Deadly Captive (12 page)

After the crowds left, we waited for the judgment. We waited to find out whether our performance had been good enough to allow us to live.

Cyrus came in, shaking his head, looking disappointed as he focused on Joe.

"Two beautiful girls and you couldn't get hard again, Joe? A pity, the act was worth a retake."

Joe wouldn't meet his eyes. I stepped forward to draw the attention to me.

"You said nothing of an encore, Cyrus. He fucked us both before he came. That has to count for something."

Cyrus slugged me with his big fist, and pain exploded in my cheek as I dropped to the floor. Blood spilled from my busted bottom lip, and I held my hand over it, seething.

Laughing, Cyrus ran one finger under my chin and brought a drop of blood to his lips. "Sorry, Lydia. I just had to see that look again. You're very strong for a woman, even with that pretty, lithe form. You don't like it when you can't hit back."

Now Mary stepped forward. I wanted to pull her back. She had false hope that Cyrus's kindness meant something. She actually believed he'd spare her a little, and, in doing so, spare Joe and me.

"Cyrus, the crowd seemed happy. That's what you wanted, isn't it?" She tilted her head back and gazed up at him, entreating him for mercy he did not possess.

But, for a moment, even I was fooled.

Cyrus cupped her face in his palm. He nodded. "Yes, Mary. That is what I wanted." He pulled her against him. His hand slid down to his belt. "You did very well.

I caught the slips, but I doubt many did. It's a shame." He made a swift motion with his hand. Mary's eyes went wide. "You would have been worth keeping."

He stepped back, and Mary fell to the floor. I didn't understand at first what had happened. When I did, I screamed.

"No!" I dropped to my knees at her side. "No! Mary!"

The dagger had gone in and up. Mary clutched the hilt, trying to pull it out.

Without thinking, I pushed her hand away and drew it out. Joe dropped to his knees beside us. He ripped off a piece of her dress and pressed it against the gushing wound.

He glared at Cyrus. "Why? We did everything. She did everything! You had pleasure from her!"

Cyrus nodded, looking sad. "That I did. Unfortunately, there were repercussions to you trying to spare her some pain that I didn't foresee. It made her useless, I'm afraid."

Joe's brow furrowed. At a whimper from Mary, he eased her down, still holding the compress against her, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood that was covering her and pooling to the floor.

"They say it only takes once, Joe. I never believed it. I do now." Cyrus shrugged.

"I couldn't have her come between you and Lydia. Mary offered something you've always wanted, but knew you could never otherwise hope for again." He smiled at me now. I stared at him, dumbstruck. I didn't know what he meant. He decided to clear it up for me. "The dumb bitch got pregnant. Kids are fun, but it would have been years before her baby was useful. I'm just not that patient."

Joe lunged for Cyrus. I jumped up and grabbed him, knocking us both to the ground.

"I'll kill you for this! I'll kill you!" Joe fought against me.

Cyrus laughed. He grabbed me by the hair and pulled me against him, pressed another dagger against my throat. "Go ahead, Joe. There's a knife on the floor. Mary's blood is still on it. Avenge her. See if you can manage to do it before I kill Lydia."

Joe didn't move. Cyrus pushed me down to him.

"Come on. I'm bored with this." Cyrus motioned to the guards who waited by the door. "Let's get you back to your rooms. I want to find someone else to play with."

We were dragged down the long hallway and locked back in our room. Cyrus and the guards left Mary with us. Life stirred within her still. Joe carried her to the bed.

I sat at Mary's side.

With a strained smile, Mary looked up at me. "Lydia, do you remember that song?"

I forced a smile of my own. "Which one?"

Mary shifted against the bed, cringed, and pressed her hands to her stomach.

Blood seeped between her fingers, slowly soaking the sheets around her. "The Christmas one. The one about the shoes. It reminds me of my mother. She got cancer. It killed her. Right after Christmas." She drew in a deep breath. "Can you sing it to me?"

I didn't remember it all. But I remembered enough. "Okay." I inhaled deeply in preparation. A sob escaped me just before I started singing. I was at the chorus when she finally faded away. "Tell me, Sir, what am I going to do . . . ."

I cried out when Mary stopped blinking. Her eyes stared at me, stared into me, told me I'd failed her.

