I was raised to protect myself.

When the sheriff and Mattias leave, I make preparations to do just that. There are no weapons in the house, of course. No guns, but my father taught me to be resourceful. The sheriff used his fingers to take me to climax, but the cocks are coming. I have to be ready.

A vase next to the bed shatters when I push it over. Shards of ceramic cover the floor.

It takes a minute for Elias to run in, but in that minute, I have secreted the longest piece away in the bedding.

“What are you doing? Get away from that, you’ll cut yourself,” he chides me, swatting my butt to get me away from the broken bits. I let him shoo me away. I already have what I need.

Elias begins cleaning up, while I sit there on the bed and watch him, wondering why he does this. Why do any of these men allow the sheriff to rule over them? Don’t they also want to be free?

“What happened here?” Mattias asks the question as he enters the room.

“Vase fell over.”

He quirks a brow at me. “Vases don’t just fall over, Trissa.”

“This one did.”

“Mhm.” I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but that is fine. He thinks I pushed it over in a fit of anger. He doesn’t suspect what I have in mind. “You’re looking very defiant,” he notes.

I try to compose my features. I don’t want to give anything away. I am going to get revenge on the men who bought me. Those who buy flesh should be sent to hell. Those who use women to spawn new life, only to use it for their own ends should be sent there too.

“When are they going to come for me? The men who bought me, I mean?”

Mattias gives me a keen look. He is intelligent, I can sense that about him. And not just in a way that might make him good at reading books, or adding numbers together. He’s intelligent in the way he sees through a person.

“They will come soon,” he says. “They are all going to meet you later tonight. You will be provided a dress for the occasion. They will not touch you tonight,” he reassures me. “They wish to make your acquaintance.”

“Everyone touches me,” I say. “Since I was caught, I have been nothing but touched.”

“Tonight is a more elegant affair,” he says. “You will meet the men who own you. It will be an opportunity for them to get to know you, and to decide among themselves what the order of taking shall be.”

“The order of taking, you mean, who is going to breed me like an old house cow?”

“You’re a long way from a cow, young lady.”

Not that far. I am going to be used and fucked like an animal. I know it. They know it. No matter how they dress me up, it’s the same thing.

“I don’t want this.”

He gives me a look that might be sympathetic. “We are all prisoners in this world. But some prisoners have it better than others. You will be well cared for. The sheriff did not hurt you, did he? You seemed to enjoy his touch?”

Is that what I did? Enjoyed it? That doesn’t seem to be the right word. I came, yes, but enjoy...

“It felt good, but...”

“Let it feel good, Trissa. Don’t fight your instincts. This might not be fair, or what you wanted, but it is what life has in store for you. And it’s what you’re needed to do. There’s more to this than payment and men taking you. These men are the best of the best. You will bear strong, smart offspring with them. Your genes will help rebuild the world.”

“But seven... I mean... nine or more... with the sheriff and you and...”

“Not I,” Mattias corrects me.

“Not you?”

“Not I, and not Elias. Not ever.”

“Why not you?”

He gives me a look, one of those ones he gives me when I am saying something silly, but there is more to it. There is a sadness as well. His expression, usually so carefully managed, gives a hint of a pain I do not understand.

“Why are you and Elias allowed to be with me, when no other men are? Aren’t they worried you’ll take me too?”

“That can’t happen.”

“Why not?”

“That function was taken from us when we were chosen to serve in this capacity.”

I stare at him. “You mean you can’t...”

“We were captured in battle. We were spared death, but there is an implant that prevents us from...”

I can see it is hard and humiliating and awful for him to tell me this. I don’t need him to say all the words. I can join the dots. He is a strong, handsome man. He must have been an incredible fighter. This fate was chosen because it would destroy him. He would have all the beautiful women, but never be with any of them.

“That sick fucking parking warden,” I whisper under my breath.

“It is done,” he says. “There is no use in mourning it. Now we need to get you ready.” He raises his voice. “Elias! Where is that dress?”

Elias comes in, a slight frown on his face. “Easy, I was getting rid of those shards. They’re damn sharp.”

“She needs to be at the appearance soon.”

“Keep your hair on,” Elias mutters. “The dress is in the closet.”

They begin to prepare me, bickering slightly over this detail or that. I am silent, trying to stir my courage.

I was raised to believe only I have the right to determine who has my body, but that is an outdated concept. Post-Event women are not liberated like those of the past. They are not free to choose their partners. The world is too dark and too dangerous for that.

