No good deed goes unpunished.
The man sitting at the desk beyond the bars of my cell was snoozing as he leaned back in his chair, supporting himself against the wall. He hadn't been asleep for long. The first few hours after they had brought me over, he had placed his scarred face right up against the bars. It was a grotesque-looking scar that traveled from his left temple, across his eye, and ended at the bow of his lips. He had stared through the metal bars at me as if I were a rare animal on loan at the zoo.
I had pleaded with him and cursed him out, too, but none of my words or threats landed, since they had gagged me after tying my hands together. Not that I didn't enjoy a good tie-up from a handsome man, but right now wasn't the time or place for it. I must have yammered too much, and the red-haired man took out his own handkerchief and wrapped it around my mouth. So now all I could do was glare, as drool dripped from my mouth.
Just more infractions to add to my list. Oh, how I would make them pay tenfold for all this humiliation.
There were only two cells in the small cabin that acted as the jail, I presumed. There was straw littered across the floor that stuck to your clothing like pet hair. Inside each cell, there were two wooden benches nailed to the wall, and one small barred window that was too high to look out of.
There was an oil lantern hanging between the two cells, and another one on the wall above the sleep guard. They were more decorative than practical, as they didn't provide much light.
The smell, though, was where they went too authentic.
It smelled of piss. And not fresh piss either. It was the scent of piss that had aged. How did they make that smell? I was a scientist, and even I wasn't sure how such a stench was bottled. They were really getting their money's worth.
Fucking losers. I thought miserably, as I sat at one of the benches, hands still bound behind me and gagged. My hand had started bleeding again from the struggle to free my wrists; I felt it drip and pool in my palm.
The tears slid down my face, hot and angry. They fell without my permission.
No. Stop it. They will not break me.
The front door creaked loudly as it opened, and two men entered.
The guard remained asleep. He must be an underpaid extra.
It was the red-haired man, along with someone else who stood taller than him. He was equally, if not more, handsome than the redhead. Similar chiseled facial features, but there was a stronger intensity in this man's expression. His hair was dark, but his eyes were the complete opposite, a gray that bordered on silver.
They definitely hired models. I would, too, if I had money to burn, which I will when I sue all these bastards.
"Belmont, take him outside. I want to talk to her alone."
Finally, someone willing to break character. I guess not everyone here is a method actor.
Belmont, the redhead, kicked the leaning chair, and the guard fell to the side, walking up only after his body had hit the ground. He said something in that strange tongue and then walked out. The guard brushing straw from his body. None of it budged.
The silver-eyed hunk opened the cell door and stood directly in front of me, his arms folded across his chest as he glared at me. He stared down as if expecting me to do or say something.
I rolled my eyes hard, so hard that I saw the inside of my brain. His glower grew deeper after I didn't respond right away to his non-verbal question.
"The gag," I finally gargled through the handkerchief, drool spilling out.
I saw the light briefly flicker in his eyes at the realization that I couldn't speak, and then he bent over and, to my surprise, gently removed the gag.
"Finally," I exclaimed as I opened and closed my jaw, releasing the tension. "Can you untie me now, too?" I leaned forward, showing him the rope around my wrists, but he did not move to remove it.
"So you can talk our language." He said as he took a few steps back,"The others said you wouldn't shut up, but they couldn't understand a word of what it was you were spewing. You were so animated they thought you were cursing them."
"You're really going to keep this up?" Exasperated and frustrated were words that lacked how I currently felt.
If a gaze could kill, he would be a sharpshooter.
"Why are you here?"
"I don't fucking know." The last of my composure and sanity snapped. "I just woke up here, okay. Those bastards knocked me out, and then dragged me out here…I don't even know where here is."
"Who are they, these bastards you say brought you here?"
"Ugh, I don't know exactly. It could be a number of people. Sebastien Howard, Xavier Polanco, Steven Miller, maybe."
"And why would they come here?" he pressed.
Was he being serious?
"Because they are fucking losers who get off on exerting their power and cruelty. They believe the world is theirs for the taking."
His brow furrowed deep. He was not happy with my answer. He took several menacing steps forward and lowered himself to look me in the eye.
"Where are they now?"
"Ay por Dios! Have you not been listening to me? I have no idea. If I did, do you think I would be here right now?"
He said nothing for a long while, his gaze fixed on me as if he was trying to detect any lies. Then he turned and left the cell, closing it behind him.
"Wait, what are you doing?" I shot to my feet and went to the door.
"There have been strangers spotted in the city. These might be the men you claim dragged you here. We will have to find them and corroborate what you are saying."
"Ahhh!" I screamed with my full chest.
"And you think they'll just confess?" I was spiraling now, "Look, I am not trying to mess with whatever you guys are doing out here, in your make-believe world…actually, I will give you some feedback. You're doing this all wrong. I might not have played a lot of D&D, but this is …I saved that little boy; he would have drowned if I hadn't stepped in. That would have been a HUGE lawsuit." I was rambling. Tangents everywhere. "I'm a hero, and you tied me up and threw me in this place. Do I have to roll a nat 20 to get out? Terrible player experience. Would not recommend. Fuck this place."
My chest heaved as I ran out of breath. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks.
A smirk… no smile spread across his face, and his gaze brightened. He was incredibly handsome.
"You are quite vulgar and very unladylike."
He was mocking me now.
"Are you in on it?" I managed to say, deflated. "Are they paying you more to torture me like this?"
The tears came again, unbidden. I was such a fool. Of course, they knew what had happened to me; this was all scripted, and they didn't care as long as they got paid.
My knees hit the ground with a loud thud, the prickly dry straw poking me through my jeans. I sobbed, head leaning against the bars, staring at his boots. He stood before me for a long time, not saying anything. Just listening to me. Then he walked out and left me to my pity party.
How much longer would I have to endure this? Or would I have to play along just to get home…
Those thoughts looped in my head when the door opened again, but I didn't look up. I didn't have the heart to look up at the faces of the men who could be paid to go along with such cruelty.
Several more footsteps walked in. Before me were the feet of children. The cell door clanked open.
I stood up, and the silver-eyed man entered again. He walked behind me and slowly began to untie my wrists. His voice was soft, even gentle, as he explained.
"That little boy you saved." I looked out and saw him in the arms of his father. "He has been begging us to let you out, or at least reward you for saving him." Where the rope loosened, he began to massage my wrists; the sudden touch was unnerving but soothing too.
"I decided to grant his request. Aren't I a gentleman?" He bent down and whispered in my ear.
I pulled away after I felt the last of the rope fall from my wrist. I glared at him. Was he expecting a thank you after leaving me bound, gagged, and soaked for hours?
"What is your name?"
"What's your name?" I repeated, failing at hiding the mocking tone in my voice.
He chuckled softly and offered me a white handkerchief, pointing to my hand when I didn't take it right away. The floral cloth the young girl had given me was completely soaked and ruined. I took it without a word.
"It's Kael," he answered. He then extended his hand to me, as if inviting me to answer as well.
"It's Mara."
"Miss Mara has accepted your invitation." He turned and spoke to the family standing in front of us. The children broke into wide smiles, and their father only nodded his head. "Please lead the way." He instructed, and the family turned and walked out. I quickly followed.
And right on my heels, so did Kael.