The Girl Who Kissed the Sun (Death Fields 4)

“See that mirror?” She points to a section over the pool tables. It has a good view of the cages. “I think it’s a two-way. The men pick who they want from there and then Rebecca says there’s a little office down that back hall. They have it set up for entertaining the customers.”

I can’t contain the chill running down my back.

“Our men,” I ask. “Why didn’t they just kill them when we got here? What’s up with the torture routine?”

Miranda’s face softens. “As far as I can tell they had the unfortunate luck of being with you. Butch doesn’t like men who actually respect women. They get strung up as a deterrent for anyone who thinks of going against him.”

Rebecca tugs on her sleeve. Miranda wraps her arm around her sister and asks, “What’s up, babe?”

“The man that came to see me yesterday? He’s nice.” Bile rises in my throat. “He didn’t hurt me. We just talked.”

Miranda gives her a forced smile. “That’s good. Maybe not everyone in this Godforsaken town is a monster.”

“What do you think?” I ask Walker, who has moved as close as possible.

“I’m not sure yet.” Confirming she’s already working out a plan. It’s what she does. It’s probably her superpower, although this is the tightest moment we’ve ever been in. Worse than Eaters or Hybrids. They just want to kill or snack on us. This guy? He wants to destroy our bodies and minds.

“Well let me know,” I say as though it’s that easy. If we only had to worry about one of us I think we could make it happen, but there’s five. I spare a glance at Miranda and her sister, then the other woman still bundled in Jane’s coat. Make that closer to ten.

I catch Jane pressing the back of her hand on the forehead of the woman in the cage with her. She whispers something to her and her gentleness surprises me. Is this what it takes to get my sister to show a little compassion?

I manipulate my jacket into a pillow and lean against the bars. We need sleep to fight back, which is what I plan to do in the morning—one way or the other.

Chapter 3

I wake with a jerk, confused about where I am. My back and neck protest any movement but then I see Miranda next to me. Her face reflects a quiet fear—that’s when I notice Butch’s ugly face leering through the bars.

“Jesus,” I mutter rubbing my eyes. “That’s the last thing I want to see first thing in the morning.”

Miranda and Rebecca both stiffen next to me and before I can react Butch has lunged through the bars, catching me with a meaty hand on my throat. I struggle for air against his strong grip.

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine. I think today is going to be a fantastic start of our business relationship.”

He releases me with a toss and I fall over, gasping for breath. He pushes a plate of scrambled eggs into the cell for Miranda. Mine, he holds over the top of the cage and dumps onto the floor.

“Eat up. You’re going to need your energy,” he says, before walking over to Green and Jackson. He offers them a taste of water and shoves a spoonful of food in their mouths. Both look nearly unconscious and I know the clock is ticking faster for them than us.

I pick up a handful of the runny eggs and hurl them

at him. Ten wide eyes watch from the cages as it arcs overhead and lands against Butch’s neck with a wet slap.

He reaches to his neck and touches the goo before spinning in our direction. “Who did it?” he asks, but he stares at me, knowingly. A thin vein pulses on his forehead.

No one in the cage speaks and I just shrug. He gives us one last glance before storming back down the hall.

“You shouldn’t push him,” Miranda whispers. “It’s not worth it.”

I don’t reply but that little moment of defiance sparked something in me—so yeah, it was worth it. That’s what makes me different from the others. Walker and Wyatt boiled deep beneath the surface with well controlled rage. I refuse to allow the rules of this new world to take away my emotions. Sure, I have to bide my time, but I won’t bury it—not like the others. That anger keeps me going.

“Are you going to eat that?” Miranda asks, about the remaining eggs on the floor.

I shake my head and she and Rebecca scoop it up with their fingers. I sigh and look over at Walker, who’s deep in thought. No matter how we go about it, we both know that we need to get out of here—fast.

*

The morning drags. Men come in and out but head straight to the bar, haggling over various items. Most are skinny and ragged looking—none as well fed as those that linger at the bar or work for Butch. A few dare to look our direction but most ignore us. I can’t tell if it’s because we’re not worthy of notice or if the men are scared. I refuse to believe the whole town is behind the kidnapping and enslavement of women.

Lunch is served—but not to us. The smell of a meaty stew makes my empty stomach grumble and roll. Miranda says we only get fed twice a day. That is, unless you go to the back. If you get picked by one of the traders you’ll get a warm meal and a shower.