The dress they put me in is a red silk sheath. It looks beautiful, wrapped around me in such a glorious way. Elias works on my hair, teasing it into golden perfection while Mattias paints my nails with a color to match the dress.

When I finally look into a mirror, I hardly recognize myself. I am... a woman. I mean, I have always been a woman, but now I look like the ones in the faded pages from the pre-Event magazines. The dress drapes my body, falls across my curves. Makes me look luscious and sumptuous.

“Tip your head up,” Elias says gently.

I do as I am told and he applies red color to my lips with a steady hand. His touch is kind and I find myself wanting to turn my head toward it. The truth is, I have been starved for touch. I have been bereft of male attention, and some of it feels so good. Even what the sheriff did to me felt good. But how can I trust the pleasure in this world, when it is so inextricably linked to captivity?

“You look beautiful,” he says, his eyes lit with pleasure. “They’d hardly know you were wild, would they?”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll show them,” Mattias smirks.

I give him a dark look. They’re going to see how wild I am very soon.

“Let’s go, Trissa.”

“I need a moment to collect myself.”

They look at one another doubtfully.

“Please, just one moment. I need to breathe. Can you give me a second to myself?”

I expect Mattias to point out that I am breathing now, but to my surprise, he nods. Both he and Elias withdraw. I crouch down next to the bed and do something my father once taught me how to do a very long time ago.

I have been vulnerable. I will not be anymore.

* * *

Mattias and Elias walk me through the sheriff’s compound. I have seen parts of it already. It is grand in a way not many places still are. It is cleaner than the world outside the walls. It is maintained, gardens cultivated. It strikes me that there must be some kind of benefit to the crushing dominance the sheriff exerts over all those in his domain, and this is it.

I am used to dirt and broken things. I have never been anywhere clean or nice. I have never looked as I do now. But the cost of all this beauty is pain and suffering.

The closer we get to the grand building where the sheriff waits for me, the more nervous I become.

“Mattias?”

“Yes?”

“You shouldn’t take me to them,” I suggest hopefully. “You should take me and keep me for yourselves.”

Mattias and Elias exchange looks over my head. I see a hint of sadness and resignation, and perhaps frustration, though I don’t know if that is at me, or the situation they find themselves in.

I tug at Mattias’ robe, trying to get his attention, trying to show him how serious I am. Mattias makes my heart race. He is handsome and kind, he is caring and he is strong. He knows how to look after me. I could live with him and Elias, being theirs. We could be happy.

“Trissa, we don’t have time for this.”

“I don’t want to be sold!” My words are a whine.

“Very few people get what they want in this world,” Mattias says, turning and bending down, his big hands on my shoulders. “We take what we must.”

I bite my lower lip to keep from angrily lashing out at him. I know that’s not true. I was free once, not that long ago. I remember what it is for my life to be my own.

“Come here,” Mattias says, his hand slipping from my shoulder to my hand. “I want you to see something.”

He walks me away from the pretty gardens and the polished paths. He takes me away from the civilization of the city, and he walks me past guards until we reach a concrete wall.

“I’m going to show you something,” he says. “It is not a pleasant sight. It will upset you. But you have to understand, Trissa. You have been sheltered from the world. You don’t understand what it is, or what you must be to survive it.”

With that, he bends down and scoops me up onto his shoulders, picking me up so high it feels I can see everything. For a brief moment, I feel an innocent excitement, but as my head is hoisted above the wall that fades immediately. I smell it first. Rotten flesh, like carrion but far stronger. I cover my mouth with my hand as I look out and see a dark expanse that has been sectioned off from the city. A killing field.

There are dead men everywhere. Not lying dead after battle, but clearly put to death there, every one of them dispatched in a manner more horrific than the next. I see corpses in cages, flesh melting from their bones, gnawed by vermin that race and hop from place to place.

“Put me down!” I shriek, having seen too much in a matter of seconds. “Mattias!”

He hauls me down, out of the sight of the horrors beyond, and he lets me hide against his robes, his big arms wrapping around me to hold me close and comfort me after the horrors I have just borne witness to.

“What happened?” I gasp, nearly retching with fear and disgust. “Why are they like that?”

“Some of those were our comrades. Some of them are criminals. Some of them are simply unlucky. A man’s life is worth nothing,” Mattias explains gently. “It can be gone in an instant and nobody will mourn him. Be glad you are a woman. Be glad that there are men who will do anything to have you. Their desire comes at the risk of what you have just seen. You have no idea how precious you are.”

