Page 42 of The Devil of Hollywood

“The who?”

“He’s like their boss. He’s the lead guard, but they say it’s more than that. He’s worse than an overseer or warden. The power he has is unreal. And he uses it when he chooses. If he chooses… it’s not good for the slave.”

“The stories…”

My heart was racing as my voice deepened through the words.

“I heard there was this one night where they lined up five slaves, single file. They stripped them down and went to each one, slicing their right wrist. When their combined blood filled a single cup, they were forced to drink it. It was to represent them becoming one and accepting the honor of their role. The Reeve told them if they didn’t, it would show disloyalty, and he’d cut the other wrist and let them bleed out. All of them drank the blood. Afterward, the women were raped. Two died from a combination of blood loss and brutality. The guy from the team heard that there was so much blood in the room by the time the guards were finished, it looked like the floor was painted red.”

“What the fuck?”

“That’s the tamest story.” Quinton’s mouth pursed. “I told you to let Marian die there. How could I—I… Dray⁠—”

“What else?”

Quinn hesitated, closing his eyes for a moment before nodding.

“Masks. They’ll tie the slave up and blindfold her. I heard it’ll last for hours. Sometimes days. And it’s not just physically where the slave suffers, but mentally. They find the slave’s strength and then they start to break it down. If the slave rebels or fights, it only extends the torture. Without sight, the slave is left disoriented. They undergo a plethora of questions. All the while, they’re being assaulted, beaten, burned on large portions of their body. They don’t even know when it’s coming. The slaves are blindsided. They’re having body parts removed, or sometimes they’ll have objects way too fucking large being forced inside them. Only when the slave starts to break down does it get worse. They’re forced into oaths. Into showing their true role.”

“What sort of oaths?”

Quinton let out a deep breath. “Things like, ‘My body serves the Order. I am not a person; I am a vessel.’ Shit like that, but they make them repeat it as they’re being forced into—Fuck, Dray. Into bad shit. It’s all bad. The men work in a fucking pack, like wolves. It’s rarely one guard alone. They have a mob mentality. They do things in twos, threes… fucking dozens. It’s a goddamn free-for-all. Anything goes. They’ve cut off the arms and legs of a slave and let her bleed out through the gang rape so she couldn’t fight back. They made an incision in one’s stomach to fuck just to see what it would feel like. It’s cold-blooded murder spiked with sadism. It’s breaking their bones with hammers just to hear the slave scream. Forcing them to ingest—” Quinton pushed to his feet, pacing. “It’s the worst shit you can imagine. When they set their sights on one, she’s as good as dead. They won’t stop until she is. If Marian is targeted, if⁠—”

“Alright, enough.”

He gave me a worried yet sympathetic look.

“You love her, even if you hate her. I should have never said we should leave Marian. I don’t care what she’s done. No one deserves to go through something that severe. Drayton, I’m afraid for her. I’m truly scared at what she’s going through.”

My hand lifted to stop him. I couldn’t speak. Even lying in bed, imagining her in their hands, I never let myself go that dark. I wasn’t sure it was possible where Marian was concerned. So, what did that say about me? That I was weak? That I was bested once again, and not even by her but some fucking stranger? It only fed the injustice. The crazed part of me that needed this was being prodded by forces I couldn’t control. I was a torn man, struggling with morality—unwavering in rage. And then there was Marian. Accused. Captive. Possibly undergoing hell. And I was sitting here. Waiting. Doing nothing but seething and growing angrier by the hour.

This couldn’t continue much longer. My patience didn’t allow me that sort of time. Not now that I knew what Marian might really be going through. I’d find my way into The Order, or there’d be no London left behind in my search to find her.

Marian

Iwasn’t usually vocal. I didn’t sing in boredom or resort to audible stimulation when I was anxious. Silence was usually where my comfort rested. I preferred to watch. To be alert and attentive. Sound was usually the first hint on what was to come. I liked the quiet and still. If I could hear, I could prepare. And didn’t I need to? I should be ready. I should… hide. Or… go? No, I had to be quiet. Instinct told me that. But if that were the case, and subconsciously I knew I should not draw attention to myself, why was I humming?

“Dray, do you think we’ll always feel this way about each other?”

Fingers trailed up and down my back, soothing, basking in each stroke of my skin. They paused under my sweater, and Drayton seemed to really think over my question as the silence stretched on. “Hmm. Will I care for you? Need you? Love you? Always…? I can’t imagine myself not feeling those things. We’ve only been dating a few months, but I feel like I’ve known you forever. Marian, my life is with you. Always.

I turned to face him, easing his hand free and clasping it in both of mine as I held it level with my chest.

“She’ll never let us marry. You don’t know my mother. If she finds out about us⁠—”

“We’ll marry anyway. No one is keeping us apart. I know the timing is… fast, but it’s not faster than her pushing you to find some foreign husband. You love me. I love you. The right thing would be to marry. To hell with anyone else. Besides, the sooner we marry, the faster I can get you away from her.”

“What if she doesn’t let you.”

A darkness crept into his stare as he kept eye contact. “She can try. Maybe she’ll succeed for a little while. She can’t keep us apart forever.”

Metal.

Jingling.

I blinked through the blurry colors.

“Listen to that humming. Is someone happy?”