Riot (Scarred Souls 4)

A cold snap of air drifted through the cell, slapping against my wounds. Hissing at the feel of the breeze on my torn and exposed flesh, I glanced down at my open sores and picked up the needle. I tried to angle my body so I could sew up this wound, but no matter how I positioned myself, I couldn’t reach.

“Fuck,” I spat, about to rip the damn thing from my arm, when I felt a small, soft hand cover the back of my own. I looked up. 152 was kneeling before me. Her blue eyes were huge as she nervously looked down at me.

Her hand jumped as it lay over mine, and I felt her fingers shaking. Her face was flushed. Inhaling deep, and with a strength I would never have imagined, she took the needle from my hand and held it in hers. Wordlessly, she moved around where I sat. Sitting on the floor, she leaned in to my wound and commenced threading the needle through my skin. I watched her hands as she worked quickly and gently. When I moved my eyes to her face, my heat rose.

She wasn’t a whore. And I felt my stomach cramp when I thought of her being Master’s. She wasn’t his. He didn’t deserve her.

The feel of warm water trickled over my arm. 152 was cleaning the wound she had been working on, the wound that she had now sewn shut. Her touch was so light it felt like it almost wasn’t there.

Without looking up, she moved to the wound on my shoulder and began to work. I couldn’t speak as I watched her. My pulse was thundering in my ears, my blood was rushing through my heart at a rapid speed. I had never been this way with a female. This close. Feeling these strange things. The idea had repulsed me. Nothing about this was repulsive.

As 152 reached the halfway point on my wound, her bottom lip began to tremble. I didn’t know why, but it made me suddenly feel cold. When a tear trickled down her cheek only to splash on her arm, I reached for her arm and stilled her hand with my wrist.

I wanted her to look at me. When she finally did, she whispered, “I do not like that you are this wounded.” She lifted her hand to her chest. “It pains me in here that you are hurt.” She blinked, her long dark lashes brushing her upper cheek. “That you are hurt because of me.” She turned her head away. “I made you weak, after all. Your greatest fear realized.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t like to see her cry. My hand clenched and unclenched. I raised my hand, fighting against my instinct to stop, and placed it on her cheek. 152 froze under my touch.

I went to pull it away, feeling too much pain at the fact that she didn’t want my hand on her skin. But as my arm dropped, she quickly lifted her hand and laid it over mine. She was keeping it in place.

I breathed, and she breathed in unison as we stayed still in the moment. When her eyes met mine, she said, “I was the cause of your fall. I am a whore and made you submit.”

Clearing my throat, I rasped, “You’re more than a whore. You’re more than a mona.” I shook my head. “We all are. All of us slaves.”

“Slaves?” she questioned, her pretty face screwed up in confusion.

“The monebi, warriors, chiri. All of us are under Master’s control.”

She nodded at my words, but I could see she still didn’t understand.

“We are alike,” she said finally, and my heart melted when a small smile pulled on her lips. A smile. Something I had rarely seen given so freely.

“Yes,” I whispered in response.

“His champion and his whore.” This time her voice shook with sadness. “Not free.”

Not free.

152 sighed, and with her eyes narrowed, she continued, “I … I think I would like to be free.” Her hand slipped from her chest and lay over mine. My skin jumped at her touch. “Would you?” she questioned. “Would you wish to be free, too?”

I thought about what she had asked me. I had never wished for freedom before. I never believed I would get it. Never wanted it. “901?” she pushed. Something about her calling me by my number caused annoyance to spike in my blood. 152’s hand drifted slightly to my tattoo, and she asked, “Would you?”

Using my free hand, this time I laid it over hers on my chest. Her full lips parted slightly and she sucked in a gasp. “What is your name?” I asked, and saw her cheeks pale.

“My name?” I watched her as she thought hard. When her shoulders slumped, I knew she had not found an answer. “I can’t remember,” she said quietly. “I don’t know my name.”

“Neither do I,” I replied. “I know I’m Russian and I think I’m age around twenty-four.”

She flicked up her head and said excitedly, “I’m twenty-one.”

As I looked up at her slightly smiling mouth, the wall lamp on the far wall haloing her head, she looked perfect.

“Near my age.”

Her cheeks burst with redness and she ducked her eyes. When she looked back up, her face had become serious once more. Her gaze wandered to take in my cuts, slashes, and bruises. “You saved me,” she whispered. “You saved me from death.”

My teeth ground together at the relief in her tone. “I couldn’t do anything else. I saw you in that guard’s hands.” I paused to raise my head and run my fingertip over the faint knife mark on her throat. “I saw his knife and the mark it had created. I saw in Master’s eyes that he would order your throat to be slit.” I stilled, then on a sigh, admitted, “I couldn’t let it happen.” I tapped the spot over my heart again. “In here. It hurt too much in here.”

152 didn’t react to what I had said. She didn’t move. For a minute I believed she had sincerely wanted me to let her die. Then she shifted her knees closer to mine and, leaning forward, pressed her lips to my forehead. My breathing came quick and fast.

Her unique scent drifted up my nose. Filling my lungs, I had to force my hands not to reach up and pull her closer to me. When 152 moved back, I instead ran my finger down her face and said, “You are beautiful.”

Her eyes widened, as if she could not believe those words had come from my mouth. When my eyebrows dragged down in confusion, she revealed, “I didn’t think you liked me. I didn’t think I appealed to you.”

I reared back in shock, my shoulders hitting the cold wall behind me. My hand fell to the floor. 152 shifted closer and implored me to answer with her blue stare.

Fighting against my instinct to push her away, I replied, “I want you. I … like you. Too much. I wish I did not.”

A small gasp left her mouth. Reaching down, she picked up my hand in hers. I watched, rapt, as she brought it to her mouth and pressed three long kisses to my broken skin. I sucked in a sharp breath, waiting for what she would do next.

She lowered our joined hands until they had fallen to her knees. She said, “I want you, too. I like you, too. Very much.”

With those spoken words, I knew something within me had broken. I could feel the wall around my heart crumble. And I also knew that there would be no more hiding, no more fooling myself that I could be unaffected by her.

My want for her was as real as any match I had ever fought. It was as dangerous, too. 140 was right. Master had me exactly where he wanted me. His plan had worked perfectly. It should have fueled my constant rage. Instead it filled me with light.

Her eyes fluttered to stare at me, and she said, “And I also think you are beautiful.” The blush from her cheeks spread to her neck and down over her chest. “I am not sure if a female declares that to a male, but I think it nonetheless.”

152 picked up the needle and thread from the floor. She tried to pull our joined hands apart, but I held on. She looked up at me, confused that I wasn’t letting go. I wasn’t sure. I just didn’t want to.

Clearly seeing this in my expression, she smiled and said, “Let me tend to your wounds. You need to close the harmed flesh, then you need to bathe.”

I reluctantly let go. 152 shifted to my side and cleaned my gashes with the warm, wet towel. She moved to every cut and sealed them shut, cleaning the blood from my skin.

When she was done, I walked to the shower to wash the remnants of the fight away. As the water hit my head, all I could think of was 152 caring for me, cleaning me … smiling at me.

I wanted to smile at her, too.