Page 109 of Juniper Unraveling

I set my glare on Red, as she spins away, and turn to the aged woman beside me, who sits hunched over herself, scraping melon. “Did they buy you, too?”

Without so much as a blink, she keeps laboring, her lips pursed to a tight pleat of wrinkles.

“She thinks you’re a witch.” The voice comes from behind, where Red has magically appeared once again. “No woman has ever slept through the night with him. She thinks you’re devil spawn.”

“D’you read that from her mind, or what?”

“She told me.”

So she does talk. “If I’m a witch, Rhys must be the devil himself, right? She ignore him, too?”

“She respects him. And fears him.”

“You all have a serious case of Stockholm syndrome. You know that? I could never respect a man who instills fear.”

The corner of Red’s lip kicks up, and she tips her head. “You ain’t been livin’ out here long enough, princess. They’re all predators. Some just happen to be more loyal than others.” She saunters away with her hand set on the hilt of a blade, and I turn my attention back to the old woman.

“I’m not a witch. Kinda hard to get away when you’re tied to a post all night.”

For the first time, she looks up at me, eyes studying me for a moment, before she goes back to her toil.

I finish breakfast and set to carving the watermelon with a flat, dull stone, emptying the contents into the bowl as the other women have done. I separate the seeds as instructed, adding them to a growing pile in the larger bowl placed in the center of our circle. Smashing the fruit, I grind it with the rock until it’s a frothy juice, the whole time wishing I had my sling.

The other women pour the juice back into the melon shell and grab a cup. I follow their lead and approach each person in the cavern—the old, the young, and a couple of the bikers—offering a cupful of the juice. My gaze remains glued to the mouth of the cave as I move, to where I know freedom lies beyond. If I can get past the guard, I can make a run for one of those vehicles in the building. I’ve never driven a motorcycle, but I’m willing to take a crash course to get the hell out of here—a place I’m struggling to figure out.

No one seems unwilling to be here, except for me. And from what I’ve gathered, the plan for me isn’t to play kitchen maid to the rest of them. I’m going to be used to get into Szolen.

As much as I’d love to see that town finally succumb to the reality that surrounds its perfect walls, I’m not willing to sacrifice myself for a bunch of psychopath bikers to do it. If Legion gets wind I’ve given anyone access to their precious community, I’ll be staked to a post as a lesson for all.

Red passes something to a young woman, perhaps my age. She pops whatever was given to her into her mouth and makes her way toward one of the bikers who sits off to the side, snacking on a piece of meat. The girl kneels down beside him, her head bowed as she takes his hand. In turn, he sets down the plate, and the two of them pass a guard, who pats the biker on his back as the couple disappears into a long dark tunnel.

The scene curls my lip, reminding me of Damian, and how his little Legion buddies would pat him on the back when I agreed to meet him in the alley, or some other obscure location. If I had to guess, Red gave her Queen Anne’s Lace. In Szolen, it was used as a contraceptive, popular with the younger crowd in particular, and Papa often kept it on hand in the clinic.

At the opposite side of the cave, the women serving the juice file out of the cavern, carrying the watermelons past the guard, and a blossom of hope tingles my chest. I quickly shuffle towards him, but pause on remembering that my journal is somewhere in Rhys’s room.

I shake my head. Sorry, Papa. I can’t pass up the opportunity to run.

Across the cavern, I come to a stop, when the guard throws out an arm that thuds against my chest.

“I’m following the others.” I jerk my head toward the women, who continue through the cavern ahead.

“Not her, Crank.” Red’s voice slithers down my spine, and I turn to find her standing behind me, arms akimbo.

The snarky comeback sits cocked at the back of my mouth, quickly trampled by a flicker of movement and the tromp of boots coming toward me.

Through the cave, Rhys carries two stacked boxes, piled high with vegetables. His eyes are glued to me as he strides through the cavern. The intensity of them is too much, and I look away until he passes.

Behind him is the one Rhys called brother—the one who cupped me the day before. He stops to kiss Red as he passes. Trailing after them is a line of people, wounded, bleeding from cuts, and carrying the welts and bruises of a beating. Every one of them appears to be displaced as they enter the cavern, miserable and broken. Mostly women and only a couple of children. No men.

A young blonde girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, glances up at me, as if she refuses to meet my stare, her dress ragged, torn apart and spattered with blood.

Rigs and three other bikers bring up the rear—all of them carrying supplies and wounds of a fight. Scanning the cavern brings forth a realization I failed to notice yesterday. There are about two women for every man here. As if they’re stockpiling the females.

The sight of them heats my blood, and I cast a glare back at Red, as what was a mass of confusion suddenly comes to light.

The rebels. The ones who’ve been raiding hives, stealing their supplies.

The melon is pulled out of my arms, and I snap my attention to the older woman exchanging it for a bowl of steaming broth, a chunk of meat, and melon juice in a cup.