When Nothing Is All You've Got Page 12

  “I’m not a possession,” she said after the longest time.

  It took me a moment to figure out what she was talking about, my own thoughts concentrated around a fantastic blow job courtesy of a magnificent, spirited nobody.

  “Everyone, and everythin’, in the Underworld is a possession.”

  “I don’t want to be yours!” she argued.

  “You don’t even know what it means to be mine.” It was said in a low seductive voice that left no question about what it was to be mine. Nada seemed to consider my words, allowing them to roll around in her mind before those bottomless, dark eyes found mine once again.

  “Why now?”

  “Because I want you now.” It was the best I could give her, because I didn’t fully understand it myself.

  “Are you going to make a claim on me?”

  I couldn’t help my drawn in breath that clearly indicated shock. A claim was as good as marriage in the Underworld. It meant partners lived together, worked together, and their union was breakable only by death.

  “Well, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. You might find my surly disposition unacceptable.”

  That cracked a smile, that elusive fucking tilt of her lips that made me feel things I thought I’d left behind in the world above.

  “So, I have a say?”

  “Nope,” I replied with a grin. “But I’ve been told givin’ the illusion that you do is a worthy tactic in keepin’ women complacent.”

  “You think you can control me?” Her smile was gone, that dark, dangerous look had fallen across her beautiful features once again.

  “I already do.” My gaze slid over her curves, all that exposed, pale flesh, and I watched as a flush stole into her cheeks. Oh yeah, I fucking controlled her alright.

  13

  NADA

  I couldn’t stop my blush. The way Shadow looked over my body was different to anything I’d ever experienced before. He looked at me as if I weren’t just a quick fuck he planned to take in stolen moments of darkness. When he looked at me, I felt like his possession, something he coveted above all others. Something he planned on taking his time with, in the light, with his heated gaze traveling over my bare flesh. While instinct told me I would never be his, something else told me I already was. I was Nada. I’d always meant nothing to everyone unless I was in the cage. The cage was the only place I felt like something more than a speck of dust floating through the air. I belonged in the cage; I meant something to someone when I was in the cage. Now, Shadow wanted me in a way that I didn’t understand, but I could appreciate the fact that, on some level, I liked it.

  “Are you workin’ with the rebels?”

  Shadow’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I tried to school my features. I wasn’t working with the rebels, not exactly. I was simply imparting information, and I had made it clear to them that I was not with them.

  “Why would I want to align myself with a group that’s done nothing for me? The world above owes me nothing, and I owe them about the same.” I gave him a thoughtful look. “Are you working with the rebels?”

  Shadow snorted, and the lighthearted expression he wore on his face was a glimpse into another man, one that I’d never seen in the Underworld before. In that moment, he seemed so carefree, his smug smile strangely endearing. His grinning face was familiar, yet so completely unfamiliar.

  “Why would I want to tear apart the Underworld? I like it here. I’m somebody here. Up there, I was nothin’. Here, I’m somethin’.”

  “Well,” I murmured, “I don’t want to be something. I’m no rebel spy. I’m not starting a rebellion. I’m not taking down the world above, or below. I’m just me, fighting to survive in a world where I don’t belong.”

  “Where do you belong?”

  I thought about it for a long time. It was something I had wondered for many years, and the answer still evaded me. My fingers lazily rubbed the soft fur blanket Regan had recently gifted me. She claimed my since disposed of blanket was so threadbare it couldn’t possibly keep me warm at night. Knowing my delight for all things soft, she had found the most remarkable fur that slipped through my fingers much like water might.

  “I don’t belong anywhere,” I finally said.

  Shadow moved to stand, taking the few short steps between my trusty old table, to my messy, unmade bed. The backs of his fingers caressed my cheek, and I fought the need to turn into such a soft gesture, to press my lips to his wide, calloused palm. I held still and wary, watching him watching me.

  “You belong with me,” he whispered. “And soon enough you’ll see it.”

