Of Thorn and Thread (Daughters of Eville #4) - Chanda Hahn Page 0,38
do the most goodwill while I was here?
A human shadow passed over me.
“Go away, Liam. I said I wanted to be alone.” I stiffened as the dark aura hit me. It wasn’t Liam.
“Well, look at this, Bart? Have you ever seen hair as white as this, or that skin?”
“No, I haven’t, Smitty.” She will surely fetch us a nice price.
I turned to look over my shoulder at the two men who hovered over me. A tall, gangly man with a patch of hair under his lip, and the other round with balding hair and ropes in his hands.
My body screamed at me to run, but my mind froze, and I became paralyzed like a terrified doe.
“It’s a pity about the bruise.”
Bruise, what bruise? I thought as his fist connected with my face.
Chapter Twelve
Dirt rained down on me as I bounced around in the darkness. I opened my eyes and winced. One of them was swollen shut, and I could taste blood in my mouth.
The blighter had hit me. I tried to move, but was gagged, bound, and pressed inside of what I could only assume was a pine box. Was it a coffin? More dirt rained down from above, and I feared I was being buried alive until I remembered one of the men mentioned something about a price. They must need me alive. I tried to gauge my surroundings. As my one good eye adjusted, I could see daylight filtering through the box as hay and dirt rained down on me from above. Then my body sensed the rocking motion and the dip as we hit potholes.
I was in the back of a wagon, and judging by the area of the small space, I assumed I was in a hidden compartment used for transporting black market items—or in my case, women. This must be what happened to the other girls. I tried to cast aside my fear and panic as the men in the front spoke quietly among themselves.
“Maybe we should keep this one for us instead of turning her over to Madam,” Bart said.
“Nah, you saw the hair and eyes on this one. Madam is specifically looking for those special ones. Besides, we can always have our turn with her after they have broken her in,” Smitty argued.
“I like it when they fight. They’re not fun when their spirits are gone.”
“Shush it. I don’t want any more talk like that,” Smitty commanded.
I pounded my fist against the flat board, and they laughed.
“Someone’s awake,” Bart said.
Smitty pounded his fist against the side. “Stop that racket, or we’ll pull over and beat you to a pulp.”
I stopped pounding and laid there debating what to do. My only plan was a stupid one. One that would probably end up with me dead and burned to a crisp, but it seemed the better alternative than ending up in a brothel. Reaching my left hand as far away from my body as I could, I worked my fingers through the crack of the floorboard and whispered.
Fiergo.
A small spark started and quickly caught the hay on fire. I pulled the neckline of my dress up to cover my mouth from the smoke and waited for them to notice.
“Bart, the wagon’s on fire!”
The horses screamed, the wagon stopped, and I heard them scrambling to try to douse the flames. I kicked at the floorboards but could only move my legs a few inches as I searched for a weak point. My lungs burned as I breathed in more smoke and ash rained down on me, burning my skin.
Smitty crawled on top of the wagon and I heard the jangle of keys as he unlocked the hidden compartment. The door swung open, and he reached down to pull me out. I stumbled and fell and had to be dragged out of the wagon. My entire plan relied on reading them correctly. They wouldn’t let me die.
As I lay in the grass, choking and coughing. I watched as one tried to unload the burning hay, while the other had unhitched the horses and was trying to keep them from bolting.
I turned and raced for the woods. Hoping that I could get a far enough head start. My feet and lungs betrayed me. My lungs burned, and with every step it felt they were constricting tighter. I fell to my knees and passed out.
Smoke! I was choking on smoke. Gasping, I sat up. Covering my mouth and nose with my arm, to ease my breathing. My eyes were