I was full of life, happy, confident. My father loved me. He gave us protection and peace. I didn’t know anything about the outside world except what they taught in school. How that’s changed since he passed. Everything changed.
My family would’ve been forced to live on the streets if I hadn’t obeyed the rules. My stepfather bought my silence with the threat of consequences. He promised retaliation and he followed through.
All these thoughts swirl through my head as I lie down, pretending to sleep. I jogged the whole way back without consciously knowing it. I braved a gunfight and witnessed the murder of a man in the street. I succumbed to the screaming of an insane person outside my own building, and still I’m alive.
Giving up on sleep, I walk to the bathroom and turn on the shower. Cole left his door open and I see Cole, who looks deep in thought. Zeus stands on his hind legs and drinks from the kitchen faucet in Cole’s room. Please don’t tell me he turned that on himself. He drinks so fast he starts to hack. Must’ve gone down the wrong tube. Cole doesn’t even look when he does it, so I assume this is normal.
“Care if I shower?” I ask.
“Yeah, no problem. I’m gonna update the chalkboard. It only takes me a few seconds, so I’ll be back before you finish.”
I step backward, excitement blossoming on my face. “Chalk?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Any way you could bring me some?”
“I guess so, why?” He scrunches his face, scrutinizing me like I’m insane.
“To decorate my cell. It’s starting to get to me.”
“What do you mean decorate? How on earth can you decorate a—never mind. I don’t care,” he says with his hand on the door.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Do they ever come by and check the rooms?”
“No, there’s no reason to. We follow orders or people die. Pretty straightforward, don’t you think?” He walks to his room as his laugh fades.
“Hey,” I say. He sits on his bed and looks up. His facial expression softens and tired lines appear below his eyes. “I never got the chance to thank you.”
“For what?” He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor, distracting me with his broad chest. I stutter while staring.
Crap!
“Uh… for saving my life,” I say while crossing my fingers and trying to stay focused on his face. “I know I don’t show it, but I’m grateful… that I have you.” I know—the words shock me as I say them.
“Um, yeah.” His cheeks turn a shade of pale pink. “White or colored?” he asks while searching through his piles of laundry for a new shirt. His back stretches taut, his muscles hardening while sifting around and coming up with a black T-shirt. He quickly puts it on, and I exhale, his shirtless image uncomfortably burned in my memory.
“Both would be great, if that’s possible,” I say. Frustration mixed with some other emotion crosses his face, but I can’t place my finger on it.
I run back to the shower before he changes his mind and before I gawk any longer. I close the curtain, take off my bloodstained clothes, and scrub them with my hands under the icy water. The thin material tears under the strain.
Dang it. Now what?
Unsure of what to do, I call for Cole. I turn off the freezing water and stand shivering behind the curtain.
“Now what do you want?” he asks from the other side.
“Do you have a towel or another pair of scrubs by chance?”
“You’re in luck. I just got another pair.” His hand reaches past the curtain and holds out a folded pair of blue scrubs. I take them and put them on. The fabric sticks to my wet skin, but I know it could be worse.
“Thanks,” I say, but he’s already left the room.
I push the curtain aside and am surprised to see two containers of chalk sitting against the wall. One is colored and the other is white. Sweet! I open the colored container and grab the purple. Turning it over in my palm, I marvel at the small things that bring me so much joy.
A noise that sounds like a foghorn bellows from Cole’s room. I almost drop the small piece of chalk. At the same time, Zeus storms into the hallway, looking over his shoulder. Cole’s in his shower, singing some weird song I’ve never heard before.
“What was that?” I ask Zeus. It happens again but louder this time. Zeus runs into my room as a foul odor drifts by. “Was that a fart?” I laugh. “Oh my word, I can’t believe you’re afraid of your own fart.” I’m laughing so hard I snort. It’s a small reprieve from the violence and stress. I’m on the floor, doubled over, when Cole walks in with a towel wrapped around his hips. Everything else is bare, steaming flesh. And I pry my eyes away.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
Oh my God, does he have to keep doing that?
Everything within me wants to stare so I tuck my face in my shirt.
“Zeus farted and he came running in here with his tail between his legs… It scared the crap out of him.” I continue to laugh in hysterics. Cole laughs with me. “Is that why you chose him? Because he scares people with his ungodly odor?” I wipe the tears that are streaming from my eyes and gasp for breath.
I keep my head down and try not to ogle him. It’s hard, really freaking hard. He has the most defined chest, arms, and abdomen I’ve ever seen. Until this moment, I thought of him only as my guard, but seeing him standing there half-naked makes me extremely uncomfortable. I stop laughing and squirm under the weight of his eyes.
“I’m going to change and get some sleep,” he says.
“Yeah, me too,” I say, eager to get out from under his stare.
“I’ll see you first thing,” he says as he walks into his room.
“See ya.” Confusion takes over. At first, he seemed stoic and cold. But now, he seems… human. Guards aren’t supposed to be human. They’re supposed to suck the life out of sinners and enforce the laws of the commander. And yet he already saved my life twice. Even if it’s his job, it seems hardly worth the trouble. I shake the thoughts from my head.
