Turning the Cards of Fate

Chapter 8

He glanced down at the floor, not hiding his face, but planning. He wasn't sure why he was always the one who got into situations like this. Why would he? He wasn't loud, obnoxious, or creepy. Alright, maybe he was the last, but he certainly wasn't the first two. That said, he was probably fairly close to having the highest rate of kidnapping in the entire group.

In seven months, he had been abducted twenty seven times. He was ninety percent certain that he spent more time in captivity than out of it, but that was alright. He didn't even like most of the others. That said, there really wasn't much he could do about the teasing that he was forced to endure in the rare times that he was actually at the base.

Which was completely unfair, seeing as Kalystia had been a part of Turning the Cards for almost forty years, and somehow, she had the least number of attempts on her life. It was completely unfair that his record had passed hers in a month.

The thoughts of the older woman charging at him with duel edged Iron shots slash a sword that was almost twice her height was enough to remind him exactly why no one messed with her. She was scary when she wanted to be. She was also talkative, and had a creepy laugh when she dropped bugs or worse in your food when you least expected it. No, he wouldn't want to take her either.

No, not even if someone paid him to. He liked his body parts where they were and not thrown all over the ground.

But, alas, even with his pitiful reputation in the building world, he still had more attempts on him than most people. It probably had less to do with his mentor and more to do with his upbringing. He knew that more people were fascinated by him, and the stories he could tell. What they didn't understand was just because he knew more stories and strange things about the people around him than he wanted to admit, didn't mean he would say anything.

Not that he could, even if he wanted to. A part of him recognized these attempts as reactions based in fear, but more of him was just annoyed. He could defend himself. He could break himself out. But he wasn't allowed to. It wasn't like anyone else was expected to follow the same hostage rules.

Oh no, Osred could protect himself, because it was expected of the man with the nasty attitude. Blodwyn could. Even Cadis was expected to protect herself. But no, not him. It didn't matter that his body was starting to bulk up because of the heavy lifting he was forced to do on the days out with Osred. It didn't matter that Blodwyn and several others beat him up regularly in an attempt to train him. It certainly didn't matter that he had been fighting for as long as he could remember.

That said, he couldn't help but wonder where Osred and Terina were being held. Were they left behind at the estate? He doubted it, it wasn't logical to take a hostage without having a way to control them. Not that they exactly needed one, what with the P.H. roaming the lab.

He had guessed it was a lab anyway. The few times he had seen anyone since he had awoken, they were dressed in pure white, controlling hovering clip boards with one hand while taking his blood with the other.

He was a bit surprised he hadn't bled out yet, with all the blood he was missing. That said, they were careful, meticulous, and clearly knew what they were doing. Which, he thought bitterly, made one of them. He had no idea what they wanted with him, or why they were taking his blood. It didn't make sense, not like anything on the outside ever did.

Cashel was  content to admit that he was getting restless. He had been since he had woken up, and wanted nothing more than to get free and sneak out, but he couldn't. Not until he knew where the other two had ended up.

No. He was stuck in a chair, with his wrists starting to ache from the duct tape holding them behind his back, his backside numb, and his mind bored. Duct tape. Of all the things they were using to hold him hostage, it was duct tape and a locked door.