The silence was deafening but useful. Being alone in this hellhole was a blessing because it gave me a sort of peace and time to recover from the near-constant abuse I had been enduring in this medieval death trap. Thinking back on what brought me here, details lost in a haze of whatever the fuck the fuckers had tranked me with. Not a lot to go on if I was going to get out of here. The beatings had a pattern, Xcor’s buttboys working me over in shifts had let me track the passage of time, each new day marked by a greeting from their fearless leader. All of Xcor’s merry band of misfits seemed to want a piece of me. And they took their fill. Close as I could tell by the number of times Throe’s happy ass had appeared to douse me with a bucket of icy water, I’d been here just over two weeks. And despite my captor’s best efforts, my grey matter was still intact, my mind still thankfully firing on all cylinders. I took a deep breath and winced at the pain radiating in my chest where the last male had finally landed a solid blow after a series of powerful, rapid-fire hits and succeeded in breaking a couple of ribs… it really didn’t matter, I was used to pain. It was a trip down memory lane for me, the cycle of pain all too familiar at the hands of males like these. The past was gone but not forgotten and if the fading bruises I could see were any indication, life in the Bloodletter’s camp had been business as usual after I left. The stagnant air around me filled my nostrils, trying to isolate the scents to gain some insight on where the hell I was. The faint stench of mold and dust… aging motor oil and damp stone. The structure was old, unused in recent time and lacked any distinguishing features, the scent of rust mingling with the lingering ozone smell of a cutting torch. So my cage was a new addition. I guess I was the guest of honor in this party. Wasn’t this just homey. I snorted and tried to shift to move the cage, a tingling burn spearing through my pinned arms and balling in my exhausted shoulders. Of course, my captors had the foresight to isolate the one weapon they couldn’t get rid of without frying themselves… my right hand. Compliments of my “deity gene”, I possessed a weapon of mass destruction no one dared approach. Not my brothers, not the bastards. Even the Bloodletter was a chicken shit in an ogre suit when it came to the curse I bore. However, the Bastards had done their research, securely encasing my curse in a lead sphere, my arm immobilized by a steel band the width of my cock. The monstrosity at the end of my wrist rendered useless the one time I needed it. Just. Fucking. Perfect. True. My head hung limply between my shoulders as I tried to focus on something other than the throbbing of my wounds. If I was getting out of this alive, my head had to remain clear, under the circumstances my brain was my only viable weapon in this game. I’d never been on the receiving end of an interrogation but the drill was the same and the battle of wills began the moment I laid my diamond eyes on the deformed face of the Bloodletter’s lap dog. Two of the males stood a few feet away from me to admire their handy work with the latest collage of gashes and bruises peeking through the remaining tatters of my muscle shirt. Brave fuckers from across a room when their punching bag was strung up like a side of beef. Christ, I should’ve caught the signs with that psycho @Ione_Glymera when she didn’t take the hint that night. That female was a Louis Vuitton bag of batshit crazy. Adding to my annoyance was the knowledge that the band of butt-fucks had found an in with the Glymera and that was a way to Wrath. No way could I let that shit fly. As soon as I got out of here, the upgrades to the security at the brotherhood’s compound would make the Raven Rock bunker look like Club Med. Voice recognition, retina scanners. The whole nine and then some. Not even the Clinic would safe. It was time to suggest to Wrath that the brotherhood have its own medical staff. Havers was a skilled physician but who knew who the fuck was behind him pulling his strings. No doubt the good doctor had no fucking clue as to what happened. I could just see him standing by the new wing and fixing his glasses, making some very polite and subtly disgruntled comment about my no-show act. The brotherhood had certainly been alerted to my disappearance. Fuck, Jodi had to be losing her mind. After the first few rounds with the males, I’d learned something of the group. Although there was a clear chain of command, Xcor’s soldiers acted as a united force… a band of brothers… and if it weren’t for wanting to force-feed them their own cocks, I could actually appreciate the way they worked together. The male with the marred sneer walked in with the arrogant authority of a true asshole, his hand on his scythe, as if tenderly caressing a lover. Glowering through the bars at me, hatred and disdain burning in his gaze, he lifted his chin toward me in a sardonic greeting at the onset of each session. That was the starter pistol for the next race to see which took the worst of the damage…my body or their fists. Where hands failed, the bastards had a seemingly endless array of razor sharp blades that they wielded with the skill of a surgeon. I was steadily draining with each passing day, the energy spent to heal drawing on a dwindling reserve, my need to feed was rearing its ugly face and glaring down at me. Funny, I couldn’t even remember the last time I fed from a Chosen. Jodi had grudgingly come to accept Naima, even to appreciate her though I paid with my hide every time the chosen left after a feeding, fondly remembering the sting of my shellan’s lash across my shoulders in the hours that followed. For the millionth time I cursed biology for being a major fucking bitch. I’d waited as long as I could between feedings, calling Naima only when absolutely necessary, not wanting anyone’s vein but my female’s. How long had that been? A month? Two? Without conscious thought my tongue lightly prods my split lip to assess the damage, the sting of the slowly healing wound barely perceptible… not nearly as bad as the throbbing in my head that seemed to get worse the more I tried to move within the cage. Fucking hell. If they wanted information why would they think constant blows to the head was a good idea? Fucktwits. Not that they neglected the other parts part of my body, a mottled patchwork of bruises and blackened blood covered nearly every inch of me until the healing process began again. The bastards had really taken to heart the Bloodletter’s teachings, his sadistic nature rang clear in every slice of a blade, every blow, every curse spat in my direction. Especially, the wannabe brother mine. The torture chipped at the carefully built wall surrounding memories of the hellish years I’d spent under the Bloodletter’s boot in that cesspool he called a training camp. God damn that fucking place. But I would not give into that weakness, I would not fall to the memories of a fa… no… of a monster that brutalized countless males in the name of training… to have a child pinned down for hours of… nope. The thought went as soon as it came as I lightly moved my head from side to side as if physically denying the thought would make my resolve that much stronger. For the sake of my family, for the sake of the brotherhood… I had to keep my shit together and give Xcor’s cronies jack shit. Knowledge was power and what was locked in my head had the potential to unravel everything. Something Xcor said played back in my pounding head. He had been wrong, though. I had learned in the Bloodletter’s camp. Flexing the hand I could move to keep the blood flowing in my numbed arm, I craned my neck as much as I could to look over the damage they’d inflicted. Let them think they were wearing me down. Let them exhaust themselves with their brute tactics and cock-driven bravado. They were all living on borrowed time and when it seemed they’d get what they wanted, I’d nail all their asses to the grime covered walls and skin them while they watched for threatening my family. My ears picked the creak of the door as the gargoylish leader entered. My face turned stony, my eyes burning icy beams of hate at Xcor’s distorted smirk, followed by one of his men brandishing a tire iron. A new day was beginning.
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