  He strolled casually out of my small room, leaving me a confused mess of hormones. Parts of my body throbbed with need, parts that usually only yearned for something when I was stuck in the adrenaline of a post-fight high. Then, my body wanted hard and fast, draining my soul of the overflow of energy I didn’t know what to do with. Right now, for the first time in my seemingly long existence, I wanted a slower touch. I wanted strong hands on me, feeling me, warming me. It shocked me to rigid silence. The thought of that kind of intimate touch usually made my skin crawl, but the subtle, stolen moments Shadow had ever so slowly gifted me was almost akin to taming a wild animal. That touch was quickly becoming something I yearned for.

  I was slowly beginning to recognize a need for a comfort I had never indulged in, bodily contact that wasn’t completely sexual, but most definitely interested in the idea. Shadow in my bed, his long heavy limbs wrapped around mine made my stomach feel unsettled and funny. I ran a hand over the flat planes of my queasy tummy and watched the empty doorway. A small part of me hoped he’d come back, while another larger part of me had no clue what I’d do if he did. One thing was becoming glaring obvious, though: I wanted Shadow, I was his, and I was pretty sure he was mine, too.

  *

  “You should actually slow down and enjoy them,” Regan murmured from my side.

  Seated at the multi-colored table in her room, I scoffed down the eggs she had cooked for me so fast that there was a chance I might choke on them. I didn’t have time to slow down and enjoy the rare treat—real scrambled eggs with a dollop of cream—that currently sat in front of me. With the chicken Shadow had provided for me last night, and the eggs this morning, I had enough protein in my body to hopefully give me the edge I needed for the fight tonight. I had shit to do today, and not much time to do it in. I wanted to see Grace, but Kingsley had ordered I check on the Whore Pit. He wanted to make sure his investment in flesh was playing by his rules. He didn’t particularly trust me with this task, but he knew I hated the Whore Pit, and he took a certain amount of pleasure in sending me there. Not to mention the last two soldiers he had sent down there had gotten sidetracked by the temptation of flesh and deviancy. I also wanted to get in a quick session with Dejohn, and Regan wanted me to come by her room before heading for the cage; apparently, she had a surprise for me. I hated surprises. My day was accounted for and then some.

  “So, where’s your Shadow?”

  I glared at her over my spoonful of egg.

  “He’s not my Shadow!” It was said with far more defense than I initially intended, and of course, Regan picked up on it.

  “I was just insinuating that the man has been your proverbial shadow of late.”

  “Oh, yeah, I guess,” I said rather mulishly. “I have no idea. I’ll probably run into him when I visit the Whore Pit later.” That thought was swiftly followed by an uncomfortable feeling that felt similar to the rage I embraced in the cage.

  “Rumor has it that Shadow doesn’t take liberties in the Whore Pit.”

  “Really?” I asked, the spoonful of egg paused again.

  Regan shrugged. “He prefers they visit his room. Apparently he considers himself above the whore pit, he prefers women to come to him to . . .” She struggled to find the words.

  “Fuck?” I said helpfully.

  “That’s the word,” she murmured.

  It was refreshing that
someone could still retain such delicate sensibilities in such a crude world. The thought of women sharing Shadow’s bed pissed me off, but the thought of me in it was a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. I couldn’t allow a man, let alone a man like Shadow, claim me in such a way. Once I’d finally found the courage to try sex that wasn’t forced, I quickly discovered I needed to be in complete control. I needed to be on top, and the man I chose to scratch my itch was not allowed to touch me. There was nothing sensual about the act; it was purely a need that was over and done with as fast as possible. And yet, the thought of being at Shadow’s complete mercy, with those big, calloused hands on my body, teasing me . . . I shivered.

  Deciding that line of thought was not what I needed today, I turned to watch Regan as she pottered around her room. She reached into a big box that she usually kept padlocked and produced a small bag of dried looking leaves.

  “What’s that?” I asked. It immediately reminded me of the leaves of the dried out rose pressed between the pages of the book back in my room.

  “Bay leaves. They help flavor the meat.”

  “Where did you get meat from? And bay leaves?”

  Regan shrugged. “I made some clothes for the right person.”

  Her answer was nonchalant, too nonchalant. For the first time, I looked at Regan a little closer. She always seemed to possess the most interesting items from the world above, and the large pot sitting over the flames of her fire was almost always full. Was it possible she was the rebel’s inside link? As fast as that thought entered my head, it left. Regan was too soft to be part of any rebel cause. Sweet, soft Regan, who was nothing more than an innocent caught in a world of darkness, could not possibly be a rebel spy.

