I tried to shrug. The chains rattled. He didn’t know the only thing keeping my shit together was the notion that I wouldn’t need my hands to turn the starving army against him.
Roark’s oaky musk emanated an arm’s length away. The sidelong view of his blood-drenched head, drooping under the burden of gravity, constricted my chest. But there was fight in the set of his jaw.
The doctor stepped out of my vision. The Imago moved in, leaned a shoulder on the wall and rooted a finger through my headscarf. When he found an opening on my nape, he drew imaginary circles over the skin, raising the hairs there.
Black lashes spread over his cheekbones. He inhaled, and the lashes snapped up. “Ready for your lesson?”
Roark arched his back in a swell of outrage, eyes blazing, and voice wheezing through clamped teeth. “Den’ ye bloody touch her.”
An exhale oozed from the Imago’s flared nostrils. Then he spun toward Roark with an unleashed fist. The wet smack stole my breath.
Roark stretched a toothy smirk through the red river coursing from his nose. “That’s all ye got, ye goat-fucking toerag?”
His fist reared again. Roark grunted under the blow to his abdomen, the corners of his mouth rigid.
My pulse raced, faster than I thought possible, leaving me trembling and panicked. So much so, I didn’t notice the new threat until hot breath dampened the wrap around my neck.
“Mmm, your quivering is delectable,” the Drone hummed in my ear. His hip chafed mine, his proximity oiling away the layers of air between us, seeping beneath the surface of my skin.
He ground his flaccid dick against me, punctuating each word with a pant. “I want to want you.”
Fucking mouth-breather. “I want to gut you.”
He clutched his side, face twisted, breaths pushing out in sprays of spit.
“What’s your problem? Dick won’t work?”
He grabbed a handful of my headscarf, hair with it, and yanked my neck down in a submissive bow. “How would you feel if people thought we were lovers? Do you want that?”
“There are no people. And there will never be anything resembling love between us.”
He released my head, sending it careening back. The bite from the wall spiked from my crown to my eyes.
When my vision cleared, he was gliding over to Roark in that slimy way he moved.
“Pity to defile such a beautiful creature.” He tore the front of Roark’s pants open, baring his groin.
Roark growled. My heartbeat swished in my ears and the tension pouring from the leashed aphids stretched to the snapping point. How was the Drone still holding them when his attention was focused on us? Could I wrestle the control away from him?
The Imago circled Roark, blade in hand, slicing away the remainder of his clothes until he hung nude, biceps twitching against his sagging weight.
His wide jade eyes locked on the Drone, who hovered close enough to share his breath. Too fucking close. Even if I could get the aphids to attack on command, no way Roark would come out un-bitten. I wouldn’t chance it. My stomach dropped.
The Drone’s mouth ticked up and his back straightened. A rattan cane appeared from under his cloak.
An extension of his arm, the cane shot up. I stopped breathing as it whistled down.
Roark’s torso jerked under the impact. His cheeks paled, flexed, no doubt bottling a scream. A red welt ballooned above his nipple. Oh, Roark.
My eyes clung to the cane as it rose again. “Not him. No more.” I rammed my arms against the wall. “It’s my punishment. Not his.”
The next blow landed below the first. A roar escaped Roark’s thinned lips.
I pulled against the shackles in useless thrashing. “Stop, you sick fuck.” My voice broke. “Just stop. I’ve learned my lesson.”
His free hand hovered over Roark’s chest, fingers grazing the twin gashes, lingering. Then his touch meandered along pectoral ridges to his unblemished nipple, catching it between finger and thumb. Squeezing. Yanking beyond comfortable extension.
Roark’s eyes remained fastened on the Drone’s, his body otherwise unresponsive.
A peculiar sort of darkness pooled in the Drone’s eyes as his attentions moved south, over the bump and dip of honed abs, brushing golden naval hair, caressing that perfect indention where his hip jutted.
Saliva thickened with an onslaught of nausea. “Stop it.” It was a shout but came out as a croak.
The Drone flicked his wrist, catching the bloody nipple. “Ten more cuts from the cane. Each word you utter adds another cut. Are we clear?”
I swallowed, nodded, then closed my eyes. Time to focus on the aphids. Precision would be paramount.
The whine of the cane whipped the air. And another and another. The brutality and force of each lunge and swing made my jumps more violent than Roark’s, robbing my concentration, tearing out my heart.
I opened my eyes. Mutated bodies swayed. Tiny pupils trained on the Drone. I couldn’t get a hold of them, they wouldn’t move, and worse my bones were softening. Feeling escaped my fingers and toes. The sensation of spinning crept in.