You Are Mine Little Sister (by Syra Tucker) novel Chapter 154

The cage was locked from the outside the moment they climbed in. Corbin and Mayor.

These were two dangerous men. Corbin was cold and deadly, Mayor was wild and mad. While I was sure they were individually strong, I didn't know what it looked like facing each other.

Both men warmed up, then the whistle followed.

They collided in an instant, fists snapping, kicks slicing, arms grappling for air. Corbin fought like a machine. Mayor moved riot-shaped, filling the cage with feral laughter.

Blood started painting the cage. Ribs cracked under knuckles. Fingers clawed for windpipes. They slammed each other into the iron bars until the whole cage rattled with the sound of war. This was messier than what I'd seen six weeks ago.

When the tension became too much, my eyes snapped shut, embracing the darkness which felt better than the spectacle. Still, the crowd's roars forced the images back into my mind.

One haunting thought ran through my mind: these men were tearing themselves apart for you. For your body.

When the noise shifted and became louder and heavier, I knew there was a winner.

The sickness in my gut climbed higher, up my throat, threatening to choke me with it. The crowd split—some roaring victory, others booing defeat.

I kept my eyes shut, too afraid to face whichever devil owned me now.

A hand suddenly fisted in my hair. My neck snapped back, and I yelped into the gag. Shit.

The moment I smelt him, I knew who the winner was. His words further confirmed it.

"I thought you'd have escaped by now," the victor sneered. "Looks like you're still stuck with us." My hair was yanked harder and another whimper spilled. "You're about to have a very bad night, Rali."

When he finally released me, my eyes fluttered open through the sting of tears.

They won.

The Ash Twins.

Tears blurred the sight in front of me, but still, I saw it. Corbin was right there on the floor. Lifeless.

The greater devils had won.

‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡

VOID

«Eleven Years Old.»

I leaned against the wall, waiting, watching, as she came up the stairs.

She froze when her eyes found me, then wiped beneath her nose with the back of her hand.

She said my name. "Why are you up here? Did you need something?"

She still cared about me, I knew. But it was the thin kind of care, stretched and brittle. She was detached. We both were.

She stopped beside me, right in front of her bedroom door. Her eyes were red and swollen, hinting at whatever she'd been taking, but her face stayed ironed flat like it always did.

"You didn't come home last night," I told her.

"Yeah. Was hanging out with some associates."

Men. People who had become more important than me.

She gave me a long stare before she turned the knob and started to push the door open.

"Can we play later?" I asked, halting her hand on the brass.

It'd been weeks since we last played our games.

Her lips parted. I could see it then that she'd missed it as well. But then I saw her answer before it came.

"Mama's busy. Maybe later."

She stepped through the threshold.

"Agpungtot ka kaniak." «You're mad at me.»

She stilled, her back to me.

"Adda kadi a kabaelan iti inaramidko idiay bantay?" «Does it have something to do with what I did at the mountains?»

Silence pressed on us before she finally turned. "Yes. Are you sorry for it?"

I held her eyes for a long time. I wanted to be sorry, but sorry would mean surrender, and surrender meant I'd been wrong. I couldn't give her that.

I shook my head and watched disappointment pool in her ash-grey eyes.

"Fuck!! Wait!!!"

Too many voices.

Why did everyone have to scream? They confused me!

I tilted my head back to the ceiling, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to rattle them out of me with a shake.

Focus, Void. Focus. This is important.

They didn't leave completely—they never did—but the volume dropped enough for me to keep my hands steady.

I looked at the face of my 'patient' strapped on the table. Still conscious. His eyes were darted and frantic, but he was quiet. I was sure he wasn't among the voices screaming in my head. You couldn't scream without your tongue, could you?

I tried as much as I could to keep my focus. The needle dipped, thread pulled tight. When the last stitch was tied off, a heavy, familiar satisfaction settled in my chest.

I let my gaze trail down the canvas of him, surveying my result. Two hands amputated. Next target was the limbs.

"I wish he had his tongue, you know? Would've helped a lot if we could interrogate him," Eric said from the door where I knew he'd been watching the whole time.

"The voices. Too many." I moved toward the workbench where I poured a dark liquid into a bottle, measuring with steady hands like a chemist.

Eric exhaled, tired. "No offense, boss, but it doesn't look like you're interested in finding Blayne. You wiped out the parlor. Almost everyone we dragged back is already corpses. This one is halfway there, and you won't let us touch the last one in the cell."

I didn't bother looking up. His chatter couldn't pull me from precision. One mistake with the mix and I'd lose the ‘patient' too soon.

Done, I dropped the bottle and scribbled the numbers into my ledger. Then I finally spoke. "We'll find Blayne."

"But how? That parlor was our only lead."

I picked up another vial, pouring something thinner inside. I needed to be careful with the next amputation. If I acted too careless, I'd lose him. That was something I could not afford since I wouldn't have anyone to work on for the night.

My hand shook and the chemicals splashed down my chest, eating into the shirt. Didn't matter. The shirt was already ruined—ripped, stiff, and reeking of blood that had long dried.

I turned, finally, and found Eric still standing there, worry creased across his face. For a moment I almost forgot what he'd asked. Then I remembered.

"Oh." I blinked once, then nodded. "We'll find Blayne."

I returned to my patient.