty water bottle down on the ground beside me, my eyes lingering on the woman, my captor, standing far enough away so I couldn’t hurt her.

Not that I would ever try to, but she doesn’t know that.

She’s protecting herself. She’s learned how to survive in a world filled with corruption and cruelty, and has no idea that we have that in common.

She’s alive .

That’s all I can think about as the hunger gnawing at my insides dissolves into nothing, my only focus is her. I’ve spent days thinking she was dead because of me, because she saved me. Torturing myself with the memory of her agonizing screams and the haunting silence that followed the moment they stopped.

I pleaded, hopelessly begging the phantom in the sky for a sign that she was still alive, if for no other reason than to give me hope that there was still a chance that I could save her. I heard nothing above the crashing tides and the wind blowing through the hollows of the stone formation until, finally, the exhaustion of staying awake for who knows how long knocked me on my ass.

I didn’t hear her when she arrived, much less register that she was trying to wake me.

I pieced it together once I was awake enough and came to my senses, realizing the position I had her in.

Nope. Don’t think about it.

She stands unnervingly still, frozen beneath my gaze as I try but fail to hide the anger and revulsion clawing its way up my throat, forcing me to speak before I think.

“I heard them,” I choke out, clearing my throat before continuing, “what they did to you. Your pain, I mean. I knew it was you, I just…” I trail off. My voice is hoarse, but my eyes are glued to the bloodied and burned crucifixes sliced and branded deep into her frail, delicate skin.

They’re dead motherfuckers.

Her aquamarine eyes, now even brighter in the daylight, lock onto mine, but there’s no understanding there. Only confusion as she gives me a look that lets me know that she thinks I’m out of my fucking mind. I’m a lot of things, baby, and crazy may be one of them, but I’ll be damned if I let what they did to you slide.

“Your body is covered in scars and wounds from those fucking assholes. You can’t hide the truth from me, beautiful,” I say as she plays with her hair, hiding as much of her nakedness from me as she can with the long, red strands. She’s embarrassed by her scars, but there is no reason for her to be. I avert my gaze anyway, giving her some privacy.

I meant what I said. She really is beautiful. Mesmerizingly so. In fact, of all the women I’ve met in my life, the glamour, the money, the falseness. I hate all of it. And if you ask me, this Little Siren leaves them all for dead.

Her scars aren’t ugly. The rotten fuckers who put them there are. They’re proof that she’s a survivor, just like me. And after what I heard her go through the other night, and live to tell the fucking tale, not that she’s telling me anything, but we’ll work on that. Hearing the desperation in her cries did something to me.

Maybe it was the guilt I felt, thinking she was only being tortured because she saved my life, who knows? What I do know is that this woman endured unimaginable torture a few days ago and is standing before me like nothing ever fucking happened. That automatically makes her stronger than half of the trained men I worked with back home. Maybe it’s that common ground that we share, that familiarity, that has me drawn to her.

She should stay far a-fucking-way from me.

Of all the things I imagine this world has given her, a man like me barging in and adding to that fucking list is the last thing she deserves.

“What’s your name?” I ask. Her eyes instantly snap back to mine, but she doesn’t reply. “Do you have a name?” I add. Reminding myself of the situation she’s in. I didn’t have one until I was fourteen, and that only came to be because I chose it for myself.

When Titan found me, that was one of the first questions he asked. Ezekiel was the only name I had heard of before that day, and it belonged to another kid in our cellar who unfortunately didn’t make it.

Not acknowledging my questions at all, she crosses the cave with purpose, scoops up a handful of… clam shells, and drops them on the ground at my feet. She doesn’t meet my eyes once as she spins on her heels, putting distance between us again. I look up, confused, and her gaze flicks to the clams, then to her hands, mimicking an eating motion.

Gotcha.

“You bought me dinner, and I don’t even know your name yet. Interesting,” I tease. A smirk plays at the corner of my lips when hers twitch, a smile barely hidden, though she doesn’t let it escape. She’s so fucking pretty, and I catch myself wanting to make her smile. God knows she, of all people, deserves to.

I move around a little, still seated, deciding that standing will only intimidate her more. Then, I smash the clamshell against the stone wall, successfully cracking it open. It’s a little shabby, but it did the trick.

“I’m guessing you don’t talk,” I question, the words slipping out between bites. She doesn’t answer, shocker , but the way she pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth has my full attention, and I can’t look away.

It’s a simple thing, but my gaze lingers on the curve of her full, pink lips before I force myself to look back into her eyes again instead.

She nods her head, no , then starts to clear the shattered shells now peppering the ground.

Raw clams taste like shit, but I’m starving, and the alternative isn’t an option.

Silence stretches between us as she watches me, leaning against the stones that act as a frame at the entrance.

My thoughts are anything but quiet.

Atlantara.

It was nothing more than a word I had assumed was a password or a code to something until the other night. I had spent years combing through websites and maps, hacking into databases attached to every Royal member I could find, which wasn’t easy. They have their shit locked down tight, not to mention the Valerie problem. Alone time was a foreign fucking concept to her, and her hovering around every goddamn second ruined my chances of ever digging deep enough to find anything crucial that could incriminate them.

