shaking under my feet. Patchy gray skin, scarred and cut, covered its thick muscles; the shirt was so tight against its chest it looked as if it had boobs. Its shoulders brushed either side of the corridor, and its head bowed to keep from scraping the top. It had teeth like a wild boar, and its nose was smashed in, forcing the thing to breathe out of its stinky mouth. It snarled down at me. I couldn’t tell what sex it was, but I knew it was at least half ogre. I’d seen many pictures of them.
“Come with me.” The mitt-sized hand clamped down on the back of my neck, shoving me forward like I was a little kitten, causing my feet to stumble. “Move it!”
The ogre’s grip felt like it cracked the bones in the back of my neck, pain lashing down my spine. The guard rushed me down several corridors, finally reaching a room the size of a small warehouse, buzzing with the hum of sewing machines and dripping with fabric. Steam rose from one side of the room where dozens of people scrubbed clothes on washboards in huge barrel buckets, their faces beet red and twisted with misery. Another group hunched over old-fashioned sewing machines as guards walked up and down the aisles, whips in their hands.
“Prisoner 85221,” the ogre grumbled to the guard closest to us. He was slight but alluring in a way I couldn’t define but felt in my gut. Dark hair. Yellow eyes. Demon. A powerful one.
“Put her on the machines.” He pointed toward the back at an empty spot.
The ogre pushed me hard, my body barely keeping upright as I slammed into a table of people hemming items by hand. They peered up at me, glaring at me as though the disruption was my fault.
“Get to your station.” The demon pointed to the chair. “Don’t dally.”
I righted myself, looking at the machine with aversion. This was not a skill I had been taught. I could drop a man with a pinch of my finger or wield a spear, but sewing was not in my arsenal of talents.
“I don’t sew.”
The room went silent, everyone stopping what they were doing, eyes landing on me with shock. Their expressions of “oh shit” made my stomach sink to the ground and my neck tingle with fear.
“Excuse me?” The demon stepped up to me, tapping the switch in his hand against his palm. “Did I ask you if you could sew?”
My throat bobbed.
“Answer me, 85221.” His voice sounded like spikes covered in chocolate—smooth, delicious, but dangerous underneath.
“No, sir.” My response croaked over my lips.
Crack!
The whip sliced across my face without warning, and fiery pain burst from my eye to my chin. A scream pitched from my gut, my bones thumping to the ground from the force as I fell in a lump.
“Say ‘I’m sorry, Master.’”
Not able to catch my breath from the agony throbbing through me, I couldn’t respond. I cupped my cheek, blood gushing from my split skin, my face feeling like it had been lit on fire.
Crack!
The whip belted across my torso, striking my still tender gunshot wound, anguish clawing up my throat.
“Say it!”
The words barely escaped my mouth.
“I didn’t hear you. I want this entire room to hear you.” He cracked the switch against my ankle.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I spit out, blood pooling on the floor.
“Get up,” he yelled at me.
From head to toe, every muscle seemed to go limp, traumatized by the assault.
“I said get up, human.” The demon whipped my legs, forcing another yelp to get stuck in my throat. “Last time I ask nicely.”
Grinding down on my jaw, I staggered to my feet, wobbling, but lifted my chin. It trembled with agony, but I bit back my pain and emotion.
“Unless I ask you a question, you do not speak except to say yes. Understand me?”
“Yes, Master.” The bitter taste of copper glided over my tongue as I spoke.
“Good.” His yellow eyes glided down my figure. “You have a warning, 85221. Next one, you will end up in the hole. Now go to your spot.”
My face throbbed, still leaking blood, but I turned around and went to the station, sitting down behind the sewing machine.
“Idiot,” a girl in a gray/human uniform hissed at me from the station to my right. Keeping my head down, I ignored her. I had been beaten up many times in my life, bloody and bruised, with several stints in intensive care. This was different. There I felt