I snarl. “So, that’s it? You’re going to stand by and do nothing while two innocent girls are being raped and tortured?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, and it seems I’ve managed to strike a nerve.
“That’s who I am, baby. A bad, bad man with no remorse.”
Liar. If he felt no remorse, we wouldn’t be in this bathroom right now, cleaning a wound that didn’t need it.
“Why do you do it?” I ask in a whisper, hissing when the alcohol hits a sore spot. “Is it for the money?”
He scoffs. “I don’t give a shit about money. Can’t take it with me when I’m dead, so what good is it to me?”
“Then, why?” I push. He sighs, ripping open a fresh package of gauze.
“You’re not the only one who’s enslaved to powerful people,” he clips shortly, his tone signaling the end of this conversation. But I don’t listen.
“Zade is going to kill you, and you know this. So, if you know you’re going to die anyway, then why continue?”
He slaps a strip of tape on me a bit harshly, growing frustrated with my needling.
“Pu?eta. How about you use that pretty little head of yours, and figure it out,” he snaps, his accent deepening with anger. “If someone doesn’t stay for their own life, what else could make them stay?”
My face drops as realization dawns. “They’re using someone against you,” I breathe. “Family?”
“My little sister,” he grumbles. “As long as I’m a good boy, she won’t be sold.”
A knot forms between my brows. “Why not just take off with her and run?”
“Because I can’t take her. They have her and I can’t get to her, comprende? You done playing twenty questions, or should I tell you about how I lost my virginity, too?”
I clamp my mouth shut. He’s given me more than enough. It’s not fair of me to keep pushing.
Rio finishes up, placing fresh gauze over my stitches.
"These are about ready to come out," he says, stepping back to discard the trash and put away the kit. Then, he bends and grabs the corset, fashioning it back around my waist and quickly tying it up, leaving it considerably looser than Francesca did.
Once he’s finished, I release my dress, fixing it as an awkward silence compresses the air around us.
"Thank you," I say quickly, the words burning my tongue on the way out.
He glances at me. "Don't thank me yet, princesa."
He opens the door and exits the bathroom without another word, leaving me to my own devices. My heart pounds, not liking how fucking ominous that sounded. Then, his excuse to Xavier smacks me over the side of the head.
I need to change her dressings before the event.
What fucking event? Didn't we already have one? Isn't this the afterparty to the event?
Dread replaces the marrow in my bones, and as I walk out of the bathroom and back toward the living room, I realize the Culling was only a preliminary event. A few men linger in the corners of the living room, drinking and laughing, looking every bit unconcerned with life. And the girls are gathered in the center, shoulders high and eyes cast down.
With the exception of Sydney, of course. She wears her defiance on her sleeves. Directly meeting the gazes of all the onlookers and even going as far as to smile at them.
I stand beside Jillian and keep my voice as low as possible as I ask, "What's happening?"
Her eyes flicker to me, and I note how ashen her skin is.
"The worst part of the entire night," she whispers back. Anxiety mingles with the dread, merging in my system until I'm nothing but a ball of frayed nerves. Is this what she was trying to tell me to prepare for in the woods?
Just as I open my mouth to ask more questions, loud screaming reaches my ears. My teeth click and then grind when the sound gradually increases. My heart pounds and my palms slicken. That's Phoebe and Bethany, and whatever is about to happen, it's bad.
Really fucking bad.
I grow nervous and fidgety, confused about what's happening, but still desperate to never find out.
Yet their screeching heads straight for us, almost painful to the ears. Two men are dragging them in by their hair, completely naked and bloodied beyond recognition. Since Ben is dead, the one handling Phoebe has thick black hair and a beard, appearing just as ruthless as his partners. And the one handling Bethany is a skinny, older man with thin lips and glasses.
I barely manage to stifle a gasp, incapable of feeling anything outside of horror and panic. Jillian and Gloria shift uncomfortably, both on the verge of tears. Sydney watches them with cool detachment, even as they're tossed at our feet.