“No,” Karen chirps.
“That is good. The more innocent you are, the more some cruel man will enjoy breaking you. Forcing upon you acts that your innocent little mind cannot imagine. It perpetually amazes me how creative human beings can be in inflicting suffering on one another, though there is no master of misery greater than Santiago de la Rosa.”
He looks at me. “You should have answered my question, Rose. Whichever one you love more I would shoot, and spare this life.”
“You’re lying,” I rasp. “You’d shoot the one I picked and tell the other one I didn’t love them as much.”
Santiago de la Rosa laughs at me. “You’re good at this. Yes, that is what I would do. It would be a sweeter suffering.”
There’s a knock at the door.
It’s one of the thugs from outside. “Your associate called. They’re on their way. Slight delay.”
“Time?”
“Half hour.” He shrugs.
“Good, let’s move down to the floor. Did you clean up that unfortunate from before?”
“Yeah.”
“Very well. Ladies, on your feet. Now. Walk or be carried.”
I stand up, though I barely have the strength in my legs. This goes from bad to worse every second. They lead us out and that smell hits me again. The girls in the cages are on their feet huddled in front of the chain link, grasping it in sore, dirty fingers, watching us. Every one of their faces is Karen and Kelly and it makes me want to throw up all over Santiago’s shoes.
More chairs. They sit us down. There are people arriving, not Quentin, others. Men in suits. I try not to look at their faces, willing them not to notice me. One of them walks over, a heavy man in a dark suit.
He touches Kelly’s hair.
“This the traitor’s bitches?”
“Yes,” Santiago says amiably.
“Good merchandise. So-so on the old one.”
“Free merchandise is the best merchandise.” Santiago shrugs.
He looks at me. “My original plan was to have you all fucked right here by the lowest bidder, but if I did, someone would bid a penny right away and then what would we do? All the tension would be gone. The more time you have to contemplate your fate, the sweeter your suffering will be.”
I sit there trying to think. I’m not tied down, but I’m not running anywhere. God, all those women in the cages are looking at me. They’re all watching this. There must be fifty here. Where did they all come from?
“They’re here,” one of the thugs announces.
In walks Quentin.
He flinches when he looks at me. He’s not tied up, whatever that means. There’s a blonde woman walking behind him, escorting him. Once Quentin is well and truly surrounded he raises his hands and two men pat him down, and to my surprise they find nothing.
“I said unarmed,” Santiago says, “and you came unarmed. I don’t know whether to be pleased you’ve learned to keep your word or disappointed that you ignored my lessons. Never go into a room without the plans and means to slaughter everyone inside.”
“I have all the means I need to slaughter you, you twisted son of a bitch,” Quentin snaps.
Santiago steps behind me and rests his hands on my children’s shoulders. I freeze up.
“We’re going to play a game, Quentin. It will work like this. Your lovely Rose has refused to play, and so you must. Defeat me in single combat and you may choose one of these three to go free, one to become a slave, and one to die. What will you do, Quentin? Will you let the mother die that the daughters may live? Will you free the youngest or the eldest? Perhaps kill one of the daughters, to spare her, and free the mother? She’ll lose her will to live for a time, I suspect, but one thing I’ve noticed about common sluts like this one is that they’ll just rut and have more.”
“If I defeat you in single combat, I’m going to kill you,” Quentin says calmly.
“You have no chance of winning. It is only a game. That glimmer of hope will make you take the chance anyway, because if you don’t, all three will be slaves. The mother will be dead before long anyway, it’s these two that will endure and suffer, cursing the day you entered their lives.”
“You want me to fight you,” Quentin says. “Gladly. Let’s go.”
“No brawling. I had something more elegant in mind. Lily.”
That must be the blonde woman’s name, Lily. She steps away and returns with a long case. What are they going to do, duel? No, they’re not guns inside.
They’re swords, resting in scabbards. Freaking swords. Medieval broadswords. Santiago takes one and draws it from the scabbard with a flourish. It may look like an antique but it’s brand new, the edge so sharp it blurs in the light.
I realize that Santiago’s guests are forming a wide circle, to watch this.
Quentin takes the other one. He draws it and throws the scabbard aside, tests the weight of the blade in his hands, and then finally touches the edge with his thumb.
“This sword is blunt.”