Imprisoned by Evangeline Anderson
“I feel the same way about you, you know,” he murmured. “You’re extraordinary, Ari. Beautiful…intelligent…fierce…” He sighed deeply. “And you make me question everything about myself. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“I’m sorry,” Ari said again, feeling miserable once more. “So sorry, Lathe. I wish…wish things were different.”
“I do too, little one.” He sighed. “Well, we should get some sleep. Long day tomorrow—and a long night too. I forgot to tell you but Mukluk came and informed me that the two of us will be serving at the meeting of the Mistresses tomorrow night.”
“The meeting of the Mistresses?” Ari asked, scooting over to make some room as he finally got into the bed beside her. “What’s that?”
“A meeting of the BleakHall Board of Directors—the Yonnite Mistresses who own this place.” Lathe’s voice was grim. “A couple of them aren’t bringing body servants and the Goddess knows, they can’t be neglected for a moment. So you and I will be helping to serve them.”
“Why us?” Ari asked curiously. “Is it a trustee thing or what?”
“It’s a non-female-hater thing,” Lathe told her. “The Horvaths know that Kindred won’t hurt a female so Mukluk chose me for that reason. You…well, I’m guessing he thinks you’re too young and innocent to be a female-hater yet. So you get the honors too.”
“I don’t mind, at least it’s something different,” Ari said, snuggling down beside him, though she was careful not to press her breasts against his muscular arm. God, he was so warm. She’d been freezing when she was sitting apart from him. Now, just having him beside her, radiating heat, was already thawing her out.
Lathe snorted. “Have you ever seen Yonnite Mistresses? They’re different, all right. And extremely picky. You’ll have to follow my lead and do exactly what you’re told.”
“I can handle myself in mixed company,” Ari said, stung by his tone. “I know how to act around ladies.”
“That’s well and good but Yonnite Mistresses are no ladies,” Lathe said dryly. He yawned and sighed. “Anyway, it’s a problem for tomorrow. It’s late and I’m tired. Do you mind if I turn towards you or would you rather sleep back to back?”
Ari’s heart ached fiercely.
“You can turn towards me,” she whispered. “If…if you don’t mind if I turn towards you.”
“I’d like that, little one.” Lathe shifted towards her and Ari turned towards him as well, looking up into his fierce, beautiful eyes. “Good night, Lathe,” she whispered, wishing she could get closer. Wishing she could kiss him or cuddle with him or touch him in any way. But she didn’t dare. She could only lay there longing for what she couldn’t have…for what she could never have.
“Good night, Ari,” he rumbled.
He looked at her for a long moment and Ari could almost feel the longing in the air between them. His scent—his bonding scent, she realized—intensified until she could barely keep herself from pressing against him. But somehow she resisted. At last his jewel-like eyes closed, leaving her still wanting.
It was a long time before she could go to sleep. And when she did, Ari had troubled dreams that left her restless and desperately sad. Dreams where she was crying for Lathe, who was standing on the other side of a deep chasm. But when she reached for him, trying to bridge the gap that separated them, the big Kindred just turned away.
He’s gone, she thought in her dream. Gone and I’ll never get him back.
Thirty-Two
“Stubbins says you’re to fix the mechanical slop arms in the kitchen. They’re actin’ up worse than usual.”
Tubby, the inmate with the enormous belly, spoke without looking up from the porno mag he was holding about a foot from his face.
“Yeah—he already left out the tools you need.” Another inmate—Ari had heard him called “Ratty” because of his long nose that twitched constantly, nodded at the dull silver tools with their red handles. They were lying on the folding table, where the gang boss usually sat smoking his endless supply of nico-sticks, just where she had left them before lunch.
“Oh.” Ari hesitated, not sure if she ought to take orders from anyone but the gang leader himself. “Where is Stubbins, anyway?” she asked.
“Went to review a new shipment of skin-mags and he’ll probably be back real soon-like.” Tubby sounded irritated that she was bothering him.