  “What’s my surprise?” I asked, pushing away my now empty plate.

  Regan gave me an are-you-kidding-me look before turning back to stir the stew that filled my senses and made my stomach growl, even though it was sufficiently full. “Fine, I’m off.”

  “Wait, I have something for Grace.”

  Regan moved away from the pot to rummage through that mysterious chest on the floor by her bed. From it, she pulled a small device connected to a white wire with two small spongey oval shaped buds at the end.

  “Tell her it has charge, but to bring it back to me when it goes dead. I know someone who can recharge it for her.”

  “What is it?” I asked as she slid it into a dirty grey cotton bag.

  “It’s old, but it works. It’s something that will help her transition. Maybe she can trade her time for it. I have so many orders for clothes and repairs I can barely keep up.”

  Regan was subtly teaching the girl the way of our world. Trading, or bartering, is how we survived. It would also help Grace learn how to sew, which would mean she wouldn’t be destined for the Whore Pit.

  With a smile, I drew away from Regan and left her to her cooking.

  *

  I chewed my bottom lip as I navigated my way through the throngs of people towards the room of whoring and depravity. Grace’s eyes had lit up at the sight of the little device that would help her ‘transition,’ as Regan had put it. She’d clutched it to her chest like a prized possession before explaining the tiny box would allow her to listen to music. I knew music. We had plenty of music in the Underworld, though I had never seen it contained into such a small, insignificant looking device. Grace was worried she wouldn’t be able to pay Regan back. She didn’t know how to sew, but she was eager to learn, and I knew that would be good enough for Regan.

  Upon entering Grace’s room in Claire and Rocket’s large home, I’d found her cowering in the corner, her eyes filled with fear, dry tears marking her freckled skin. Upon seeing me, she had calmed and hesitantly climbed onto her bed to sit beside me, exchanging only a few words. Claire hovered at the doorway, eager to give a mothering touch, to help gentle the child into the Underworld. I’d stayed for nearly an hour, just talking, telling Grace about things like the library, the hydroponics room where vegetables were grown, and the hen house which smelled a little nasty but nothing tasted better than fresh eggs. Ten chickens and two roosters had come to the Underworld in a drop off, and a few inmates who specialized in farming in the world above, had managed to breed the animals until we had a sustainable flock. Sectors took turns in eating eggs, and every now and again, they slaughtered a couple of birds and fresh meat was made available. It was precious, usually saved for Kingsley and his soldiers, which was probably how Shadow came to be in possession of it the night before.

  Leaving had been difficult. The way Grace’s eyes beseeched mine was heartbreaking, but she didn’t shy away from Claire’s arms as they gathered her close. I felt confident Claire and Rocket would protect the newbie. They would give her the gentle comfort she needed. At least they’d be able to give her more than I could.

  The tangy, bitter scent of NIM coated the air as I drew closer to the Whore Pit. Passed out addicts crowded the narrow corridor, and I had to step over more than a few before reaching the enormous double doors that separated the valley of mattresses from the rest of the Underworld.

  “Business or pleasure,” Raze sniggered as I approached. Kingsley had made him head of security at the Whore Pit, making sure those who came for the flesh behind the doors brought something decent to trade, but he was nothing more than a NIM peddling pimp.

  “Looking for my next fight in the cage, actually,” I murmured as I stepped around his offensive stench and pushed open the door. I enjoyed Raze’s cowering at the mention of the cage. He was more than happy to place bets and watch the show, but he was the kind of man who would never step inside the ring.

  The room beyond was enormous and wide, filled with the sound of slapping flesh and deep guttural moans. As I stepped inside, I could smell the scent of spilled seed, sweat, and NIM that hung in the air. Threadbare, dirty sheets were hung on lines that stretched from one side of the room to the other, giving the illusion of privacy. Nothing was private in here, though, and many of the mattresses were either missing their wall of sheet, or the fabric was so thin you could see right through it. There were two hundred and five convicted women in the Underworld, and fifty-six of them worked in this room. They were fed well for the effort, and supplied all the NIM and alcohol they could ever want. I didn’t judge them; they were doing what they had to do to survive. They fucked, and I killed. No, there was definitely no judgement from me.