Nothing could have gotten us past Mary's death except the will to keep each other alive. That she'd be spared further pain was no consolation. She'd been a child, carrying Joe's child, and they'd killed her for it.

Two lives extinguished for nothing but their pleasure. It made me realize nothing we did mattered. Nothing. On a whim, they could decide to end either of us. I hoped they would decide to kill me first. Actually, I planned to make things turn out that way.

I knew I wasn't strong enough to survive Joe's death.

Sleep came, and, when we awoke, Mary's body had been taken away. The sheets had been changed and her blood cleaned from the floor. When I searched, I found her clothes were gone. It was as though she'd never been.

Something in my mind snapped. Red flooded behind my eyes. Screaming out, I grabbed hold of a chair and smashed it into the wall. Taking hold of the table, I tried to rip it from the bolts holding it to the floor. When it wouldn't move, I put my elbow through it. The melamine top split in two.

I kicked the second chair into the wall and then attacked the wall itself. I punched it, seeing Cyrus's face, not seeing my blood, which smeared on the wall as my flesh broke open with every jab against the unyielding surface.

Joe grabbed me. I was sure he had been ready just to let me go, let me handle my pain in my own way. It was the damage I was doing to myself he couldn't take. Right then, I didn't care. Lost in an all-consuming rage, I wanted to keep going until my blood turned the white walls red. It took all of Joe's strength to hold me still.

"Don't touch me! I hate you! I hate them! I don't want to do this anymore! Just let it be over!" I screamed the words over and over, trying to rip my hair from my scalp.

Joe clenched his muscles around me firmly, his hard breaths betraying the effort it took to subdue me. Suddenly, my strength left me. Joe lifted me up as I collapsed against him. "Don't say that." He slid down the wall and held me tight. "Don't say that.

You don't mean it." His voice broke, and he dropped his head back. "I couldn't take it, Lydia. Please don't give up."

His words reached something in me. Not concern for my life. I didn't care about living anymore. But his life. Could I really leave him alone for them to torment?

"Lydia, you have to be strong. If all you have left is your life, you have to fight for it. I promised I'd find a way." Joe was still trying to calm me, to soothe me.

My life? The words blurred in my mind. I'd forgotten what had given me the momentary will to survive. I shook my head. I didn't care anymore. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I haven't."

I laughed. "Then why not sooner? It's too late now. Much too late."

What passed through Joe's eyes then made me want to take the words back.

Trapped in my own pain, I'd selfishly lashed out at him. He was all I had left. I had to reassure him, somehow.

"We did everything they wanted. It didn't matter! The decision was already made!" I choked back my screams. Losing control again wouldn't help either of us.

Joe bruised my arms when he turned me, shaking me before he spoke. "Then you know, Lydia. You know nothing we did would have changed a thing."

I sobbed. "Joe, it hurts. Make it stop."

Surrendering the rage and allowing grief to take over was humiliating. The urge to let the cold fill me and push everything else aside rose inside me, as did the voice that told me I could not allow myself to be weak. I looked up at Joe.

In his eyes, I saw purpose and resolve. Sorrow lurked there as well, but some desire drove him to rise above the loss and keep fighting. Something kept him from giving up. I realized suddenly what that something was—me.

I didn't think Joe knew realized the potential weakness in himself. Cyrus understood. As long as Joe believed I needed him, he would want to live. But letting him believe I needed his support would be playing right into Cyrus's hands. Cyrus used Joe's desire to protect me against him.

I could take the power from Cyrus.
I warmed to the idea, could almost picture Joe's rage unleashed on the monsters without concern for me holding him back. My fantasies built him up into a superhero. Logic prevailed, reminding me he was just a man. Cyrus was something more.

Without me, Joe was at their mercy. With me . . . .
Nothing had changed.

Joe seemed to read my thoughts. "Swear to me, Lydia. Swear to me you'll give me a chance to keep my promise. Swear it, and I swear that we'll avenge Mary. That will help with the pain. Revenge is the sweetest form of justice."

I managed a small smile at that. "Sounds like you know something about justice."

Something dark and frightening passed through Joe's eyes. "I should hope so. It was my life."

His
life. He never gave me more details, and I didn't ask for them. I couldn't give him anything from my past so his withholding details of his own life from me seemed fair. For the time being.