I just can’t win. For one, I can never be alone. But the second reason, the one I don’t want to admit, begins to torture me more…
Sleep eludes me. I need a release, so I pick up another piece of chalk.
CHAPTER 5
The screaming sound of the alarm wakes me. How long have I been asleep? The light filters through the window and I rub my eyes as they struggle to adjust. An instant burn shoots through my shoulders as I prop myself to a sitting position. I should’ve known I’d feel like this.
Two knocks bring me to my feet.
“Are you decent?” Cole peeks around the door.
“I guess so,” I say while throwing my hair into a messy ponytail.
Good thing because he certainly didn’t give me any time to get dressed.
I’m shoving my shirt into my pants when he struts in, staring at me. He gives me a sly smile that melts into complete shock when he focuses on the walls of my room.
“What the hell is that?” He points at my wall.
“What?” I play ignorant.
“You know exactly what.”
“Oh, that. I could’ve sworn I told you I wanted to decorate.”
“I didn’t think you’d actually draw on your freaking walls,” he says.
“Do you have a better idea?” His face remains hard. “Don’t worry. It washes right off.”
Please don’t make me.
He pauses, tracing the wall with his fingertips. “So you like the forest and the beach?”
“Not just any forest or beach. That’s the forest I grew up in before moving to High Society, and that’s the beach I was named after—Lexington Bay.” I avoid eye contact and point to the beach. “But this one’s definitely my favorite. The turquoise water is crystal clear with bright, beautiful fish and soft, powder-white sand that goes on for miles. It’s breathtaking, don’t you think?” I ask, getting lost in my memories.
Cole stares with his mouth slightly parted and h
is top lip curls up slightly at the corner. He probably thinks I’m a lunatic.
“You’re telling me a place like that really exists?” He cocks his head and puts his hands on his hips. “Where I come from, we have mountains stretching for miles, but never have I seen a beach like this.”
I smile. “It’s farther south somewhere. My parents went there for their honeymoon and it’s all they talked about for years. So you can imagine why I have such a detailed picture tattooed in my head. My father said when I was born he looked into my eyes and was lost in Lexington Bay.”
“Leave it… for now. Who taught you how to draw?”
“Myself.”
“Huh?”
“You asked me how I learned to draw—I taught myself.”
“Oh, right. Really? Damn, that’s pretty impressive. You’ve got talent.”
“No. Not really. Just a good memory, that’s all.” I don’t take compliments well. I never have and especially not from a guard.
“We have to leave in about ten minutes. Think you can be ready by then?”
I spin around. “I am ready.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “No. Mentally ready.”
“That’s impossible. Death waits for me everywhere I go. The only reason I’m still alive—if that’s what I am—is because of you.”
Looking a little uncomfortable, he clears his throat, quickly diverting my attention to the bag in his hand. “I brought bagels.”
This time we eat facing each other, but there’s little conversation, which is fine. I find myself enjoying the quiet yet still appreciative of the company—weird, I know. The tendons in his jaw flex as he chews, and I watch a glob of butter land on his chin. I’m hoping Zeus will come and lick it off because I’m definitely not pointing it out. The last thing I want to do is embarrass him—if he even gets embarrassed. Whenever he glances up, I lower my eyes. Sometimes I think he’s staring at me. Then I hear a sigh, and he continues eating.
“Why do you do it?” I’m afraid of his reaction, so I avoid eye contact. “Risk your life to protect a sinner? I don’t get it. I don’t get you… I know—you have orders and you follow them, but seriously, you could’ve died yesterday. And for what? Me? Don’t you think that’s an odd assignment for them to give you?”
“Stop asking me that. It’s getting on my nerves.” His fist slams down on the table, causing my glass to wobble off the edge and shatter.
His words tear through me, and I cower away from him by pushing my chair back from the table. The sudden change in his demeanor horrifies me.
He bites his lower lip and closes his eyes. “We should go.” He exhales.
“I can’t do this, Cole. I can’t go. I’m not ready.” After that outburst, the last of my reserves are gone. I clasp my hands together to stop them from shaking.
“Yes, you are. I have orders and will get you there alive if it’s the last thing I do.”
Arguing with him isn’t an option, so I zip my lips. He stands and straps his guns on as I keep my head lowered. If this is a game, I just failed. Coming here has already taught me one thing—I’ll never understand the mentality of a guard and I hate being vulnerable.
So I won’t be.
We take the alley and trek to the hospital at a faster pace than the previous day. As we near the entrance, something seems different. A large crowd waits in front of a rough-hewn wooden stage. The guards in their black, spotless uniforms stand at attention in perfect rows like soldiers prepared for battle. Men, women, and children gather in front as a bulky guard saunters up the stairs to the platform. The body language of those around me tells me this guard is formidable. Some of their faces turn white, while others shed silent tears, and the children shake with fear.
This isn’t going to be good.
The sheer dread on their faces makes me tense. I can practically smell their terror. Cole comes to an abrupt halt, flings his arm out to stop me, and stands rigid and alert.
“Stay here and don’t move, whatever you do,” he demands.
