While the townhouse may have been in deplorable shape, the door had been reinforced to prevent anyone from stumbling in on them. Frustration turned to terror as the roar of the fire grew closer, all around them now. She dug at the lock with her knife, but the blade felt heavy and awkward in her grip and took too much effort to hold steady. The weight of it dragged her hand down until it rested on the rough floor. When she tried to lift it again, she had nothing left. Her strength was gone. They were trapped.
Arista turned and leaned her back against the door, gasping for air. The smoke billowed down the hallway, almost beautiful in its white, writhing dance. She watched with a sort of detached fascination. Each breath filled her lungs with more and more smoke.
Would death hurt? Could it hurt any more than being alive? Some days, she had ached almost too much to bear. And just when a chance of escape had presented itself, and given her hope for a future she’d never dared dream of, it too had been snatched away. Bones’s final act of treachery.
As her head grew hazy, Arista thought of the highwayman, of the kiss they’d shared earlier, and she had a moment of regret. She would never know that feeling again. She would never find the love she craved. Never see the shores of distant lands, or feel the wind of an open sea brush over her face. Never taste true freedom.
The fire seemed to retreat behind them, holding its breath expectantly, but only for a second. It gathered itself, then reared back and roared. The thick smoke made it impossible to breathe, and the oblivion that had been threatening to overtake her finally won out.
Arista threaded her fingers through Becky’s and closed her eyes as the darkness rose up to claim her.
Somewhere in the hazy glow inside her head, Arista heard voices; wood splintered; arms lifted her. The brush of cool night air over her skin made her shiver, and each breath caused excruciating spasms in her lungs. If this was death, she must be in hell. Faces floated in and out of her clouded vision.
Then the dark was a blissfully quiet and pain-free place.
When she opened her eyes, bright sunlight streamed in through a lace-covered window. Softness cocooned her body, enveloped her in the most exquisite warmth. Hell was a strange place indeed.
There was a movement to her right, and she distantly watched an unfamiliar girl set a tray down on the small table next to the bed. Arista blinked several times, trying to chase the sleep from her eyes. The girl had on a filmy dressing robe and kohl smeared under one eye, making her seem less exotic and more like a nightmarish creature. In fact, it looked like the woman had just stumbled out of bed herself.
“Where am I?” The words scraped across her raw throat and came out barely audible. The girl glanced at her, then at someone just out of Arista’s view. A new figure stood in the doorway: a man. Her vision cleared. Not just any man; Wild.
Panic sizzled under her skin. She’d heard stories of girls being drugged and sold into the cruelest brothels. Had he lied about not forcing her to work with him?
“What am I doing here?” Arista tried to push herself up, but a slice of pain cut through her middle. With a gasp, she lay back down. What had he done to her?
“Relax, my dear,” Wild said. “You’re quite safe here. If I may come in, I’ll try and explain everything.”
Arista glanced at the girl, who now stood off to the side with her hands clasped over her stomach.
“Justine will stay if it makes you more comfortable,” Wild said. He waited patiently at the threshold of the room for her to grant him access: a consideration she would not have expected from one such as him. She motioned for him to enter and he made his way to the bed, standing close but not so close that it made her uncomfortable. Justine stood still, though she seemed more like a half-asleep girl than a guard.
“How did I get here?” Arista asked, and winced at the pain in her throat.
Wild picked up a glass and filled it with water from a matching pitcher. “May I?” he asked, indicating that he would help her to sit up. When she nodded, he carefully lifted the glass to her lips and tilted it just enough so a few precious drops of water fell into her mouth.
It felt as if she were drinking liquid fire. Water dribbled down her chin when she turned her head away from the pain. “Thank you,” she whispered. The pain receded and her throat did feel a little better. “Where am I?”
“I brought you somewhere safe to recover,” Wild said, setting the glass on a small table next to the bed. “No one saw you arrive, and aside from a few of my girls, no one knows you’re here.” Was that a warning? No, though her mind was muddled, she saw no ill intent in his eyes. Only concern—the way his lips turned down at the corners.
“What happened?” For the life of her, she could not remember at all. Images were jumbled together in her head. Everything remained fuzzy, as if she might still be dreaming. She had a vague recollection of shouting, and then…nothing. A dull throb radiated from the side of her jaw. When she raised her hand to feel along the bone, Wild scowled, though he didn’t seem angry at her.