Wildest Dreams

Chapter Thirty

Until the Day I Died

Four days later…

“My Winter Princess, wake, please wake,” I heard a woman call and my eyes slowly opened then fluttered closed again. “Please, my princess, wake.”

With effort I opened my eyes and focused on a blonde woman, blue eyes, not young, not old, maybe late forties, early fifties. She had great hair and a lot of it and she was very pretty.

“Hey,” I whispered, feeling funny, not myself, strangely out of body.

“She needs food, water, immediately, it’s been days,” I heard from behind her and I blinked because I knew that voice.

My eyes moved from the blonde to the redhead who was now wearing a disheveled, dusty, torn in places, jade green wool, wraparound dress and scuffed, dirty, charcoal gray suede boots.

And it all came back to me.

I pushed up to sitting, my head swam alarmingly and my hand went immediately to it but even so, I didn’t stop trying to push up from wherever I was reclining but two sets of hands held me down and I didn’t have a lot of strength.

And since I didn’t, since my head was woozy and there was an emptiness in my stomach that had not one thing to do with hunger and a scary feeling around my heart that I didn’t want to think about, I gave in.

But I gave in as I whispered, “Frey.”

The blonde looked at Valentine and I didn’t like the look on her face so I grabbed her arm and I did it tight. I also shook it when I had hold and I did this hard.

She looked back at me with sad eyes. Sad eyes that spoke words she really didn’t want to say and words I never, never, never wanted to hear.

“No,” I whispered, bile filling my throat, she grabbed my hand as Valentine dropped to her knees on the floor beside the blonde.

“I am sorry, my princess,” she whispered, squeezing my hand. “He has gone from this world.”

He has gone from this world.

Frey has gone from this world.

My sweet, gentle Frey was gone from this world.

Emotion surged through me, so much, none of it good, that I suddenly felt like I was going to explode.

“No!” I shrieked, pushing her away, I gained my feet, rushed several paces across the room and stopped dead when I saw we were in a room made of stone and there was nothing in it but high, barred windows at least two stories up, three dirty pallets on the floor with thin, rough, tattered wool blankets and a wooden table that looked like its legs held it up by a miracle.

We were in a prison cell.

And I didn’t care.

No, I didn’t care.

“He isn’t dead,” I told Valentine and the blonde as both slowly stood and turned to face me.

“I’m sorry, my princess,” the blonde murmured.

I leaned forward and shrieked, “He isn’t dead!”

Valentine moved toward me, whispering, “My goddess of love –”

“He isn’t dead! He isn’t dead! He isn’t dead!” I screeched then saw even the cool, composed Valentine’s face filled with sorrow and my legs collapsed under me as my body started shuddering with sobs. “He isn’t dead,” I whispered through my tears as both women made it to me, pulled me to my feet and supported me as they moved me back to the pallet. “He isn’t dead,” I repeated, my entire body quaking with the force of my grief as they gently pressed me back down to the dirty mattress. “He isn’t dead,” I whispered as I curled into a ball, arms around my calves, rocking my body back and forth while one of them, I didn’t know who, stroked my hair. “He isn’t dead,” these words were hoarse, rough, ugly, my stomach empty, my heart actually felt broken and that hurt, a lot, too much, so much I couldn’t bear it. It was unbearable. “Please, God, make him not dead.” I whispered then I turned my head, pressed my face into the filthy pallet and I sobbed.

* * * * *

I cried myself out while Valentine stroked my hair and cooed to me. When I was done and turned my face to stare at the stone wall, she gently forced me to sitting on the pallet so my back was to the wall as the blonde went to the table and came back with a plate on which were some slices of ham and a battered copper cup filled with water that was luckily clear and clean.

“Eat, pour votre bébé,” Valentine urged, I looked at her vaguely, nodded just as vaguely, took the plate, set it on my thighs, took the glass, started eating slowly and chased the salty ham with water.

Pour votre bébé.

Our baby.

Would I live to give Frey that?

I looked around the room and doubted it.

Then my eyes fell on the blonde. “Who are you?” I asked.

“I am Lavinia of Lunwyn, servant of Alabasta,” she replied softly and I nodded because I knew who that was. Frey told me stories of Lunwyn’s most powerful witch and the goddess Alabasta’s servant on this earth.

And Frey told them to me while we were eating dinner in his chateau in Hawkvale.