Before I can question him, he turns on his heel and pushes his way through the multitude. I stretch to the tips of my toes to watch but lose sight of him for a few minutes before he returns with a pained expression. I move directly into his path and try to get him to look at me, but he avoids my eyes.
Now he’s playing my game.
“I’m sorry,” Cole says.
“Wait. What? Sorry for what?”
“I never intended for you to see this.” And that’s all he says before another voice pierces the air.
“Thank you all for coming,” a man with red wire-rimmed glasses announces into the microphone.
“That’s Wilson,” the lady behind me whispers. “He’s almost as bad as the commander.”
Wilson’s heavyset face belies a pair of sparkly, mischievous eyes and thick lips that smack together as he enunciates each word. “It’s come to our attention that some of you have obtained illegal arms and are using them against us. This is something we will not tolerate, so we thought a little reminder of what happens to those who violate our laws would be quite beneficial.”
Of course there are laws when their safety’s at risk. Freaking hypocrites.
As he speaks, guards parade four men up the stairs with pistols pressed to the back of their skulls. Their faces remain shrouded underneath blindfolds and their hands are tied securely behind them. Wilson commands them to kneel, so they do in a row across the platform. Even though the stage sits approximately fifty feet away, I see their bodies quivering.
Then it dawns on me… Holy crap, it’s an execution.
“By order of the great Commander, you are all charged with the possession of unauthorized weapons. The penalty is death.” Wilson pauses for effect as an evil smile splits his pale face. The silence disconcerts me. Never have I heard the Hole so deliberately quiet.
Wilson stands in front of the accused and yanks off each blindfold, one after the other, tossing them off to the side of the platform. Starting from the right, he takes aim, pointing the barrel of his pistol at the first man’s forehead. Without hesitation, he pulls the trigger, sending a bullet right between his eyes. Then he fires three more shots and finishes the others.
I gasp with each blast.
“Don’t watch,” Cole says.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t rip my eyes away. Wilson forces the spectators in the front row to carry the bodies off the stage. They struggle under the dead weight, so minutes pass before they pile the bodies in a heap. Their blood leaves a sickly, foul trail behind.
I feel a small raindrop hit my forehead and roll down my face, but I’m too afraid to wipe it away. It’s as if someone hit a pause button, and Cole and I stand frozen in place.
Once the stage is cleared, Wilson announces with disgust, “The next punishment is reserved for the worst offenders.”
“There’s more?” I ask in a whisper. I know Cole stands next to me by the familiar sounds of his breathing, but he doesn’t reply.
A young woman with long, golden hair and fair skin is shoved onto the stage.
“She’s a model,” the same lady says behind me. “I guess being beautiful isn’t always a good thing.”
Bruises mar the woman’s neck on stage, making her purple brand barely distinguishable, and her right eye bulges, dark blue and swollen almost shut. She possesses no blindfold and wears only her torn underclothes, stained red and clinging to her body. Her eyes stay glued to the floor, but her terror is evident even from where I stand.
Then to my surprise, two guards drag another guard in full uniform up the stairs, casting him next to the woman. He reaches over, taking her face between his hands. Tears track down his cheeks as he stares only at her. His lips move, but I can’t hear what he says. She nods her head and he kisses her.
“Guard Mac!” Wilson shouts. “Evidence has been set before us that proves you have been consorting with this sinner—this disgusting, worthless, prideful leach.” He pauses for effect. ?
??The penalty awarded those who proclaim to love the branded is”—he licks his lips—“death!” he screams and points at her with his thick, sausage-like finger. “And you, my friend, will watch her die.” The kneeling guard cries out, but a sharp blow lands upon his head, silencing him. “But first, you need to learn to keep your hands off these filthy sinners.”
Wilson motions for others to come. They carry a small wooden table to the platform, set it down, and proceed to secure the concussed guard’s right hand to the table with solemn faces. The once guard—now prisoner—struggles against the restraints.
“Stop! You’re the lowest of the low. You bring shame to the guards,” Wilson says. The pitch of his voice rises to a squeak and his eyes focus on Mac with unwavering intensity as a crude smile makes its way across his face. In another life, I might’ve laughed at him but not here. Not now.
With all eyes riveted upon them, Wilson arches his back and swings a machete down to the table with all his might, attempting to slice off the man’s right wrist. A terrible, bloodcurdling scream escapes the man’s throat and splits the air. Thinking it’s over, I cover my mouth to keep from screaming, but then he swings again and again, chopping roughly through the wrist bones. Vomit rises in my throat when I see the blood spurt from where his hand once was. Splinters of bone, broken and uneven, lie limp on the table. A collective groan flows swiftly through the crowd like a wave.
The guards lift up the man, who’s almost unconscious, and place him face-to-face with his lover. She cries and pulls him to her.
“I love him,” she wails.
Don’t they have any remorse? Any at all? I begin feeling woozy and sway slightly to the right, but Cole’s arm steadies me for an instant. And then it’s gone.
Mac looks at Wilson, who now stands at the woman’s side with a red-hot iron as large as a bat. A sanguinary light forms in Wilson’s eyes and froth bubbles at the creases of his mouth like a hungry beast waiting for the final slaughter. Then Wilson torches her skin with the heavy iron as another guard restrains Mac.