I noticed Joe watching me, expectantly, and realized I still hadn't given him my oath. It was important to him. My promise would be the last thread he could hold on to, because he had nothing left to hold onto in himself.

I had no problem giving him my word. But, first, I would extract a promise of my own. "I'll swear it, if you swear to me you won't try anything, that you'll continue as we have been, doing what we have to, until we come up with a plan that gets us both out of this alive."

Joe grinned. "I swear. And if you're good, I'll even let you take a few of them down, too."

I wrinkled my nose and stuck out my tongue. My gut twisted when it hit me that I'd forgotten Mary, that my spirit had been light, even though for only a second. I took a deep breath, clasped Joe's hand, and did as he'd suggested. I let thoughts of vengeance spark a flame within, one that would burn and wipe out the sadness that would hamper me, keep me from trudging on. "I swear too, Joe. But I gotta warn you, when I'm done there might not be a body left for you to take down." I grinned without guilt. To my mind, there was nothing wrong with finding joy in imagining the bloody justice I would exact in Mary's name. "I'll try not to be overzealous."

Joe kissed me and then stood, pulling me up with him and bringing me to the bed. Only once we'd both gotten comfortable did he speak again. "Lydia?"

I tilted my head up. "What?"

"Can you do me a favor?" He was staring at the ceiling, and, if I hadn't known better, I would have thought he was struggling not to cry.

Fighting against the lump that building in my throat, I snuggled against him.

"Sure."

His tone was gruff. "Can you sing me that song?" My breath caught. I remembered Mary making the same request and how I'd sung to her as she lay dying. I forced myself to hear Joe's next words and prayed it wouldn't be another last request.

"The one that was like a lullaby. I want to picture her, just once, as it would have been if

. . . ." I heard him swallow. "I know it's stupid, but I want to see it in my head, one last time, before I say 'goodbye.'"

"It's not stupid," I said. I started singing. I could picture it, too. A place, far away from here. A peaceful place without danger or pain. A place where life was simple.

In my mind, I saw Mary, a little blue bundle in her arms, a child with Joe's eyes and skin a lighter shade of Mary's lovely, gold-kissed brown. In a rocking chair, by a window, with moonlight glowing over her, she held him. And she sang. She sang in that beautiful voice we'd been privileged to hear, even if only for a short time. She sang him to sleep, the same song she'd sung to us, to herself, to make sleep come easier.

Pretty ponies. Hush-a-bye. Go to sleep my little baby.

I prayed somehow, someday, they would both wake in a place where the dream was a reality. That place was out of our reach, but for them, maybe, just maybe, it was close at hand.

"It's good to see you two are doing so well."

I didn't look up from my food. I knew the look of utter disgust on my face would result in a whole lot of pain.

Joe stood, placing himself halfway between Cyrus and me.

"Let's get this over with, Cyrus." Joe sounded bored. Which was good. Or, at least, it used to be. I hoped the rules hadn't changed.

Cyrus didn't look fazed. "Fine," he said. "Come here, Lydia. I want you to suck my dick."

I stared at him. I knew I should get up and do what he said before Joe took exception, but I couldn't move. I was shocked. Cyrus wasn't usually this blunt.

Cyrus's abrupt laugh made me jump. "Oh, Lydia. That look on your face. I've got to come back when I have time. I hope to see that reaction again." He chuckled and shook his head. "As much as I'd love it, my dear, we are on a rather tight schedule. I need you both dressed and out the door in fifteen minutes. Any longer and the crowd will get restless."

Cold washed over my flesh. "The crowd?"

With a wicked grin, Cyrus nodded. "Why, yes. You both made quite an impression the last two times. You're celebrities now. Isn't that wonderful?"

Neither of us bothered responding. I was pretty sure Cyrus didn't expect us to.

He confirmed my thought with his shrug. "In any case—" He reached behind him and took something from someone just out of sight beyond the open door. Before I could see what it was, he tossed it to me. I caught it and held it up as I stood. A dress. A plain, white, cotton dress. Cyrus smiled at my questioning gaze. "You're pretty enough not to need the extra garnishing, Lydia." He turned to Joe. "The leather jacket, without restraints, and jeans." Joe gave a curt nod. Cyrus cut him off before he could go fetch his things. "Oh, and here." Cyrus pulled something from an inner pocket of his black doublet and slapped it against Joe's chest. "You can borrow my gloves."