Thicker Than Blood (Thicker Than Blood #1)(73)
However, I had a plan, a little trick I’d learned thanks to Lawrence’s cruelty. It had happened by accident at first, during one of his many beatings. I’d just suddenly slipped away, finding myself emotionally and mentally detached from my body, as if I were watching the abuse instead of experiencing it firsthand. I planned to apply that same method, escaping my here and now, to my dancing tonight. I would close my eyes, find a happy memory somewhere deep inside me, and use that as my rock, as my anchor that would see me through.
“Dancers! Get ready to take your places!”
An older woman called Mattie, with long black hair heavily intermixed with sparkling strands of silver, clapped her hands together in earnest. She was, for lack of a better word, my boss, and more importantly, the madam of Purgatory. She handled all of the women, more or less, responsible for designating them to certain areas of the complex to sell themselves. She also distributed the girls’ payment, as well as clothing and accessories, pretty much all the things an old-world madam had done, Mattie did as well.
She was surprisingly kind, a once-handsome woman with a sharp edge about her that I instantly appreciated. In a way, she reminded me of Evelyn, beautiful yet gruff, rough around the edges but with a heart of gold.
“New girl!” she called out, beckoning me with two fingers. “You first.”
When no one else made a move toward her, I glanced around me, looking at the other girls for an idea of why I was being made to go first. Was this some sort of cruel new-girl initiation?
“Go, little mouse,” Bethany said, obviously taking her cues from Liv as she gave me a not-so-gentle shove on my shoulder. “Nobody’s here yet, the doors open in five. And you’re going to need a minute to adjust.”
My stomach did a funny sort of dip straight down into my intestines as my already sky-high anxiety skyrocketed. Adjust to what, I wondered. The possibilities were endless, and as my imagination ran away with itself, all of them seemed more horrific than the last.
Despite my fears, I dutifully placed one foot in front of the other, grateful that I hadn’t been forced to wear heels. I could dance, yes, but in heels? No. Although I wasn’t too sure how sanitary it was to be walking around Purgatory barefooted, at least I didn’t have to worry about falling flat on my face.
Together, Mattie and I left the dressing room and entered the bar, aptly named the Drunk Tank, which was still silent and empty, with the exception of several men who were busying themselves behind the bar. The space was huge, the size of a high school gymnasium, and had been fitted with mismatched low-hanging chandeliers. It was filled with tables of all shapes and sizes, painted much like the rest of Purgatory, in a rainbow of colors without rhyme or reason.
“Lower the cages!” Mattie called out, snapping her fingers.
One of the bartenders, a burly-looking man with a shaved head and his arms covered in tattoos, jumped up and over the bar. With a salute in Mattie’s direction, he headed toward what looked to be a set of gears affixed to the wall. His muscles bulging, he raised a heavy-duty lever and the gears began to turn, slowly at first, gradually speeding up. A grinding, clicking sound erupted from above me, and I watched as large wrought-iron cages came cascading down from the high vaulted ceiling.
My hand clasped over my mouth and I stumbled backward, again grateful for the absence of heels. Half of the cages were empty, but the other half…were not.
“Don’t be afraid,” Mattie said kindly. “They can’t hurt you.”
Gaping up at the occupied cages, I made a choking sound behind my hand. No, they definitely couldn’t hurt me. They were missing half their faces, their lower jaws appeared to have been sawed off entirely and their eyes plucked from their heads, but none of those facts made such a gruesome sight any less horrible.
I surveyed the caged infected, noting that all of them had once been women. Some were naked, their sagging breasts and rotting genitals exposed to all who cared to look, while others were dressed in skimpy, sexy clothing, much like the ensemble I was wearing.
All in all, it was a heartbreaking sight. Yes, they were no longer human. Yes, they were monsters who, if given the chance, would destroy every last one of us. But once upon a time, back when the world had been something worth remembering, they had been people—women. Mothers, sisters, daughters, and friends. Why couldn’t these people see that? Didn’t they remember? Didn’t they care?
“But why?” I stammered out between choking breaths.
“Because nothing goes unpunished around here, and men like to be victorious over their conquests.”
I frowned harder as my head began to pound. What was wrong with these people that they would think there was anything okay with any of this? Did they find it sexually satisfying? Seeing women caged and rotting away? Sick to my stomach, I clasped my belly as it twisted in on itself, matching the fear that climbed up my spine.
“Listen to me,” Mattie said forcefully as she took my shoulders in her firm grip. “If you cry, you’re going to ruin your makeup. Makeup is hard to come by these days, only reserved for my prettiest girls. I’d hate to have to punish such a beautiful face for something as trivial as makeup.”
When I heard her words, the tears welling behind my eyes froze. I blinked repeatedly, trying to squelch any errant drop that dared to leak free.
“I was told you were from the wild,” Mattie said, frowning at me. “Forgive me, honey, but you don’t strike me as near tough enough to survive out there among the rotters.”