:: Chapter Thirteen ::

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It was dark and the collar around her neck dug into her skin painfully rubbing it raw. The others said it would explode if she tried to escape, said they’d seen it happen before and some poor frantic man had his face blown off in the process. She’d been training with Rayleigh for days on end and had finally collapsed from exhaustion to sleep it off. They must have snatched her in her sleep. Slavers were wretched despicable creatures that didn’t deserve to be called humans; they’d lost their humanity, treating others like property for trade.

“I think she’s coming to.” A soft feminine voice whispered somewhere nearby.

Malice opened her eyes after a moment and spotted a kind young woman with a collar around her neck and shackles on her wrists kneeling beside her with concern lingering in her hazel eyes. The others in the cage looked relieved. The young girl had mouthed off to one of the handlers and had been severely beaten, they weren’t sure if she was ever going to awaken.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” The kind woman smiled.

“I’m fine.” Malice grumbled dryly as she forced herself to swallow the remnants of blood lingering in her mouth so as not to concern the others by spitting it out.

“Number 13.” A gruff voice barked from the cage door and Malice held back a wicked smile as she recognized the handler who’d nearly beaten her to death.

She slowly dragged herself to her feet and allowed the man to haul her away. He’d pay for what he did to her. Sweet thoughts of bloody revenge quelled her rage enough to allow her to throw the man an innocent smile.

“What are you smiling for, brat?” He snapped as he marched her toward the stage where the auctioneer, a flashy man by the name of Disco, was currently getting bids for a pretty dancer.

“I just thought of how I’d like to kill you.” Malice grinned, “I won’t even use a weapon.” She giggled softly.

“Creepy brat.” The man backhanded her once more as a chill ran down his spine at the wicked gleam in her dark garnet eyes.

He roughly shoved her on stage forcing her to stumble and fall to the hardwood floor making it appear as if she’d attempted to wrestle away from him.

“This feisty little spitfire is sure to be a big seller.” The auctioneer laughed a little nervously as Malice kicked at her handler while he dragged her back to her feet. He continued trying to up sell her ‘spirited’ qualities while she glared at the crowd of despicable lowlifes bidding on her.

Her dark garnet eyes paused as she spotted a familiar face in the crowd, Rayleigh! He smiled at her reassuringly and mouthed ‘It’s alright. Look who’s here.’ He motioned to the opposite end of the auction house and she immediately began scanning for who he was indicating.

A flash of crimson hair, her crimson hair, caused her heart to race in her chest. He was here?! Why? Where did he come from? How did Rayleigh find him? She was too afraid to meet his gaze too afraid to see the look of disgust and utter disappointment at the child he knowingly discarded. He didn’t want her to begin with, why did she think it would be a good idea to set out and look for him? She was a disgrace, nothing more than a street urchin desperately clinging to a wretched life she never deserved.

Now that she was so close, she wasn’t sure she wanted to meet him. What if he truly didn’t want her? What if he’d suggested to her mother to get rid of her? She was a burden, a nuisance, a mistake. She was never meant to be.  Her heart hammered in her chest so loud it drowned out the auctioneers dramatic antics. Panic and the overwhelming need to flee gripped her.

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