“That’s a really vivid picture…”
“Throw down your blade.” He sheathed both of his swords.
“No.”
“I will hurt you—and that’s a promise.”
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“If you really hurt me to get back at my father, you’re just as barbaric as he is.”
He came closer to me. “That’s the point.”
I lunged with my sword, aiming to swipe his neck from his shoulders.
He ducked and popped back up before I could stop the momentum of my sword. His hand gripped my arm and threw it down, forcing the blade to fly from my hand and land somewhere in the grass.
I tried to twist out of it, but his hold was too strong.
My body hit the ground, and his fingers ended up locked around my neck. He held himself over me, his fingers slack enough so just a little bit of air could make it into my lungs with every breath. “Your words are stones against a tree. Every hit makes a sound, but the tree doesn’t fall. I’ve planned this for a very long time, and your desperate attempts to make me pity you are hopeless. All roads end at the same place—with your head off your shoulders.” His fingers released me, and he stood up.
I gasped for breath, sitting up as I reached for my throat.
He scanned the forest, his eyes hollow and bored. “You’re lucky I grabbed him before he fell. Otherwise, I would have thrown you in after him.”
Mastodon marched me back into the cave where the men waited, and he handed back the sword that I’d stolen from the belt of the man.
The man sheathed his blade as he kept his eyes on me.
“Nothing personal.”
He moved quicker than I could anticipate, and his palm hit me in the face so hard I actually turned with the hit. The skin immediately swelled with heat and pain, and my instinct was to cry out, but I kept my lips tightly shut.
I let the agony pass before I righted myself again, visualizing just how red my cheek was since I couldn’t see it. Ryker had hit me before, but that was when we were kids. I’d never been smacked around like that otherwise—and that was when I realized how sheltered my life had been. I wasn’t prepared for that kind of pain, but I handled it in silence because I thought that preserved the most dignity.
The man stared at me again, and when I didn’t give the reaction he wanted, he went in again.
This time, I kicked him in the balls.
He cried like a girl and bent over at the waist, sucking in a deep breath as he processed the pain.
Mastodon just stood there like he didn’t care what happened to either one of us. “Let’s move.”
I didn’t drop my guard because I knew it was coming.
The man righted himself and attacked me, ready to do more than just slap me. “You fucking bitch—”
“Pyrus.” Mastodon grabbed him by the arm and tugged him back. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”
He tried to shove him off. “Not until I kick this bitch right in the cunt.”
“I’m sure it’ll hurt,” I said. “Since I have bigger balls than you—”
“Enough.” Mastodon yanked him all the way back until he was nowhere near me. Then he walked up to me, towering over me, his black armor making him blend in with the darkness. With the torch at his side, he stared into my face. His eyes were such a soft blue, like the sky on the first day of spring, but he could turn that beauty into ugliness when he looked at me like that—like he was picturing my head on a spike. “Let’s go.” He took the lead down the wooden ladder, holding the torch at the same time so he could light the way.
I approached the ladder and felt all their eyes on my back—as if one of them might kick me over the edge. They must have found the strength to resist because I stepped down the ladder and started to move.
Move deeper underground.
Initially, I didn’t keep pace with the men, and a muddy boot ended up in my face countless times. “Watch it, asshole.” I swatted at his boot.
He kicked my hand. “Move, asshole.”
Mastodon’s voice came from below. “Princess, come on.”
“Don’t fucking call me that—”
“Then move.”
I quickened my pace, glancing down to make sure I wasn’t going to put my boot directly on top of a burning torch. Keeping pace with Mastodon left me out of breath, even though he was doing all of this with a single hand.
It went on like that for an hour…and then two hours. “How long is this going to take us?”
“Days.”
I stopped climbing. “I’m sorry, did you say days?”
“Move,” Mastodon barked.
“You’re insane if you think we can keep this up that long.”
“No. I’m just not weak—like you.”