Blood Sport

Chapter Five

Reagan had never woken up with such back pain. Apparently, the metal of the bunk didn't pair well with her body. She tossed and turned through the sunlight hours, hands buried beneath her head in the place of a pillow.

Two weeks Reagan- then you're out of here.

She could handle two weeks. For an immortal with her lifespan, two weeks was nothing.

Two weeks of cobwebs and manic inmates. Walk in the park.

Two weeks of no food or space. Easy business.

At least now she'd showered.

She awoke when the sky was dark once more, no daylight trickling in through that high window. Other inmates were back to talking, sharing nonsensical old rumours from cell to cell.

With a groan, she rose from the metal bunk to sit upon the floor, staring out into the walkway.

A loud wolf-whistle came from the cell across from her.

Jenna was already up.

"Someone's looking fresh." She looked Reagan up and down, her eyebrows raised in shock. "Tell me how you did it."

"Be more specific."

"How did you blag yourself a shower?"

"I was too much of a distraction to all the other inmates. All that blood and such."

"Bullshit."

Reagan smirked. "The General realised the only way he'd be getting any information out of me was through bribery. Their torture techniques failed."

Annoyingly, he'd caught onto what she wanted too easily. But she hadn't given away anything dire. So what if I'm clean. She wasn't some random barbarian. Besides, Reagan didn't care about the witch thing. The true showstopper was her power. That nifty little trick had gotten her out of a tight spot or two before and it would do the same here when she fancied it to.

In time.

Just not yet.

Not until she'd achieved what she'd came for.

"Did they open you up?" Jenna asked.

"Open me—what?"

"It's one of the General's favourite tricks. When people don't comply, he has body parts removed. Painful without anaesthesia and equally painful growing back."

That kind of torture might've made her squeal, but Reagan knew already she'd still keep her mouth shut. Revealing her true intentions would be detrimental.

Only the General hadn't even attempted that.

Thinking back on it, there'd been the appropriate equipment for such a deed scattered around the room.

"No," She answered. "They didn't try that. My torture started and ended with stabbing."

"That's different." Jenna looked like she wanted to ask more, only she didn't know where to start. And maybe Reagan didn't have the answers.

"Hmm."

"And the clothes?"

Reagan wore a new number. A black, baggy men's shirt that smelt of male and power paired with boxers that hugged her body as perfectly as men's clothes could. She'd had a bit of a hack at the shirt anyway, disliking the way it dangled right down to her thighs. She'd torn at the bottom to the best of her abilities and curled the hem, tucking it beneath the neck of her shirt until it resembled an oversized crop top.