I felt my throat close, my eyes sting and I looked away, shoving another piece of ham in my mouth and having no clue how I’d get it down.

“Do you think…” Lavinia of Lunwyn started, my eyes moved to her and I swallowed the ham with effort before she finished, “that you can hear what is happening?”

To this, I replied, “Considering my husband is dead and that hits the one to ten scale of bad news you could give me at around five hundred and seventy-two, how bad is the rest of the news?”

“It is bad, not as bad as that,” Lavinia replied.

Nope. Not as bad as that. Outside of the world coming to an end, there was no news worse than that or even close.

I sucked in breath through my nose and nodded, saying, “Well then, hit me with it.”

She nodded back then she and Valentine exchanged a glance and both settled on the pallet on either side of me.

“You have been under a sleeping spell for four days,” Lavinia stated, I nodded, she took in breath and continued. “I was captured and imprisoned here a week ago. You and Valentine arrived yesterday and when you did, Valentine was bound but awake.”

I finished the last piece of ham, set the plate aside, took another drink of water and said, “Okay.”

“We are…” she hesitated, looked to Valentine then back at me, “we are both bound still, though we bear no straps. Wherever we are has a powerful spell over it. Neither of us have command of our magic. It is not gone, we both still feel it, we just cannot command it.”

My eyes slid away and I whispered, “Great.”

“This is why, I am certain, they have brought me here for I would not stand for what is happening to my Lunwyn,” Lavinia told me and I nodded.

Valentine took it from there. “We both can, however, sense things. This is how we know…” she trailed off and I jerked my chin up so she wouldn’t continue.

I didn’t want to hear the words again. I got her. This was how they knew Frey was gone.

Lavinia spoke next. “We also know more, or I do. Valentine senses things but as she is not of this world most of what she senses, she doesn’t understand.”

“And what more do you know?” I asked but I didn’t really care. I wanted to know about my girls and Frey’s men. I wanted to know about Aurora and Atticus. I wanted to know about Skylar. And I wanted to have some time to lick my wounds and then figure out how to get the fuck out of there, out of this world and home, home, home.

“The adela trees burn,” Lavinia whispered, all these thoughts flew from my head and I felt my mouth drop open as I felt my heart squeeze.

Then I whispered back, horrified, “No.”

She nodded, her eyes growing bright. “They do. The trees burn, our glorious, glowing adelas which is bad enough but this means the elves cannot rise.”

I closed my eyes and turned my head away.

The elves could not rise.

And they had no Frey.

I had no Frey.

If I lived to deliver him or her, my son or daughter would have no Frey.

I looked back at Lavinia and said with feeling, “That sucks.”

Her head tipped to the side. “Sucks?”

“Sucks, stinks… it’s awful,” I lifted a hand and rudely, I had to admit, circled it at her to get on with it but I didn’t have it in me to be polite. “What else?”

“Aurora is taken,” Lavinia said gently and I sucked in breath.

Then I let it out on a hissed, “Shit.”

“She lives and she is held captive, like us. Not here but far away, I cannot sense where. But… I am sorry, my princess, I do not sense your father.”

I closed my eyes tight and turned my head again as the hitch in my throat tore out in a wrenching sob. Then, I forced out on a stammer, not looking at her, “He’s… he’s… is he dead?”

“I am sorry,” she whispered.

I lifted a hand to my mouth and curled my fingers around.

I’d lost him again. Again.

Fucking hell once was bad enough.

Tears forced themselves out of my eyes and slid down my face as I fought for control but my chest heaved with the effort and my throat burned so much I thought it would disintegrate. It took awhile and a lot out of me but I pulled my shit together, wiped my face with my hand and looked back at Lavinia.

“What else? My girls? Frey’s men?”

She shook her head but when she saw my face and understood I misread her, she said quickly, “I do not know. I have not met them and therefore I cannot sense them. I can only sense those I’ve met or people of prominence, like your husband. I’m sorry; I have no news of them.”

I looked to Valentine. “You?”

“I was in their presence, my Seoafin, but I’m sorry, not long enough to know their auras and be able to feel them,” she answered.

“All righty,” I whispered, sucked in another breath then looked between them both. “Do you know anything else? Who’s doing this?”

I asked this as a key scraped the lock, all three of us looked to the door then it was thrown open and I couldn’t believe my eyes or stop my mouth from dropping open when I saw Broderick saunter in followed by his lover Phobin.

