Page 24 of When Sinners Fear

It’s on my neck then. I can feel the heat and smell the burn before it gets there, almost sense it with my eyes rather than my skin. A hand lands on my back. It shoves me to the wall and crawls up my skin until he’s grabbing a handful of hair to turn me. The agony’s almost gone now, like I’ve taken too much and my head’s just switched off to the effect, but I feel the pressure as the iron slides up my neck. It burns and singes its way until it’s on my jaw, then cheek. It’s just Reed’s eyes I can see. Their fire, their hatred.

They crinkle at the edge, and his brow comes in real close. “You deserve this,” he murmurs. “This is retribution.”

There’s barely anything left in me to give, but I still find something. “Fuck you,” mumbles from my lips. “Fuck you, Reed.”

The hand in my hair disappears at the same time as the pressure on my face, and I drop, like a stone, to dangle, almost lifelessly, in the chains. I pant, breathless and near exhausted. My knees find the floor slowly, and one hard boot hits hard against my ribs to try keeping me down. It makes me wheeze out what’s left of my breath, but I still find my fucking knees again eventually, and then my goddamn feet.

Our eyes lock again – his angry as hell, mine pissed beyond belief.

He snorts and smiles. “Good. Plenty left to fuck around with yet. Put him back in the cage.” The rake gets thrown to the floor, and I watch it clatter and roll across the dirt and stones as two guys lift me. Fury levels out in me, low and still burning. The asshole over there still has a blade on Peyton, and I’m barely able to lift my feet successfully, let alone fight.

They throw me into the cage, and whatever pain I thought had left me hits hard again. It ricochets around me as I tumble over the sharp ground. The gate slams, I watch feet leave into the gloom, and I take the first real breath I can as I roll onto my back.

Quiet.

Fingers land on mine gently. “Knox?” They tighten a little as if trying to offer support. I don’t want support. I want some fucking peace or some saviour to get here real damn fast. I don’t move, though. I don’t even think. I rest because that shit’s coming again.

CHAPTER TEN

PEYTON

Ikeep my fingers wrapped around Knox’s hand, despite the quiet coming from him.

My eyes are sore from the tears, and my cheeks are still damp. The pressure of the knife at my throat is still in my head – I can feel it cutting into the skin and making my breathing uncomfortable as it presses on my trachea.

The hand not resting in Knox’s travels to my neck, and my fingers run and inspect the spot that still aches. There’s nothing there. Maybe a tiny nick in the top layer of the skin, but how can I describe that as painful when I witnessed the horror that Knox was forced to endure?

The putrid, meaty smell still lingers in the air, tinged with charcoal. If I try really hard and close my eyes, I’m home, in the backyard, and Dad’s outside working the barbeque for a gathering. The smell of the raw meat as it sears is the same as now.

That’s where the similarities end.

I might have been frustrated at home, but I was happy – content.

Here, I’m lost, with no defence.

My fingers squeeze Knox’s again, if not for his comfort, then for mine. Because seeing how they treated him and what they did has opened my eyes to the possibility that I’ll be next, that I’ll be strung up in chains and burnt. It sends a shiver through my body, and I try to make myself even smaller, tucking into a ball on the cold ground.

They didn’t ask him questions; they didn’t want information from him. They did it for fun. I can’t shut off the replay of watching as he battled against the chains and felt every second of pain sear into him. Maybe I could have fought harder if I was stronger, but the man holding me tightened his grip every time I moved.

We don’t speak, we don’t move, and for a long while, I remain blank, or maybe numb might be a better way to describe the feeling. I’ve lost the concept of time. I’ve not been able to find any relief in real sleep. Maybe a snatched few minutes here and there, but no real restful sleep, and that’s starting to play into how my mind is processing everything. We’ve had no food or water since we were dumped here, which is a blessing and a curse on the liquid side. I suppose I’ve already overcome the embarrassment of urinating on the floor in front of Knox. The utter mortification of that – something that everyone does as part of normal bodily functions – was painful. The pungent hit of the scent told me I’d not drunk enough water, and now that's the main worry.

Without food, you can last for days. Water is another story. Our bodies are made up of sixty percent water, so that’s going to kill us before we starve. But we need both, especially for Knox as he tries to heal. The dirty ground and lack of any type of aftercare for his wounds would be terrifying if the circumstances were different. He'll be prone to infection and scars if he doesn’t treat the worst of the burns. Most of them count as second- or third-degree, damaging not just the epidermis but also the dermis. The full-thickness burns might not hurt as much due to the damage to the nerves beneath. Although, Reed inflicted so much damage that his entire body must be screaming out. They’ll be oozing, and his immune system will be in overdrive, trying to start the repair process.

It’s normal for my mind to tick over and find the details in everything, and this is no different. For comfort, I run over the stages of healing, how homeostasis occurs and platelets will swarm the area to release new growth factors. The activation of keratinocytes and inflammatory cells and white blood cells will all work to heal. The neutrophils will kill the bacteria and break down any dead tissue. In a couple of days, macrophage cells will continue working to protect against bacteria and will support new skin cell growth, with angiogenesis filling the wound bed with new tissue and blood vessels. But while the body can do all those things, it takes time, and as he’s lying on dirty ground, I hate to think of the possible complications to Knox’s healing. Especially the burn to his neck and jaw.

My arm starts to stiffen and ache as my scapular and acromion dig into the concrete, cutting off the circulation. I gently pull my hand back from Knox, but he doesn’t flinch or even acknowledge my movement. He might be unconscious or just sleeping; it’s hard to tell in the light.

Repositioning, I stretch my legs out in front of me. The cold floor eats into my skin, so I circle my ankles before pulling my legs back up to hug. “Knox?” I whisper. He doesn’t respond. I want to try again, but if he’s sleeping, he’ll need it. No matter why we’re here, he doesn’t deserve what he’s already been through, and he should sleep or rest as much as he needs.

All the questions I have for him float to the surface, so instead of asking him, I ask them silently to myself. Who is Reed to you? What did you do to make him want to hurt you like this? Who are the girls he keeps referring to?

Finally, as the darkness grows darker, my eyes give up trying to stay open.

~

“What? Knox?” I wake with a start and push myself into sitting as I scan the room. There’s nobody here.

“It’s okay. You were dreaming.” I hear Knox speak, but his voice is gravelly and thick with pain. He’s standing, leaning his forehead against his arms as they rest on the bars.