Dead Man's Deal The Asylum Tales - By Jocelynn Drake Page 0,124

grin. I was vaguely aware that my body ached, but it was nothing compared to the gut-wrenching, soul-searing pain filling my head. I could feel the bones cradling my brain sliding around, sloshing fluids and pinching tissue as they tried to settle into their respective spots.

Sucking in pained breaths through clenched teeth, I cracked one eye open to find a witch bent over me. Her fingers were pressed against my head, but I could barely feel it. She was staring down at me with chocolate-brown eyes, but by her grim expression of concentration, I wasn’t sure if she saw me.

“Take slow, deep breaths,” she directed in a low voice. “It will help.”

I tried, but it wasn’t easy, as I started to get light-headed. My eyes fell shut again and I could feel her move her fingertips to another location on my head. As my breathing evened out, the pain was starting to ebb and I could feel the soothing flow of magic through my body. She was using a healing spell, fixing whatever Fox had done to my head.

“Why are you healing me?” I asked, my voice rough. I opened my eyes to see her frowning, but this time she was looking at me.

“Master Fox can’t question you if you’re in a coma.” She released my head and took a step back.

I sighed with relief. A killer headache was still banging against the back of my skull, but it was significantly weaker than what I had been feeling. “Thanks.”

The witch’s face twisted with ugly rage. Lurching forward, she reached between my legs and grabbed my balls in a grip that had me screaming. Fresh pain lanced through my body, bowing it off the bed I was lying on while all the air rushed from my lungs. “Thank me again, traitor, and I’ll rip your balls off with my bare hands and feed them to you!” she snarled. She gave them a quick twist before releasing them and stomping out of the room. I was vaguely aware of the door slamming and locking behind her, but I could barely hear the sounds over my own moaning.

I tried to roll on my side, wanting to pull my body into a fetal position, but my arms and legs were tied to the posts of the narrow twin bed. There was no mattress below me, only a metal web of hooks that were now digging into my back and squeaking as I shifted. The pain eased, but I was ready to throttle the bitch. Shoot me, stab me, or set me on fire . . . that was fine. Just don’t grab my goddamn balls!

I took a deep breath and willed my heart to slow back down as I assessed the damage. My head and balls hurt like a motherfucker, but the rest of me seemed fine. I wiggled my fingers and rolled my ankles, checking to make sure that blood was reaching all my extremities. Well, if I could get loose, there was a good shot at me moving. The problem was getting loose and getting out.

Looking around, I found that I was in a small, windowless room with white walls and bare wood floors. The single door held a slight blue glow that I could pick out from the corner of my eye, indicating that it wasn’t just locked but also guarded by magic. Shit. Bunch of sneaky bastards. They couldn’t just put a guard outside the door to keep an eye on me?

Of course, I had a feeling there was a guard outside the door as well. A shudder ran through me as fractured memories from the parking lot seeped back into my consciousness. I had shut down when I hit Brownie and Greasy with those spells. I couldn’t let myself remember because I was afraid I would start screaming and never stop. It was one thing to kill for survival, to protect yourself and those you love. It was a completely different matter to subject your prey to a slow, painful death.

Sadly, I was certain I wouldn’t be penalized two years for killing them with magic because you couldn’t die from having your skin peeled off. You died from shock and blood loss. It was a technicality, but for some reason, the fates and balance of powers observed it. And Greasy wouldn’t die from being spun and heated. No, it was more likely that his feverish fat ass fell once the spell wore off and he died of splitting his