“What happened to your mouth?” he whispers.
“David.”
“That sonofabitch.” He shakes his head. “Prepare yourself.”
I pull in a hard breath and do my best to present a picture of dignified composure as I walk beside my friend. When we reach Elite and he opens the door, I stifle a gag as a mixture of noxious odors smacks me full in the face. They thicken the air, a tangible entity I have to squint past as I peer into the cell.
My heart dies in my chest. I can feel it crumble to dust. But I force it back to life because now isn’t the time for weakness. Now is the time to remember who the hell I am. I’m the girl who survived a childhood of abuse, slew a monster to gain her freedom, and made it through almost six years living on the street. I don’t wither in the face of adversity. Not then, and I damn well owe it to Wraith not to break now.
Behind me, Roger locks us inside Elite. Wraith doesn’t so much as twitch at the slam of the door. I grab the bars, curling my fingers around the iron to keep myself upright as a wave of dizziness washes over me.
Roger grabs me. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I shake him off. “How long has he been like this?”
“Long enough.”
I swallow down a wave of nausea and let go of the bars. “Please open the cell.”
Roger pulls at the retractable key ring and unlocks the door. “He’s going to be okay, Jamie.”
I haven’t cried in… God, I can’t remember the last time I shed a tear. But standing there, seeing Wraith prone on that filthy mattress, his beautiful body mutilated, I’m dangerously close to hysterics.
I shove past Roger and run in and drop to my knees beside the metal bed. Wraith’s head is turned toward me. His face is purple and swollen and crusted with blood. I want to put my hands on him and take away his injuries. Take his pain into myself. But the slightest touch to his ruined flesh will be a new torture, I know. Instead, I stroke his hair, smoothing my palm over the tangled strands.
There’s not an inch of Wraith’s body that’s not damaged, with chunks torn away. His back is shredded. Some of his fingers are contorted at sickening angles, with a few of the nails ripped off. And what’s around his mouth? I know what that is. Wraith’s lips were sewn closed, with tiny holes left behind where the needle was shoved through the meat. And I notice crusted cavities pock his shoulders and legs. The twisted circles are…messy.
“David used a drill on him.” My voice doesn’t like my mine. It belongs to a tormented stranger.
“Crane likes power tools.” Roger’s quiet statement evokes a horrific visual.
Oh, God.
I want to scream until my throat bleeds. Cry until I’ve wept my last tear. Punch the walls, and not stop until I see daylight. Carry Wraith out myself, all the way back to Mayhem, where David can’t ever hurt him again.
I do none of those things because I’m just as much a prisoner as Wraith. All I can do is settle myself behind a wall of false composure and hide my guilt and shame behind my precious wall because that’s all I have in this life. All that’s truly mine.
“Was he given noz?”
“Of course.”
“How much?”
“Enough,” Roger assures me.
I whip my head in his direction and fry him with a glare. “How much is enough, Roger?”
“As much as his body was able to absorb.”
I run my gaze over Wraith’s back. “He’ll need more.”
Roger steps into the cell and kneels beside me. “Wraith’s a warrior. He’s going to get through this, and we’ll get him home.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I do, but this day will be etched on his body and mind for the rest of his life.
