Reparation of Sin (The Society Trilogy #2) - Natasha Knight Page 0,2
asleep and thought it was the Grim Reaper.
Those cloaks scare me still. And this man in his reaper’s coat is no exception.
Behind his huge frame filters the light of the rising sun seeping through a dense cropping of trees.
“What did I say?” the man asks, and I scramble to pull the blindfold down over my eyes, my hands shaking at the deep timbre of his voice. The threat and barely controlled hate obvious with every innocuous word.
It’s damp, that strip of cloth. And doesn’t cover the whole of one eye since I rolled it down, but I keep my eyes closed and hope he won’t notice.
I don’t know how long I’ve slept. I’m about to ask what time it is. What day. To ask where Santiago is. What’s happening. But before I can, his hand closes over my arm, and I cry out and instinctively try to pull free. He’s quiet for his size. He crossed the room without me hearing even blind.
“Quiet,” he commands, and my arms are lifted. His hands are cool from the leather gloves as he forces them higher, forces me on tiptoes, and hooks my ropes into something overhead, then releases me.
I hadn’t noticed anything overhead. I hadn’t really searched for anything up there. But here I hang now, toes grazing the ground as the ropes dig into my raw wrists with my weight hanging from them.
“What’s happening?” I ask, listening as he moves behind me and places his hands on the blindfold. It’s gone, at least for a moment, but then he puts it back on so it’s flat over my eyes. He knots it tightly, catching strands of hair in it, but he doesn’t care when I protest.
He then walks to stand in front of me. I feel him. He’s close but not touching, and I wonder what he’s doing. It feels like he’s just staring at me, and it’s unnerving.
“How did you do it?” he asks.
“What?” I’m confused.
“How?”
“I don’t understand. How did I do what?”
He snorts. “If it were up to me, I’d get that confession out of you at the end of my whip.” He pauses, and I feel him step back away from me. “But fortunately for you, I’ve given my word.”
“What?” My voice breaks mid-word. Is that why I’m here? Why he’s strung me up? Is he going to whip me? “What’s happening? Where’s Santiago?” I can hear the panic rising in my own voice as he puts one finger on the middle of my chest and gives me a push. It’s just enough to make me scramble for my feet to gain purchase and alleviate the strain on my wrists.
He moves around, and I hear different sounds. He’s inside, then outside again. The door is still open, and I think I hear a woman whispering out there. I listen hard, and I hear it again. I swear I do. And then his clear voice, not whispering.
“I told you to stay in your room. Go back to the house. Now.”
The woman’s soft whisper again. I have to strain to hear because she’s talking so quietly.
“There’s nothing for you to see here,” the man says. “Go.” He doesn’t raise his voice. It almost seems like he’s placating her. He’s using a different tone than the one he’s used with me the few times he’s spoken.
He’s back inside, and I hear the clang of the bucket. I had to use it last night even though I didn’t want to. It was either that or pee in a corner, though.
“What’s happening?” I ask again. “Please tell me what’s happening.”
Nothing. Then he’s close again. One arm wraps around my middle as he lifts me just a little, just enough to give the rope some slack so he can unhook my wrists. When he sets me down, he turns me to face him.
“Hold out your arms.”
I do. He’ll just make me if I don’t.
A few moments later, the rope is untied, and my wrists are freed. I scramble away as soon as he releases me, but I trip over the bucket, send it toppling and rolling noisily. I turn back to face him even though I’m still blind. I rub my raw wrists.
“Is it over?” I ask, and for one moment, I believe he’s going to set me free. Yet even as I think it, I realize it’s stupid.
He laughs. It’s a dark sort of unhappy chuckle.
“There’s a change of clothes. Soap and water. Make yourself presentable.”