“Yeah, so make yourself scarce and go fix stuff, fix-it. Or you’re going to be in big trouble when he gets back, ‘ent you?” Ratty demanded. He had a portable vid-viewer strapped to his face and from the sizable tent in the bottom half of his jumpsuit, he also was looking at pornographic material.
Ari tried one more time.
“But…I was under the impression that I was supposed to go back to the hole after lunch. I’m still in the middle of re-wiring—”
“I’m telling you, if you don’t fix them fucking slop arms you’re going to fucking regret it,” Tubby growled. “Now go!”
Uncertainly, Ari buckled on her belt and licked her thumb, pressing it in turn to the screwdriver and wrench that were laid out on the table. The handles turned blue obediently and she tucked them into the leather belt.
She wished Stubbins was here to tell her exactly what to do or at least show her the kite that had been sent in describing the exact problem. But then, remembering the herky-jerky motion of the arms as they slopped food all over the place at mealtimes, she realized she didn’t really need specifications. The arms just needed a tune-up and she could probably get it done in time to go back to the hole and see Jak some more.
As she made her way to the kitchen, she wished she could tell Lathe about her big brother. But that might bring up the reason why she was here herself…and how she had gotten here…and all kinds of other questions she would rather not answer. So for now, at least, Ari was keeping Jak to herself.
In fact, she was keeping most everything to herself today. She and Lathe had barely spoken and he had made no comment when she’d decided to take a sponge bath in the sink rather than going to the trustee showers with him. He had been similarly quiet at breakfast, lunch, and in the Rec Yard.
The silence between them hurt Ari’s heart but she recognized that it was necessary. If she started trying to get Lathe to talk to her she might say more than she should. So it was better to let a barrier grow between them even though it made her feel isolated and sad.
Walking through the vast Mess Hall, she noticed how strangely quiet it was when it was empty. At meal times the inmate’s voices boomed and bounced off the metal walls, making it almost unbearably loud. Now the silence felt unnatural and stiff…waiting somehow.
Stop it, Ari, she told herself, trying to shake off the weird feeling the eerie quiet in the Mess Hall gave her. Stop letting your imagination run away with you. Just get this job done so you can go back to the hole and see Jak.
At least she knew her big brother had someone to talk to while he waited for her. Despite the hybrid’s frightening rap sheet and scary appearance, Jak was apparently, if not friends with the Beast—or Slade, as he called him—at least willing to talk to him. Ari had talked to the man a bit herself and though she wouldn’t have wanted to be alone in a room with him, he was a personable-enough conversationalist. Then again, sociopaths usually were personable, she reminded herself with a shiver. It was part of the way they lured their victims to them.
She wondered again about the Beast’s true crimes. He claimed murder and arson readily—“Fuck yeah—killed my old master and burned down his house and I’d do it again. He wasn’t exactly kind to his slaves, if you know what I mean.”—but he was adamant that he was not a rapist. “The Mistress who bought me after I killed my old master hung that charge on me because I wouldn’t fuck her. She knew it was a one-way ticket to prison and that’s where they sent me.”
Ari wasn’t sure if she believed him or not but it was certainly a colorful story.
With a sigh, she went to the chow
The arms were basically long metal tubes that the food could flow through. They were jointed in two places with an “elbow in the middle and a “wrist” at the end. But instead of ending in a hand, each arm had a dull silver scoop capable of depositing a load of food—if you could call it that—onto a tray.
Ari shivered with disgust when she saw the old food crusting the insides of the scoops and the flow-tubes of the arms. Lathe had told her that the arms were supposed to be cleaned out regularly but it appeared that whichever gang leader was in charge of the kitchen didn’t care much about cleanliness.
Who was in charge of the kitchen, anyway, Ari wondered as she pushed through the tall black metal door that led from the Mess Hall to the kitchen. Who—she frowned, losing her train of thought as she looked around.
The vast commercial-sized kitchen was deserted.
But shouldn’t someone be here? There were only a few hours until supper—or Last Meal as Lathe called it. Ari knew a lot of the kitchen was automated but surely some human work was needed to feed the thousand prisoners BleakHall had at every feeding?
