Turncoat: Turncoat Trilogy Book 1

Chapter 21.2

I don't remember much about the following hours, only that it hurt, a lot and that I thought they were going to kill me. For hours, they beat and tortured me, slicing my chest and stomach with heated knives, slapped me, hit me with metal pipes. Bruises began accumulating as the blood pooled at my feet. When I kept refusing, then it started getting really bad.

"All you have to do is tell us what we want to know and all of this stops," the fat one said.

I ran my tongue around my mouth, gathering all of the blood in a single area and spat it at him. The glob landed on his cheek and white light shot through my vision accompanied by pain as he slapped me. "Oh, what? The potential of Feral blood touching you disturb you?" I asked.

I heard a crackle behind me. All of the air vanished from my chest as pain exploded into my sides repeatedly. My shoulders and arms tensed up as a scream left my lips. When the pulsing vanished, my entire body sagged forward as I gulped for air. The fat man's meaty hand closed over my chin and lifted until I looked him in the eye.

"Why would a soldier help the resistance?" he asked.

"I'm not helping them," I said.

"So you're their prisoner?"

"Sure."

"Liar."

The prods touched my ribs again and I began to seize. Black spots popped before my eyes and I threatened to black out. Time blurred again, punctuated only by the crackle of the prods and pain. I don't remember many of their questions, but some were about specific resistance activities, members, locations of safe houses. No matter what I said they didn't believe me. They did things to me I don't want to think about, things I wouldn't wish on anyone no matter how much I hated them.

A greasy hand entangled itself in my hand and pulled my head up. Dull pain shot through my scalp, bringing me back to the present. The fat man's tobacco stained teeth gleamed in the light. His lips moved as he asked a question but all I registered was the noxious gas that was his breath, nearly gagging me. He tightened his grip on my hair and repeated the question, whatever it was. He twisted his hand, eliciting a scream of pain from me before he released me.

I barely registered the crackle of the prods as they started up again. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as I processed my situation. The slices on my chest, stomach and back sent spasmed of sharp pain with every slight movement. My shoulders screamed from taking my weight this long, my hands were beginning to go numb. I could feel the blood from my wrists sliding down my arms. Bruises were developing on my ribs and stomach with a sickening regularity.

Before I could stop myself, I shouted. "Stop! Stop, please! I'm gay, just stop!"

Tears began to streak down my cheeks as I waited for the prods to dig into my sides. It never came. The entire room stood dead silent as I waited for the pain that never came. The four men who had just spent the past days, maybe, torturing me for anything they could use to get in my head looked at me with a quizzical look.

"What'd she say?" the tall one asked the fat one.

"Does it look like I know?" he spat. He drew the knife from his belt and walked over to me, sticking the tip in an old wound, opening it back up. "Repeat what you just said."

I complied, repeating myself several times.

"In a language I understand, damnit!" he shouted, ripping the wound open once more.

An inhuman shriek filled the room as the pain raced through my chest with something snapping. White light flooded my vision marked with black and red spots as my entire body quivered, threatening to give out on me.

"I'm gay," I wheezed and slumped forward against my chains. Blood dripped from my lips, adding the the small pool at my feet. I drew short wheezing breaths, trying to clear away the remaining spots in my vision. "I'm gay."

"Mark her!" the fat one spat.

The door opened and shut with a pair of rapidly retreating footsteps. A hand closed around my throat, lifting my head until I looked the fat one in the face again. My vision smeared and blurred from pain I couldn't make out any more of the features, just black holes where his eyes were supposed to be and a yellow stain at his mouth.

"I knew it," he seethed. "You smell like one of those faggots."

I mustered all of the energy I could to spit in his face once more. He grabbed my side and squeezed, sending a fiery wave of pain through my chest, leaving me breathless. Before I could recover, the acrid smell of burning flesh hit my nose with another nauseating wave of pain. Before I could scream, the darkness slammed over me and everything fell away.