  “Hey, girl, what’s goin’ on?” came the gravelly voice of Dotty, the sixty-five-year-old madam of this so called establishment. Dotty was as weathered as they came, with deep grooves in her saggy, leathered flesh. Her body was nothing more than skin and bones, and her face was painted in shades of mismatched pinks and reds. She wore a mismatched selection of necklaces, so many I couldn’t begin to count the tangled mess. Rings were slipped on all her fingers and heavy red jewels hung from her ears. Someone once told me the woman’s jewels would buy a small island in the world above. In the Underworld, they were nothing but worthless baubles.

  A hand rolled cigarette hung from her thin painted lips as she leaned against a wide counter that stood in front of a collection room. Behind her was where the items traded, in exchange for flesh, were stored until the king’s men came for them.

  “Sounds busy,” I commented as I stepped around a stumbling inmate blissed out in an obvious NIM high.

  “Anyone would think Hell had closed its fiery gates and the demons have all come ’ere to fuck.” I raised a brow at her murmured comment, and Dotty was quick to laugh it off with a rasping, coughing sound that came from deep within her smoke addled lungs. “Business is boomin’. Life is just fuckin’ dandy.”

  “All consensual?”

  At that, Dotty laughed again, before following it up with another coughing fit.

  “Girl, do you think any of these women wanna be here doin’ this?”

  “You know what I mean,” I answered. I knew perfectly well few of these women had choices. If they had no skills to contribute in othe
r ways to the Underworld, it was the Whore Pit or the cage; there were even a couple of innocents who had chosen this life in an effort to somehow better their existence. I didn’t blame them for their decision. The cage was terrifying, but in my eyes, the thin, soiled mattresses that kept them clothed and fed was just as fucking frightening.

  “No one would dare abuse or force one of my girls while on the job. Hawk and Billy make sure of it.”

  Dotty nodded towards her ‘adopted’ sons, Hawk, a two-hundred-and-eighty-pound black man with dreadlocks that hung to his waist, and Billy, the hundred-and-twenty-pound, buck-tooth hillbilly who was currently inhaling a shot of NIM. I doubted Billy would have the sobriety to handle an out of control patron, and although Hawk’s size could be intimidating, he had a reputation as being a lazy shit.

  “You lookin’ for work, girl?” Dotty asked, her eyes burning with hunger. “I’d bet my next month’s food ticket that you’d take out Lila’s fifty-eight-in-one-day record.” My lip curled with distaste, and Dotty’s gleaming eyes quickly looked away as she tried to shrug with nonchalance. “Too bad. You’d be top shelf meat . . .” she murmured as she backed away to the stock room behind her.

  A crude path of sorts surrounded the room, with a few makeshift corridors peeling off it to give access to the center of the room. My fingers played along the hilt of my knife as I began a lap of the cavernous room. Trying to keep my gaze directly in front of me, I ignored the writhing bodies to my left. Not every sheet-walled room was occupied, but more were filled than not, the familiar sound of sex impossible to block out. Every now and again I stepped around a couple who hadn’t been able to reach their tent, their passion being unleashed against the surrounding stone wall, and on one occasion, right on the stone floor. Almost anything went in this cold room of depravity; occasionally, I even caught sight of a prison wolf, a male who would engage in sex with another male just to get laid. I’d grown up with such open displays of sexual gratification, so none of it shocked me. For a time, following my assault, it had been difficult to witness the open sexual gratification without memories of that night threatening to drag me under. Kingsley had taken perverse pleasure in sending me down here to check on his booming business following my assault. But with each passing day, my bruised, battered body healed, my heart iced over, and my resolve strengthened. I still hated coming down here, but it didn’t make me as uncomfortable as it once had. I trained relentlessly, I learned how to protect myself better, I studied weapons, and I gained muscle and a lithe form that allowed me to move faster. Eventually, I learned to fuck on my own terms, not somebody else’s. Not that it was a sport I partook in often; when I did, it was fast and furious, a sprint to the end. The moans that came from the writhing couples around me never spilled from my lips. They actually sounded as if they were enjoying the act.