No.

It couldn’t be.

But it was. He was right there and he wasn’t entering to be imprisoned.

Broderick took one look at me, his face grew hard, my heart started pumping and he turned on his lover.

“What is the matter with you?” he snapped. “She is of my blood, she is princess and she sits in filth?”

“She is prisoner,” Phobin retorted coldly.

“She is princess,” Broderick shot back then turned to address the two guards that entered with them and stood at the door. “Take the Winter Princess to my quarters. Find women to draw her a bath, find her a decent gown and bring her proper food.”

“You cannot do that, Broderick,” Phobin stated and Broderick turned on him.

“I cannot? I’m sorry; I thought it was me who just became king of two lands. Did I miss something? Was it you?”

“I’ve told you. She is of the elf, the witch said so,” Phobin clipped. “We cannot take the chance she holds any magic and escapes.”

“She is my cousin and she is princess and she will not sit in filth,” Broderick returned and Phobin’s face went hard and his eyes grew so furious and so cruel not only I shrunk back but so did Lavinia and Valentine.

Then, he strangely whispered, “Come to heel, Broderick.”

Broderick head twitched, his face going blank for a moment before his eyes flashed, he glared at Phobin and stated firmly, “A king does not heel, Phobin.”

Phobin got closer, his voice got lower and he repeated, “Come to heel.”

Broderick smiled then and, speaking softly, returned, “You fool. Did you honestly think our play in bed translated to my rule of a vast kingdom?” Broderick got closer too and his voice got softer but not so soft we couldn’t hear. “Yes, my lover, I will beg to suck your cock and I will beg you to do other things with it but outside our bed, Phobin, hear this and know it, I rule and you come to heel or I’ll find a lover who will play like I like in bed and know his place out of it.”

Phobin’s stunned face had paled but Broderick ignored it and the three of us on the pallet, turned and walked to the guards, stopping in front of them.

Then he ordered, “Take my cousin to my chambers, she is princess and treated as such. Keep guards at the door and for the gods’ sakes, give these witches some decent blankets, palatable food, wine and water to wash up with. I do not reign like my father, learn that now and part of what you need to learn is that this treatment of women is unacceptable.”

Then he swept through the guards, leaving the cell and leaving behind a still shocked and immobile Phobin.

Then we heard from the hall, “Phobin! Come!” Phobin’s body jerked, he looked confused for a moment then he rushed out of the cell.

“Come!” one of the guards grunted at me and my eyes shot to him.

“Go, Seoafin,” Valentine whispered. “We’ll be all right.”

“Come!” the guard grunted again, starting to move forward.

I quickly glanced at Lavinia who smiled reassuringly at me then Valentine, who did the same and I set the cup I still held aside and started to get to my feet.

Then I turned to Valentine and Lavinia and whispered, “I’ll be back.”

Then I gained my feet, straightened my shoulders, tossed my hair, nodded regally to the guard and swept out of the room.

* * * * *

I tortured myself.

Throughout my bath, throughout the two silent women assisting me to strap on my underwear, pull the soft, woolen gown over my head, my boots up my calves and doing my hair, throughout my solitary meal and after, as I was alone in the luxuriously appointed but chilly rooms, I tortured myself.

I tortured myself with memories of the first time I saw my huge, frightening husband at our wedding.

And the first time he kissed me.

I tortured myself with memories of him throwing a dead dear on the kitchen table, pulling me in his lap and telling me I fit there and bathing with him in a hot spring.

And the first time we made out in bed together and how gentle he was with me.

I was wrong in my anger. He had been my gentle Frey before he knew me.

I tortured myself with that too, that I had forgotten and all I said to him prior to his death.

Then, when I could bear those particular thoughts no longer, I tortured myself with memories of playing cards with Frey’s men. Of Father’s proud cry the first time he saw me get a bulls-eye and his tight hug the second time he saw me do it. Of Skylar sitting at a desk, any desk, all of the desks he sat at, his tongue poking out in his concentration, looking so cute and boyish. Of my girls’ giggles and gossip and gentle care and how they took me in without reservation. Of Mother’s dry wit and small smiles and eyes that told you how she felt about you in a way you would always believe and never forget.

I tortured myself with memories of a ship called The Finnie and all that had happened aboard her.