Walking over to the back of the mechanical arms, she examined the rusted mechanisms, though she kept looking over her shoulder as she went, because the silence was creepy. There was a row of machines set up in a line just under the mechanical arms that were clearly part of the feeding mechanism.
Ari had a look at them—several were vast cooking vats, crusted with congealed protein paste. Further up the line she saw an industrial sized meat grinder that looked like it could have taken on an entire proto-bovine back on Phobos with no problem. Large grinding wheels were lined with many tiny, murderously sharp teeth, dark with dried blood and matted with fur.
Ari frowned. Wait a minute—fur? Leaning forward, she took a closer look. Sure enough, there was grayish-brown hair or fur clogging some of the teeth. What the hell was that from?
Then she heard a rustling sound from the large metal bin beside the industrial-sized meat grinder. A foot petal below it held the on-off switch, presumably to make it easier for a worker to run the mechanism while using both hands to feed the meat into the grinder. There was a hatch at the top with a rusted handle. With a feeling of dread, Ari opened it to look inside.
Bright, black oil-spot eyes looked up at her. Sharp, pointed noses with long whiskers twitched in her direction. Hundreds of rats squeaked and squealed and squirmed all over each other in a flow of brown and gray fur, their sharp claws scrabbling uselessly at the slick metal sides of the holding bin as they tried desperately to climb towards the light.
“Ugh!” Ari started back in horror. Goddess of Mercy was that what she had been eating every day at meal times? The very idea made her gorge rise and she thought she might be sick. Gagging, she let the hatch fall closed with a clang and backed away…only to feel a pair of hard hands grip her shoulders.
“I know, pretty boy—it’s nasty to think about, ‘ent it?” whispered a horribly familiar voice in her ear. “But it ‘ent like the Mistresses are gonna shell out to feed the lot of us murderers and rapists prime bovine—now are they? So it’s rat protein paste for breakfast, lunch, and supper around here—and it looks like you’re for dessert.”
Thirty-Three
“Get away from me!” Ari threw an elbow back hard into Tapper’s hairy, protruding belly. He grunted and a gust of breath smelling of unbrushed teeth and rotten food washed over the side of her face—but he didn’t let go.
“Now, now my pretty little lad,” he cooed in Ari’s ear. “Let’s have no more of that, shall we? You’re on my list and it’s time you gave up that sweet little ass to old Tapper here.”
As he spoke, he shifted his hold from gripping her upper arms to putting an arm around her neck.
Ari felt panic trying to take her but this was a move she had trained for in Ton-kwa many times.
“No! Leave me alone!” she shouted. Taking a firm grip on the hairy forearm encircling her throat, she threw her weight back and then forward, flipping Tapper over her head.
He landed with a gasp, flat on his back on the dirty metal floor.
“Why, you…you little bastard,” he panted, his piggy little eyes narrowing as he looked up at her. “You’ll pay for that, you will!”
Ari didn’t wait to hear more. She turned to run but Tapper was faster to recover than she could have believed. One hard hand shot out and encircled her ankle. With a desperate cry, Ari tripped and fell to the scuffed metal floor, bruising both knees and her ribs and knocking the breath out of herself.
Almost at once she flipped over, flailing and fishtailing, kicking out at Tapper to make him release his grip on her leg. One slippered foot connected squarely with his nose and there was a crunching sound and a howl from the crime lord.
“Gods, he’s gone and broke my nose! Get ‘im, boys—get ‘im good!”
To Ari’s horror, before she could even get to her feet, Gorn and Fenrus were on either side of her, gripping her arms.
Held as she was, she couldn’t do any Ton-kwa moves effectively but she did have another weapon, she suddenly remembered. Slithering her right arm free of Fenrus’s grasp, she reached for her belt and pulled out a petite socket wrench, which was the only tool she could reach.
The idiot inmate caught her arm again almost at once, laughing at the tiny wrench, which was meant to reach into small, tight spaces where larger tools couldn’t fit.
