The Collector let out a soft chuckle. Smart. Very smart. Make the man angry. Prod him into doing something unwise, and take advantage of it. But how? What do you have up your sleeve, little rabbit? What had she and the boy discussed that he had missed, either because he hadn’t been watching or because he didn’t know the songs they sang well enough to discern their secret language?
The man with the red shoes walked to her cage, then stood in front of it, and Noelle stared defiantly up at him. “Hi, limp dick,” Noelle said, and the Collector saw by the set of his chin, even in profile, that Noelle had already infuriated him. The task was made much easier now that she and the boy had stuck to their guns in regard to sacrificing the other. The man with the red shoes had bid on the position because he expected to carve two people up. He’d expected to use those electric tools sitting on the counter, and yet there the devices sat, nary a drop of blood or tissue on their sharp, shiny blades. How disappointed he must be that his job had come down to merely escorting the captives to and from their cages for others to enjoy. For others to abuse and draw blood from. And Noelle was picking that wound. The Collector made a tsking sound, but he didn’t take his eyes from the screen. He was riveted. “What are you, the local eunuch?” she asked.
The Collector chuckled again as the eunuch removed the Taser from his jacket pocket. Noelle’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the bars to the cage, not cowering, not moving back an inch. “I’m surprised you can even shoot that straight,” she said. “Are you sure you can? Maybe hitting Evan was a one-off, eunuch.”
She wanted him to tase her. Why? What was she hoping to achieve? It only took her spitting at him and calling him a eunuch again for him to take the bait. He shot the barb, and Noelle dodged, going in the other direction. The man let out an enraged grunt and shot the barb again, and Noelle went down, the side of her face slamming against the bars and then the floor. “Eunuch,” she slurred, even as her muscles twitched, her body rigid with what must be indescribable pain. And yet . . . she seemed to be trying so hard to keep her head lifted . . . focused on the man’s chest.
The man with the red shoes punched in the code to her cage and opened the door, grabbing a still-immobile Noelle by the hair and punching her square in the face. The boy yelled and rattled the bars in his cage, looking like a wild animal. A nice show. The players must be enjoying it. He knew he was. The eunuch tossed Noelle back inside as though she were a rag doll and slammed the door. “A new phase starts in the morning,” he growled. “The choices get bloodier.” The Collector could have turned on the camera behind Noelle’s cage so as to see the man’s face, but there was no need. Even from behind, he could tell the eunuch was sneering, eyes shining with malice. Ah, yes, the stakes would rise in the morning. He supposed the man wasn’t supposed to let the boy and the girl in on that little secret. But he was clearly too excited to stop himself. After all, finally, they’d be given a choice that would lead to him slicing off a piece of them either way.
The man turned to exit the room. It was then that the Collector noticed the silver pin on his tie. He hadn’t paid that any mind before. He was getting far too comfortable from this chair in his office far away. He’d have to do better at channeling the girl and the boy. Comfort had slackened him. The tie pin flashed once more as the eunuch turned out of the room. The Collector rocked once in his chair, letting out a surprised chuckle. Well.
Well, well, well. His little rabbit was even smarter than he’d thought she was. His gaze moved to the boy. He appeared concerned about her condition, but also . . . hopeful. He knew very well what she’d been doing. The boy had surprised the Collector too.
And the Collector was very rarely surprised. His gaze moved to Evan. Good breeding, indeed. The Collector grinned, standing and heading to his home gym, where he’d push himself until his muscles burned. He’d think about exactly what to send them as he worked his body to the point of exhaustion. Things that would arrive in the next few hours while they still had time to use them. Something special for each of them. Either they’d understand, or they would not.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“How’s your face?” Evan asked.
“The least of my problems.” Noelle sucked in a breath as her fingertips found the open cut on her cheek. She lifted the hem of her sweatshirt and dabbed it lightly, but it had mostly stopped bleeding. Yes, her body hurt like hell, but there was also a current of victory running through her.
Mixed with frustration. 330?
She’d only gotten three out of four numbers. She’d have to bait the man with the red shoes again and hope for the best. But her chances got slimmer and slimmer. Perhaps he’d be counseled about his lack of discipline in allowing them to rile him the way she had. Perhaps someone watching would catch on to what they were actually doing and quickly put an end to any delusions they might have about breaking free.
She’d told Evan she’d only seen three of the numbers by tapping at her wounds with three of her fingers. He’d given a quick nod, then turned away, his mouth set.
Three was better than zero. And if they found an appropriate tool that would allow them to input the codes into their locks, they could attempt to find the last one by going through all ten digits if they were given time.
And if the keypad allowed for unlimited tries.
Which it might not.
A new phase starts in the morning. The choices get . . . bloodier.
She didn’t want to think about what that meant.
Hopelessness began to swirl, but she forcefully pushed it aside. There was no point to that. Because once you turned down that road, it was very difficult to turn back around. Giving up meant certain defeat.
She lay down on the floor, and Evan did the same, their hands reaching for each other, fingers linking, a movement that now felt as natural as breathing air. She exhaled, and for a moment, they simply stared into each other’s eyes. His eyes were an oasis to her now, an island in a deep, dark sea. Something to cling to. A reason to hold on. The knowledge that she was not alone.
She thought of the man with the voice like velvet who had given her pleasure that made her moan. Let it make you angry, Noelle. You’re so hot when you’re mad. Would I . . . break . . . the rules? And then he’d left a pencil for her to write him a note. A pencil that could be broken to extract something that could be used to create fire. Was he helping her? Them? It couldn’t be, could it? He was using her. Playing with her. Some confounding game within a game. But she—they—had no choice but to play along.
And tomorrow, the stakes would rise.
Fear shimmered inside, a nuclear blast in the distance rocking her world and making her want to shut her eyes, hit the ground, and never look up. Instead, she stared into his eyes.
Evan’s expression was more desolate now, even though they’d been—mostly—successful in getting the codes to their cages. Noelle didn’t know if it was because they were closer than they’d been but still so damn far away, or perhaps, like her, he was considering that the level of horror was about to rise in the morning. Or maybe it was because of something that had happened to him upstairs. She wouldn’t ask. They’d come to an understanding, and she didn’t want to talk to him about what happened to her up there, either, the way her body had been used, her soul disregarded.
Like the road to hopelessness, if she started to go to that dark place inside, she wouldn’t return.
She was already standing at the intersection of so many bleak crossroads.
She tightened her fingers on his, creating what felt like an unbreakable link.
We leave here whole.
We leave here together.
Much later, their dumbwaiters dropped, and the doors opened. They both dragged themselves upright and then crawled to the backs of their cages. Noelle pulled out her tray. There was only one slice of white bread and one cup of water to eat and drink, respectively. But she stared down at what was on the other side of the tray, picking them up gingerly and turning them this way and that.
A tiny pair of nail scissors, dull and slightly bent at the end.