I tortured myself with memories of strong hands guiding me on a dance floor while I wore a blood red dress at a ball.

I tortured myself with memories of touches, tastes and words whispered in my ear.

I tortured myself with every memory I could pull up of the best by far, the most beautiful by a landslide, the most perfect adventure I’d ever had and I turned each in my head, I burned them in my brain and as I did it, as the seconds slid to minutes, minutes to hours and the guard remained outside and I remained alone in the prince’s room, I prepared.

So when the door opened, I was ready.

I was ready to do what I had to do for Frey, for Atticus, for Aurora and for Lunwyn which was rightfully mine to give to the child I carried. Frey’s child. The Drakkar’s child. The elves’ child. My child.

Lunwyn’s child.

And by my God and my husband’s gods, I was fucking going to do it.

So, prepared, I watched Broderick walk in and I schooled my face not to show a reaction when his eyes fell gentle on me and his lover trotted in obediently at his heels.

The guard closed the door and Broderick continued to approach as I sat in my chair, unmoving, my hands hidden in the folds of my skirt and I watched.

“You look better, Sjofn,” he said softly.

“You killed my husband,” I replied and watched with morbid fascination as he winced.

Then he whispered, “Sjofn.”

“You killed my husband,” I repeated, holding his eyes.

He stopped in front of me and looked down at me. “I’m sorry I needed to do that.”

“Can you tell me why you needed to do that?” I asked, my voice bland, flat.

It was Phobin who answered with an incredulous, “Why?”

My eyes didn’t leave Broderick as he turned to his lover and hissed, “Quiet,” then turned back to me and his voice was gentle when he explained, “Sjofn, I could see you were taken with him and he you but he’s The Drakkar, The Frey, he commands the fire of dragons and the magic of elves and he let it be known very openly that he would not hesitate to call his beasts in defense of you.” His voice became even gentler when he finished, “I am sorry, my cousin, but he was too powerful to let live.”

“You didn’t believe that then,” I stated and he blinked.

“I’m sorry?” he enquired.

In what I hoped was a good impersonation of Aurora, I regally inclined my chin to indicate Phobin and declared, “It was his idea. When we met in Middleland, you were pleased for me.”

“I was,” he whispered, watching me closely.

“So, tell me, why did you kill my husband?” I asked and he pulled in a light breath.

“Sjofn –” he started but I interrupted him with a wave of my hand.

“It matters not now, Broderick, he is dead. And my father is dead, I assume?” I waited for his careful nod, I took the hit of confirmation of this news and the further hit it took forcing myself not to react and I went on. “But you had different ideas back then, am I wrong?”

“Sjofn, I don’t think –” he began but I interrupted yet again.

And I did this with a soft, “You owe this to me.”

Broderick held my eyes. Then he nodded.

“I thought…” he started then concluded, “exile.”

“And why didn’t you follow through with this thought?” I pressed. “Was it him?” and again I lifted my chin to Phobin.

“He did, I will admit, point out the errors in my thinking.” Suddenly he crouched before me, made as if to reach out for my hand, I pulled back in the chair slightly but not slight enough he didn’t notice. So he gave up, rested his wrists on his knees and kept speaking. “Phobin knew, you know and I also knew but in seeing you so happy, I was denying it, but I knew that The Drakkar would not stay in exile long, no matter what magic or guard or –”

“The adela branch,” I stated, cutting him off again. “You and Phobin, you’ve been collecting sacred relics, articles of power to wield for this endeavor. It isn’t the only thing you had, is it, Broderick?” I guessed a guess that just sprang to my mind.

He smiled a small, actually un-freaking-believably proud smile before he whispered, “Always so clever, my Sjofn.”

“So you have relics, things with magic?” I pushed.

“Indeed,” Broderick replied.

“They would be more powerful if we had the branch,” Phobin muttered, my eyes slid to his angry face and Broderick tilted his head back to look at him. When Broderick did this, he clamped his mouth shut and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

I looked back to Broderick, waited for his eyes to come to me and asked, “You have a witch wielding them?”

“I do,” he answered.

I nodded once then stated, “This makes her very powerful.”

He inclined his head.

Right.

Well then, I’d have to deal with that later and hope to all that was holy Lavinia and Valentine could beat the bitch.

Moving on.

“Then, since you were considering exile, the attack in Houllebec, the poison at the Gales, this was not you?” I enquired.