“Lookit this, Gorn,” he howled, pointing to the miniature wrench. “Lookit what pretty boy has.” He held up Ari’s arm by the wrist, showing the small tool clutched in her hand. “Whatcha gonna do, pretty boy?” he jeered at Ari. “Gonna hit me with your big bad weapon? Gonna knock me out?”
“I don’t need to hit you,” Ari said through gritted teeth. “I just need to touch you.”
As she spoke, she tilted her wrist, holding the wrench by the end of its red handle and tapped the dirty ring of exposed skin on Fenrus’s own wrist where the sleeve of his jumpsuit had pulled up.
At once she felt the electrical surge of the protective field the tools generated jolting through the other inmate.
Fenus howled and yanked away from her, gripping the spot on his arm where she’d touched him.
“I’m hurt! He got me, he did! Just lookit—my arm’s numb,” he screamed at Gorn, his thin lips peeled back in agony to expose the blackened stumps of his teeth.
“A shock like that’ll pop your balls like corn in a hot pan,” Stubbins’ voice whispered in Ari’s head and it certainly seemed to be true.
Turning, she grabbed the other tool from her belt—a screwdriver with a narrow, sharp point good for working with the tiny screws and wiring inside the electrical box in the hole. Using Gorn’s grip on her other wrist for leverage, she swung around and planted the tiny, sharp screwdriver in the inmate’s yellowed eye.
If she’d been just a little taller or the screwdriver had been an inch or two longer, she could have driven it home inside Gorn’s brain and finished the man completely. As it was, she only succeeded in popping his eye and giving him an electrical jolt that made him scream and stagger backwards.
“My eye! She got my fuckin’ eye!” he wailed, flailing with his arms as the gooey mess of his eyeball dripped down his gaunt cheek. “My eye!”
For a moment Ari was transfixed by the sight—horrified by what she had done. And yet, she would have done worse if she could, she realized numbly. She would have done anything to get away from this horrible scene.
The momentary paralysis broke and she ran to the huge door she had come in by, meaning to slam through it and get out of the kitchen, away from danger. She hit the door…and bounced off it, nearly falling backwards.
Panic made her desperate and she staggered to catch her balance and tried the door again. But though she pushed and pulled with all her might, the tall metal do
“Don’t bother, pretty boy—it’s locked. See the bolt?”
Ari looked wildly and saw through the crack in the door that a bar of metal as thick as her wrist was connecting it to the jam beside it. Beside the bolt was a large keyhole but there was no key in it.
How had Tapper managed to lock the door without her hearing? It must have been when she was distracted by the squeaking and scrabbling of the rats in the metal holding pen. However he had done it, the crime lord had locked her in and there was no way out.
“Lookin’ for this, pretty boy?”
She turned to see Tapper holding a key—dangling it in front of her face, maddeningly just out of reach.
“Didn’t you know it was my crew that runs the kitchens?” he asked, leering at Ari. “I got the keys to everything around here. Including your pretty little ass.” He gestured at Fenrus and Gorn, who was still moaning and clutching at his deflated eye. “Hold ‘im boys—I’m gonna make him pay.”
“But boss, my eye!” Gorn began.
“And my arm,” Fenrus whined.
“Shut it!” Tapper roared at his henchmen. “He broke my fucking nose but you don’t hear me whining! I said hold pretty boy here and if you don’t, you’ll be fuckin’ sorry.”
“I’m gonna make him sorry for what he did to my eye!” Gorn announced, pulling himself together and rounding on Ari. The jellied remains of his left eye hung in a gory mess from the socket. “I’m mess him up good when you’re done with him boss!”
“Yeah!” Fenrus exclaimed, catching the other inmate’s enthusiasm. “Mess ‘im up!”
Both of them were headed for Ari and she felt desperately for any other tools she could use as weapons. Unfortunately, she’d lost the socket wrench after hitting Fenrus with it and Gorn’s motions had jerked the screwdriver out of her hand when he pulled away. Both tools lay on the dirty metal floor but the wrench was closest—only a yard or so from her feet.