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He leads us down to the Pit, nodding to the guard who scrambles to step aside. I don't know what changed since the last time we were down here, but they're submitting to him as if he's in charge. Whatever he's been doing over the past three weeks, he's clearly made some type of headway. My palms itch with the need to question him, but not here.
"Rachel," Dante calls, voice bouncing off the stone walls.
Rachel's head pops around the corner of the nearest makeshift room, then disappears again. She appears once more, a young woman shuffling after her. I don't recognize her, but her eyes narrow when she spots me. Her hair might be blonde, but with the layer of grime covering the strands, it's darker.
"This her?" Dante sneers.
He walks around her, eyes raking up and down her body. My chest seizes, but I tamp down on the panic. Dante has made himself perfectly clear that he won't be taking another bit or replacing me. I need to trust that he knows what the hell he's doing.
"Yes, sir. She's new, just brought in. We left her as is, like you requested," Rachel says as she slides next to me.
Her arm brushes mine, then she slips a piece of paper in my hand. I curl my fingers over the note and tuck it into my waistband. I wrinkle my nose against the smell of too many bodies in too small a space. There may be more than last time, though it's hard to tell with how they're shoved together.
"I'll take her. Mistress?"
My head whips around, butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Dante tilts his head at the woman, who silently starts to cry. I don't know what he's expecting me to do. Getting the women Jenkins requests involves a whole process. Dante can't be asking me to prepare her for him, nor do I think he wants me to tell her what we're up to. New assets will use whatever they can to garner special privileges. Oftentimes, they think the guards will let them go. They learn quickly none of their words matter. Giving this woman any leverage will only end up with Dante dead and me in a crimson chamber.
"Yes, sir?" I ask, keeping my tone even.
"Deal with her...privately." His dark eyes meet mine and I nod.
Pivoting, I march away, my heels clicking against the hard stone. I glance behind, but she's not following me. Rachel nudges the woman, and she stumbles after me. When she reaches me, I link our fingers together and tug her along. I tense when we reach the top of the stairs.
The guard grunts at us, knocking his shoulder into mine. I drop her hand, then turn on him, snarling. He steps in front of me, backing me against the wall. He usually isn't like this, though I don't even know his name. As he towers over me, I wonder if I'm going to have to slip off my heel and stab him or something. Dante told me it was possible if I aim for soft parts. I doubt I can reach his balls from this angle, but his eye socket would be perfect.
"Watch yourself, Mistress," he sneers, slipping another piece of paper into my waistband.
"Get your fucking hands off me," I snarl, shoving him away.
He goes willingly, and my mind scrambles to put together all the pieces. The guard lets out a snide laugh, stepping back into position. I tip my chin up and grab the woman's hand again. The further we get, the more my muscles relax, though I'm still tense when we reach the next staircase.
"What's your name?" I murmur.
"Avery," she answers, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm Aelia."
"Ellie?"
I shake my head, immediately being transported back to when we moved to Westmont from Synd. None of my teachers could figure out how to pronounce my name, insisting I was spelling it wrong. I was only eight and very shy, but Roman stepped in when one of the teachers kept telling me I was being a brat.
"El-ee-ah. It's Norwegian."
I tug her along, not wanting to have this discussion out in the open. When we reach the top of the stairs, I glance down the hallway. Grant saunters away from Jag, who's posted in front of Dante's door. The woman ducks behind me, muttering under her breath.
"He's not going to hurt you." My reassurance doesn't seem to register as she grabs onto my tank top, practically ripping it. The sheer fabric isn't meant to be yanked on.
I turn my wide gaze to Jag as we pass, and his eyes narrow, zeroing in on the woman. She shuffles along, tripping over my feet in her haste to get into the room. I swear she kicks the door closed with her bare, dirty feet, cutting off his silent inquisition.
Avery drops to her knees, covering her face with her hands. She's completely still, not even a twitch of her muscles. I don't know what to do. Do I comfort her? Demand she get up? Wait her out? I've never been in this position before, but Dante trusted that I could deal with this.
"Avery? Are you alright?"
"Why is he here?" she asks harshly.
"Dante?"
"No, Jag. How did he get here?"