He shook his head. “The attack in Houllebec was meant to take the life of The Drakkar but you were to be seized and held for ransom then let go. However, the kidnapping would have been a ruse. If this had been successful, it would have meant you were safe with no aspersions cast on us but there would be no imminent heir to the throne until you or your father could find another suitable candidate as husband for you and, in that time, we would have instigated our campaign to unite Lunwyn and Middleland.” At this, his mouth got tight and his eyes slid briefly to Phobin before coming back to me when he went on. “I left that in other’s hands and those chosen for this deed, fortunately for you and The Drakkar, were not very skilled.”

Phobin obviously was behind this maneuver and Phobin obviously fucked it up.

Broderick studied me with eyes back to soft then said, “This was before I saw the two of you together and considered exile.”

He paused for me to speak but I made no reply.

“The poison,” he continued, “was not me. I have allies, heads of Houses from both Lunwyn and Middleland. Until our current campaign, there was…” he paused then finished, “some disagreement about what to do with you and how to contend with The Drakkar. There were those who felt his influence, if not his power, would be diminished if he was not to sire a child on you, the heir to the throne, and therefore they felt, if you no longer lived, obviously, this would not come about. They also felt you were the easier target. And it is known The Drakkar had no ambitions to the throne and it was believed, if you were out of the way, he would continue with his business and, as was his wont, leave the politics to others. During your betrothal he did not show a great deal of interest in you. It was only after, when it became known he…” he paused again, continuing cautiously, “grew to hold a good deal of affection for you that our plans needed to be reconsidered.”

Grew to hold a good deal of affection for me. A convenient way to put it, the little, scheming, backstabbing piss ant.

I looked over his shoulder as if taking this all in then looked back at him and nodded.

Then I asked, “Do you love him?” and at my question Broderick’s head jerked.

“I’m sorry?”

“Him,” I motioned my chin slightly to Phobin and continued. “Do you love him?” When Broderick looked blank, I explained, “Earlier, you said you’d replace him and, you see, I loved a man and I lost him and I know in my soul where it burns so strong it’s a miracle I’m breathing that he will never be replaced.” I hesitated, held his gaze and whispered fiercely, “Never.” Then I pulled in a delicate breath and asked, “So, you cannot love him.”

Broderick’s eyes were soft on me and he whispered, “Sjofn, you are safe. I know you hurt but you are safe. It pains me, seeing the sadness in your eyes, knowing I’m behind it, but you know me, my cousin, you must know it pains me. But with time, I hope you will understand my actions. With time, you will see my vision for Lunwyn, for Middleland. My people could not go on under my father’s rule, you know that. Everyone does. And Lunwyn should never have been severed. Now it is again intact, I will rule and you will be at my side while I do. You will have my ear. I promise you, you are wise and strong and I know you will be a trusted advisor to me when your heart mends. And I will listen to you as I always have. And later, I will find a way to sire a child but if this does not come about, perhaps we can find someone…” he hesitated and cautiously went on, “appropriate for you to –”

I interrupted him before he really pissed me off. “I asked, Broderick, do you love Phobin?”

He studied me then he replied, “I do not understand why you wish to know this, my cousin.”

“It matters not why, it only matters if you do or do not,” I returned.

He sighed then he said quietly, “I hold affection for him but love…”

He trailed off and I nodded again.

Once.

I knew what I needed to know.

It was time.

So I whispered, “Then you will not mind too much when I do this.”

Then I shot out of the chair, catching Broderick on the chin with my knee as I did. He fell back and instantly I lunged at Phobin with the knife they’d given me to cut my meat at dinner. A knife I’d stolen and they’d extremely stupidly not checked to see if it was there when they took the tray away. A knife, throughout our conversation, I had hidden in the folds of my gown. Then, as Lund taught me (or told me since this was obviously not demonstrated), I planted that knife in Phobin’s jugular and yanked it across his throat, severing his windpipe. Blood spouted out and he started dropping to his knees, hands to his neck, eyes huge, face going white but I immediately yanked out the blade on another ghastly spray of blood, twisted, dropped to my own knees then held the knife to a still unrecovered Broderick’s neck. And he was unrecovered because he was staring in shock at the dying Phobin whose body was now jerking in death throes behind me on the floor.

