War (The Four Horsemen, #2)(39)

Oh God oh God oh God. This isn’t happening.

Where is everyone?

Why is no one helping?

I scream and swipe my dagger in front of me, the blade catching someone’s chest. I feel their hot blood hit me, and the sensation only makes me scream louder.

My attacker cries out in pain.

Another hisses, “She’s got a weapon!”

I’m kicking at them and fighting off their hands, which are busy trying to pin me down and immobilize me.

I feel knees on my thighs, hands on the bare flesh of my stomach.

Oh God, please God, no.

I scream louder.

Where the fuck is everyone? We live in a city without true walls, and we are camping in a country that has a strong military background. There has to be at least one other person sober and brave enough to stop this.

One of my assailants goes for my dagger, leaning in close to grab my wrist. With one last burst of energy, I plunge my blade into the man’s throat.

I feel his blood spurt out from the wound, and even in the dark and even with the confusion, I’m pretty sure the injury is lethal.

Now it’s the men who are shouting, panicking.

“The bitch got Sayid!”

“You filthy whore!”

Someone kicks me in the ribs so hard my scream cuts off. Another booted foot kicks me again, this one just above my ear.

I curl in on myself, covering my head as the men shift from immobilizing me to beating me. I feel the blows everywhere—my arms, legs, torso, head. The pain— The pain the pain the pain—I can’t breathe around it. It’s exploding from a hundred different places. I’m losing all my other senses to it.

It’s blinding, screaming, choking agony.

Suddenly, I hear a voice like thunder, speaking words I don’t recognize but still understand.

“Jinsoi mohirsitmon dumu mo mohirsitum!”

You cross God when you cross me!

I would recognize that voice if I heard it in hell itself.

War.

The beating stops at once. Then there are more screams—high-pitched, horrible noises that animals make as they’re slaughtered—but they don’t come from me.

I try to open my eyes to see what’s going on, but my eyelids won’t obey my commands.

A minute later, hands are back on me, slipping under my body. I attempt to shout, to fight against those hands, but my mouth is full of blood and when I try to move one of my arms—blinding pain.

“Miriam—Miriam.” War’s voice … I’ve never heard it sound like this. Soothing and agonized all at once. “It’s only me.”

I cry out as he lifts me. “No.” The word comes out garbled as I try to push his hands away.

“Ssssh. You’re safe.” War’s voice is deep and rough and terrible and—shaken. Or maybe my ringing ears are playing tricks on me.

I still can’t see and I can barely move. I’m frightened of my own vulnerability, but I feel … I feel protected. For the moment. In his arms. It’s all so fucked up.

War barks orders at someone, and I flinch at the wrath in his voice.

“My wife, my wife,” he says, his voice soothing and shaken once again, “you are safe, you are safe.”

Everything hurts. God, but everything hurts. As we begin to move, the pain goes from blinding to unimaginable.

I’m helpless.

Where is my mind going … ?

I mean, where am I going … going … what was I thinking? Things are moving and fading so fast … so, so fast …

And then that voice cutting through the darkness like a blade.

“I vow to you, they will pay.”





Chapter 18


I wake to the feel of hands on me, and the touch is terrible and unwelcome.

I gasp, beginning to struggle.

Where is my dagger?

Why can’t I open my eyes?

The pain returns like an unwelcome admirer, and I sob at the blinding intensity of it.

“Steady, wife,” War’s voice rumbles.

It’s his hands that are on me, I realize. What is he doing?

“Stop stop stop,” I moan, trying to push his hands away. “It hurts.” Everywhere. It hurts everywhere.

“I’m sorry, Miriam,” he says, but a moment later, his touch returns.

“No, no, no.” I begin to fight against him.

Why the fuck can’t I see?

These hands are not like the others. They hold me fast, and nothing I do seems to dislodge them.

“I’m not going to harm you, Miriam. Please, I need you to hold still.”

I don’t hold still. All I can remember is the sound of my shirt ripping and the feel of those unwanted hands against my skin, and then the pain. All the pain.

I’m struggling, panting. And then my senses fade away …

This time, when I wake, War’s blurry form fills my vision. He leans over me, his brow creased and his dark eyes heavy. I feel the warm press of his palms against my skin.

“What’s going on?” I murmur.

He frowns, his body close. Alarmingly close. I reach out to push him away. Instead my hand slides uselessly against his cheek.

“Sleep, Miriam.”

“No,” I say almost petulantly as War’s form shifts in and out of focus.