The Cage (Book 2)

Ghost

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Ghost

Schneider's P.O.V

The room reeked of sweat and blood, the air thick with the metallic tang of iron. I was hanging by my wrists again, the chains creaking with every shallow breath. My head lolled forward, but I forced myself to look up when the door swung open.

He stepped inside, his presence heavy and calculated, the sound of his shoes on the concrete sharp in the suffocating silence. Behind him trailed one of his men—a hulking brute with a sadistic grin plastered on his face, eager for orders.

"Schneider," he began, his tone almost conversational, as if we were old friends catching up over coffee. I absolutely hated when he did that, nearly as much as I hated the torture. "Still holding out, huh?"

I didn't answer. Words were a waste of strength I didn't have.

He took a step closer, folding his hands behind his back. "You've been through a lot. I'll give you that. Most would've broken by now. But you? You're stubborn. Admirable, in a way, but ultimately pointless."

"You sound desperate," I rasped, forcing the words through cracked lips.

He chuckled softly, ignoring the jab. "Oh, I'm not the one who should be nervous. I've given you enough time to consider your choices. Your brother for your boyfriend."

He crouched slightly, meeting my gaze. "Just tell me where Kasian is. That's all it takes. One word, and this ends. No more pain, no more blood."

I spat at his feet. I was aiming for his face, but the blob of sweat didn't fly far enough.

His smile tightened. He straightened, brushing off an invisible speck of dust from his suit. "Still so loyal to a man who abandoned you. It's tragic, really. You're suffering for his sins, and he's out there playing the hero. Does he even know what you're going through?"

I clenched my fists, the chains biting into my wrists. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Well," he said, turning to his lackey, "I suppose some people need a little more convincing."

I glared at him through the haze of pain and exhaustion. By some miraculous turn of events, I hadn't broken over the last year and a half. I wanted nothing more than to taunt him with the knowledge that all his machinations thus far had failed, and that he wasn't ever going to break me if he hadn't succeeded in doing so already, but I wisely held my tongue. During the last beating session, the lashes on my back had festered into an infection that nearly claimed my life. I doubted I'd survive another bout of high fever in this place.

With that, he walked to the door, pausing just before leaving. "Do let me know if you change your mind, won't you? I'd hate for this loyalty of yours to go unrewarded."

The door shut behind him, leaving me alone with the violent brute.

"Guess it's just you and me now." My torturer sneered, grabbing his favorite tool of torture -a whip. He circled me like a vulture, his hand tightened around the whip's thick handle. I could practically feel him breathing down my back once he was standing behind me.

Gritting my teeth until my skull protested, I braced myself for the inevitable sting followed by the waves of searing pain.

The whip came down, slicing through the air and biting into my back. Teeth still clenched, I swallowed the groan that threatened to escape. I knew for certain that my back was now a permanent crisscrossing map of raised ridges and carved valleys. I endured it for the next twenty minutes or so, until he seemed to tire of the laborious act.

Next, the torturer picked up the jagged metal rod from the table of tools. He twirled it in his hand, the sharp edge catching the dim light.

He swung the rod, and I braced myself, twisting just enough for it to graze the chain instead of my ribs. The impact reverberated through my arms, but it was worth it. The weakened chain above me gave a little more. Adrenaline surged through me like fire flash-igniting a river of kerosene, sharpening my senses like a blade. I twisted violently, pulling against the chains with every ounce of strength I had left. The weakened link I'd been working on for hours snapped, and before he could react, I lunged. The movement was wild, desperate, but it was enough. My shoulder slammed into his midsection, sending him sprawling backward. The chain still bound my left wrist, but my right hand was free, and I didn't hesitate.

I landed on my feet, barely, grabbing the rod and spinning just in time to block his fist. My counterattack was clumsy but effective, the rod slamming into his side. He roared in pain, staggering back, but I was already on him.

Adrenaline drove me forward, each strike fueled by days of rage and desperation. But my strength was fading fast. The lack of food, sleep, and the constant torture had taken its toll. My swings grew slower, weaker.

He saw it. Smelled the blood in the water like a fucking shark.

With a guttural roar, he charged, slamming into me with his full weight. I hit the ground hard, the rod slipping from my grasp. His hands wrapped around my throat, squeezing with brutal force.

My vision blurred, the edges darkening. I clawed at his arms, but my strength was gone.

Then, out of nowhere, the pressure disappeared.

The lackey's body jerked backward, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as he staggered. Blood poured from a gash in his throat, his eyes wide with disbelief before he collapsed in a heap.

Standing behind him, knife in hand, was Kasian.

I stared at him, chest heaving, my mind struggling to process what I was seeing. He was dressed in black, his movements silent, a shadow against the dim light.

Arctic blue eyes regarded me coolly, giving away nothing. Beside him, the hunting knife he'd used to slice my torturer's throat dripped blood onto the ground.

It really was him.

"You always were the more reckless of the two of you," Kasian said, his voice low and edged with something unreadable.

Our first meeting in a decade, and I didn't even get a hello.

Hmph. Figures.

I pushed myself to my knees, wincing as the movement sent a jolt of pain through my battered body. "You picked a hell of a time to show up."

"Let's get you out of here before you get yourself killed." He reached down, pulling me to my feet. The world swayed, but his grip was steady, anchoring me.

I wanted to push him away if only to make a statement, but...

I'd missed my elder brother too much.

"Kasian..." I rasped, leaning heavily against him as we moved toward the door, mostly because I didn't have a choice. I didn't trust my legs to carry me by themselves.

"Later," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "We're not out of this yet."

And just like that, the ghost of the brother that abandoned us had returned.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

A new cross brother makes his appearance! 

The Cage (Book 2 in the Cross Brothers Series) has ended on my Patreon, and soon, I'll be launching Book 3! If you would like to catch up with the story, consider joining my Patreon for early access, exclusive NSFW content and much more! https://www.patreon.com/c/feastofnoise

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