The only proof that I had was myself. And a long list of rotten things they made me do. I couldn’t turn myself in because who would I turn to? I’d be wiped from existence, as well as anyone they thought might have been associated with me. Though, they would have had a hard time finding anyone who’d miss me.

Seeing this through was my only option. Relaying information to Titan wasn’t enough after a while. I had to dig my claws in deep. Get them to trust me. Even then, they didn’t, and just as well. Otherwise, I’d have known about this place.

Atlantara isn’t even on the map, for Christ's sake.

The Royals were always good at covering their tracks. If there were witnesses, they’d go missing, as well as their families. If there were rats, they were abused and beaten till they were begging for death, not before watching their loved ones butchered before their eyes. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers. Children.

The Royals don’t fucking care.

Whatever becomes of me being locked up here, I won’t deny the dark satisfaction bouncing around in my brain that I’m still alive. If I died, I’d have missed out on the sweet taste of pride and appreciation that those rapist fuckwits are all dead because of me.

Yet, my problem didn’t disappear with them. I’ve traded one nightmare for another because here I am. Prisoner to the Hell I’ve spent four fucking years trying to find. Only I am at a huge disadvantage now.

Nobody that would ever give a damn about me knows about Atlantara, much less that I’m still alive. And my fate, and the fate of anyone else trapped here, rests in the hands of a woman who not only doesn’t speak, but is also holding me fucking hostage. Whether she’s oblivious to the bigger picture or not, I’m still in chains.

She’s the only shot I have at ending these bastards for good, which is why I have to get out of here. If they catch wind that Charles Jensen is dead, who knows what contingency plans they have up their sleeves? They’d think that someone is coming for them, given the nature of their bullshit, and they’d think correctly. Because when I get out of here, it’s fucking over for them.

When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. And it’s high time that the world gets a fucking wake-up call because I plan to kick the pedestal they’ve put some of these low-life scumbags on out from underneath them.

All I need is a way out of these shackles.

“Do they know about me, the people I heard the other night?” I give her a pointed look, studying her expression. I half expect that she’ll avoid me altogether, but to my surprise, she’s shaking her head, looking me dead in the eyes as if to say no .

It’s the truth. I’d know if she were lying.

But, if they don’t know about me, that means they were either punishing her for something else that she did or that torturing and raping her is a common occurrence.

That thought is like a punch in the fucking stomach.

“Who are they?” I seethe. I have to know what I'm working with here. Which I fucking regret because her body tenses, and she begins to withdraw.

Discomfort washes over her as she twists her hair around her slender fingers, looking everywhere else but at me. She’s hiding. While she might be here in a physical sense, I can see the retreat in her eyes as they glaze over.

I will not let her run away from this.

“You gotta give me something? I can help you. I can help us. If you let me go, I can get us both out of here. You just have to trust me. You can trust me.” Her eyes widen, her mouth hanging open, her hair forgotten as she starts pacing back and forth, still keeping her distance, sticking close to the entrance. She's going to run, but I can’t help my desperation at this point. I’m so close to this all being over.

“This place… It isn't good, and I know deep down you know that too.” My voice is softer now, and any hope that I had that simply talking to her would be enough is slowly dissipating.

She's afraid.

I can see it in her eyes.

Raw, unadulterated fear clings to her like a second skin, coiling in the air between us. Whoever holds her prisoner in this place has done everything they can to shatter her in every way possible.

“Are you even supposed to be out here? Or are you free? Cause, I gotta tell ya, being chained to a fucking cave wall isn’t exactly fun, Little Siren,” I say like a giant sack of shit. It’s too late to take it back now. I said what I said.

I watch every flicker of emotion that passes across her face. She hesitates, uncertainty clouding her features before her eyes finally shoot to mine, and if they were daggers, I'd be fucking dead.

I silently say goodbye to the possibility of her ever trusting me.

Whatever thoughts had been racing through her mind, she clung to the one that would make this whole situation so much fucking worse for me.

A heartbeat later, she turns and walks away, not sparing me a second glance.

I blew it.

I scared her.

God fucking dammit!

I should’ve known better than this, of course, she ran. She doesn’t know me from Adam. How can I expect her to trust me, to risk her life, because that’s what helping me would do, and she knows that? I foolishly asked her, no , begged her to put the fate of her future in the hands of a complete fucking stranger over a life that’s fucking familiar to her?

A life that she’s clearly grown accustomed to because she’d much rather cling to the sick comfort of barely surviving than take a chance, or even risk the possibility that it might all fall apart and she winds up dead anyway.

She’s in survival mode. I can tell.

She retreats to the quiet corners of her mind. A secret refuge that she runs to where the brutal grip of reality cannot reach her. When it all gets too much, and any evidence that hope does not exist, that’s where you’ll find her.

I know this because once upon a fucking time.

I hid there, too.