“Do not utter a noise,” I hissed, his body went still and his terrified eyes came to me as he nodded and we listened to Phobin’s sickening gurgling as the lifeblood poured out of his neck and he gasped unsuccessfully for air. “Roll to your stomach,” I ordered.

“Sjofn –” he started but stopped with a squeak when I pressed the blade deep and blood flowed at its edge.

“I said do… not… utter a noise,” I hissed again. “Now roll to your gods damned stomach.”

He rolled to his stomach, I planted a knee in his back and reached for the ties I took from the curtains and sat on in the chair.

“Hands behind your back,” I demanded, Broderick hesitated and there was nothing for it, I further had to demonstrate my resolve. Therefore, I plunged the knife in his side and he groaned with pain, hopefully not loud enough for the guards to hear. “Hands behind your back!” I hissed and he put his hands behind his back, I pulled the knife out, wiped it on my gown, put the hilt between my teeth, tied his hands then moved down and bound his feet.

Then I moved back to my chair and grabbed the handkerchief I’d purloined from a trunk with one of Phobin’s scarves. I rolled Broderick to his back and he groaned in pain as I did it. Then I quickly shoved the handkerchief in his mouth and secured it by tying the scarf tight around his head.

Then I wasted precious time and I did this not for Frey, not for our child, my father, mother or Lunwyn.

I did it for me.

I took the knife from my teeth, got in Broderick’s face and I whispered, “You know, cousin, it pained me to do that,” I jerked my head at the now dead body of Phobin. “You know me; it pained me to do that. But you see, I could not fight you both and bind you both so one of you had to be neutralized. Hopefully, you will not bleed out before someone knows aught is amiss.” Then I got closer and my voice dropped lower as I held his eyes and whispered, “Thank you for uniting Lunwyn for the child of Frey’s I already carry inside me. He will be most appreciative.”

Then I pushed away from him and hurried to the door, hoping there were only two guards. One was one too many, two, God only knew. I’d probably fall at the first hurdle.

But I wasn’t going to give up.

I was three feet away when I heard grunts, steel clashing and then bodies thudding on stone.

I blinked at the door.

Oh shit.

I quickly put both hands behind my back.

The door flew open and I stared at two, big, brawny, exceedingly handsome men.

And they stared at me.

Then both their eyes flicked to the room behind me then back to me.

Then, to my shock, they smiled, one turned to the other and, to my shocked delight, stated, “Lund appears to be a good teacher.”

They were Frey’s.

“You are Frey’s,” I whispered.

“Balthazar,” the dark one said.

“Quincy,” the fair one said.

I’d heard of both though never met them.

“Hey, I’m Finnie.” I was still whispering.

“We know,” Quincy said while still smiling.

I smiled back.

“So, Finnie, you think we could rescue you rather than loiter chatting in a wounded king’s room with his murdered lover still bleeding on the carpet?” Balthazar asked.

“That’s probably a good idea,” I answered then thought quickly and told them, “But before we do the whole, um… rescue thing there are a couple other things we need to do.”

They looked at each other.

Then they looked at me.

Then my heart flew to the sky when Oleg stomped through the door and grunted, “Yup, and I know one of them.”

“Oleg!” I cried, never in my life thinking I’d feel complete and utter joy at the sight of Oleg but I did in that moment, I totally did but Oleg, being Oleg, didn’t even look at me.

He walked by me. Unsheathing the sword from his back, he walked to Broderick, stood over him and right in front of my eyes, he ran Broderick through with his sword, straight through the belly, yanking up.

Broderick’s body jerked what I had to admit was sadly on the floor as his cries of pain were muffled by his gag and Oleg pulled out his sword, sheathed it and walked to me, stopping in front of me and meeting my wide eyes.

“Raider rule, my princess, do not leave a job undone,” he grunted then grunted again, “Lunwyn.”

“Lunwyn,” I whispered then felt a hand on my arm and that hand was pulling me to the door.

“Let’s go,” Balthazar, who had hold of me, said and we went.

But at the door, I turned back and saw the carnage, Phobin motionless and dead at my hand, Broderick’s head turned, his face pale and awful in his pain, eyes on me.

And I knew in that moment I would remember that scene, the blood, the gore of exposed wounds, the look on Broderick’s face, and I would do it until the day I died.

But for the life of me, I couldn’t find it in me to care.

Then I hurried out with my men and whispered, “Okay boys, somewhere close, there are two women…”