Gangs Aren't My Style (A Black Death Novel)

Chapter 19 - Traitor by Name

Gangs Aren't My Style

Book I of the Black Death Trilogy

PART ONE: Tears Fall When You See The Truth

Chapter 19 - Traitor By Name

Bile rose in the back of Ally's throat. The putrid scent rising off of the decaying prisoners around her made it nearly impossible to breathe. Both her wrists and ankles had been shackled to the wall, keeping her suspended and on her feet so that relaxation was impossible. Her muscles had reached their limit hours ago, protesting their misuse by giving out completely and leaving her slumped against the cold stone. Her body sagged within its confines, portraying the image of a woman who would collapse to the ground in a pile of defeated limbs if only her restraints should be removed.

The men around her seemed in no better shape, despite some of them being allowed a small range of motion with the presence of medium-length chains instead of shackles attached directly to the wall. Crusted grime had long since created a thin layer that covered the entire expanse of the cement floor and, with each passing moment, the foul stench saturating the air seemed to grow with intensity.

The meals were no better. They occurred only once a day and consisted of a guard shoving a small, hard loaf of bread and a husk of salty meat into the hands of the few prisoners equipped with a short range of hand motion. The guards had to take a little extra time for those secured more firmly and exhibited their annoyance by basically shoving the dehydrated, unappetizing food down the prisoners' throats as they made sure each of the morsels had been successfully inserted into the mouths they were feeding before moving on to the next. They did not care of the prisoner's comfort or if they lost some of their meager meal to the germ-infested floor, only that they had given them their proper rations.

Ally's only saving grace within her new prison was that the other prisoners, unwashed men with erupting beards and beady eyes, were as effectively restrained as she. This provided her with at least marginal comfort, and allowed her to drift into a fitful sleep without the worry of their likes attacking her during her short periods of unconsciousness. However, this pleasant relief could do nothing to cancel out the ache and discomfort that the shackles themselves posed on her body. It was because of this that Ally found herself awake on the bitter cold night when one of her brother's men finally returned for her.

Drafts swept through the room and swirled around her restrained frame, provoking shivers as they passed. A lone set of footsteps echoed in the complete darkness, offset only by the single beam of light that approached with the unexpected visitor. Ally trembled in the gloom, her fingers curling around the edges of the metal cuffs that secured her wrists to the wall. She pulled her numb and frozen body up from its pathetic slouch as much as she could, using the concrete for support, and squinted at the approaching figure. Only when he placed the flashlight beneath one arm in order to unlock the cell door did the beams of light spill across his strong jaw, allowing Ally a fleeting glimpse of his features before he shifted again, drawing the light lower.

As the man slunk into the decadent cell, Ally was not awarded another glimpse of his face amidst the darkness, but when she shut her eyes against the brightness of his flashlight, his scarred features were etched into her memory. Steel clanked around her, and groans of other prisoners signified the disturbance of their sleep. She tried to speak, but her lips were blue from cold and she found herself unable to utter even a simple sentence.

Ally didn't feel her wrists being lowered from their steel encasings, but rather saw their release when she looked down and saw her arms hanging limply at her sides. Without their support, she pitched forward. The man caught her as she rammed into his solid chest, but Ally was fairly certain he would not have if she hadn't fallen directly into him. With a jerk, the shackles around her ankles dropped away and, presumably noticing the proverbial rigor mortis of her limbs, the man heaved her over his shoulder without a pause.

Ally did not see her brother when they entered the conference room, but rather heard him from her position atop her captor. "...heard of the recent circumstances. As of now, you will take over Daniil's position as third in command. If I later see that my judgement was errored and you are not a good fit for the position, I will have you removed." She closed her eyes with a groan, uninterested in whatever gang buisness James was discussing at that particular point in time.

The man carrying her waited until there was a break in the conversation to make his presence know. "Where do you want her, sir?"

Ally presumed that James looked at them then, but could not confirm her suspicions while turned away from the group. "Just drop her there."

The man shrugged, releasing his grip on her legs and allowing her to fall to the floor. He stepped over crumpled body on his exit, not at all concerned with her treatment. Ally let her head fall to the side in defeat, not noticing the approaching footsteps until a boot connected sharply with her ribs. Her muscles were far too tired to fight back and the only sound of protest that came from her was a tortured moan of pain at the initial contact. "When in my presence, you will kneel, slave."

Muscles protesting, Ally forced herself to her knees. Her head remained tilted downwards, her eyes unable to behold the person her brother had become, and she folded her hands into her lap.

"Properly!" James snapped, pressing a firm boot to her back and forcing down until her forehead touched the floor. Ally shivered against the chill of the polished wood, not daring to move for fear of another blow. "Whenever summoned, this is how you shall present yourself to me and you shall remain this way until I choose to acknowledge your presence. Traitors merit no mercy in a place such as this."

Her back went rigid under his punishing boot that still pressed her to the ground. "I'm not a traitor." The words were a disbelieving whisper, but her brother heard them nonetheless.

His boot connected with the underside of her jaw, leaving a fiery trial of pain behind in its wake. "You will not speak unless commanded to do so."

Ally's entire face throbbed, and warm blood trickled down from an open cut to soak into her shirt which was already stained from her stay in the cells. However, as every instinct in her rampantly commanded her to either fight back or run in the opposite direction, she held her position and remained silent.

Her brother could deal whatever he wanted to her but she would hold firm. It was time to show her strength.