His words hold weight and deep emotion that breaks through my shock at the field of death. I understand what he is telling me: I am alive only because I am female, and what happens to me next may not be what I want, but I am not going to meet the end like those unfortunate men did, sacrificed to a vicious blood fetish.

“I am going to take you to those who bought you,” Mattias says. “And you will service them. It will be pleasure for you, and them. It will be one good thing in a world of terrible things. And it will bring life, not death. Do you understand now?”

I nod mutely. I don’t understand. Not really. I don’t understand why men are so cruel to each other. I don’t understand why they have to inflict so much pain. Men are strange creatures, and I am afraid of them.

My fear doesn’t matter. Mattias and Elias take me back to the grand civilized areas, fussing over the details of my hair and my dress all the way to a pair of large doors.

“This is the chamber where you will meet your mates,” Mattias says. “Try to stay silent unless you are spoken to. Keep your manners. They will not be amused by your rudeness. You do not want to make the sheriff look bad tonight. Your punishment will be exceedingly painful if you do.”

I am taken into a room where seven men stand in a receiving line, waiting for me like they might wait for a monarch.

I expected... I don’t know what I expected. Ruthless brutes and slimy politicians. I expected roughness. I expected terrible things. Gross words and unseemly gropes. But they do not rush for me as the men in the market did. And they do not grasp at me as the sheriff has done.

They stand there as if I am someone to be honored. They look at me with respect. I can feel it emanating from them. They are powerful in body, and I sense, in spirit, each one of them different from the next, but I sense a kinship between them all.

They are handsome, and if I am not very much mistaken, they are mercenaries, just as well dressed for this occasion as I am, and just as uncomfortable in their fine clothing, though at least they are armored. All men of war must be, but their armor gleams and shines. I can imagine that they are here to save me. That I am being rescued. I can feel hope lifting in my chest.

The sheriff is standing on a raised dais, smirking over us all. The moment he speaks, the spell is broken.

“These seven pooled their money for you,” the sheriff laughs. “They went in on you together like boys going in for the newest toy. You will serve them all, girl, spread your legs for each of them until your belly swells with their seed. And you will do it again, and again, until you can do it no more.”

My stomach churns at the idea. The men I am meeting are hard to read. I get the sense that they do not like the sheriff. I can’t imagine anyone does. He rules this part of the world like a mad king, taking what he wants, doing what he wants.

It is hard to take the men in, truly notice each of their different appearances, because Mattias and Elias have stepped away from me and the sheriff comes down from the dais. He takes me by the waist. His arm slips down. His hand cups my rear and he guides me forward.

“I tested her myself,” he says. “No damage to the merchandise, but I assure you, gentlemen, she is ripe for any handling you might have in store for her. No need to be gentle.”

I am horrified by the vile man’s words, so much so that I barely look at the seven men he is giving me to. I can feel their gazes on me, but I am too busy seething with hatred for this man. He took me. He sold me. And he hurt Mattias and Elias. I don’t know why that bothers me as much as it does, perhaps because of the perverse cruelty of it. What I just saw beyond the wall must be his doing too. It is suddenly clear to me that all of this is calculated to be as humiliating and painful as possible. He is a sadist. He is a broken man. And he owns me.

The sheriff draws me up to the dais, facing the men.

“Pleased with your purchase, gentlemen?”

Whatever reaction he was expecting, he doesn’t seem to have gotten it. The men look at me, but there is surprisingly little lechery in their gazes. Most men in this world go feral for a woman, but these men seem to be more sated. Likely they already own several women already. I start to realize they don’t need me. Don’t want me. They’ve taken me because they could.

I hate every single man in this room. I hate the sheriff for selling me. I hate these buyers for buying me. Mattias and Elias have not fought for me. They are neutered, letting me be taken, working for the evil that is putting me in this situation. I am surrounded by men, but I am alone. The sheriff found me backed into barrels of beer, but I am more trapped now than I was then.

The sheriff stands beside me and squeezes my breast, his hand rough and hard enough to make me cry out in complaint.

“This is what you bought to breed, boys. This is the vessel that will carry your seed. She’s ready for it, I promise you that. A wet little fuck toy ready for the taking.”

These men can’t want to see me handled by him this way. But they don’t seem to object. The sheriff has every single man in his realm cuckolded. They bought me, but he is touching me. My father told me of how in the pre-Event times, people would go to restaurants, where they could order any food they want. What this sheriff is doing is like a waiter bringing food to the table, then eating it himself.

“Let’s get this dress off. Show the men what they own.”

I draw away and speak my first words. “They said nobody would touch me!”

“Get the dress off, girl.” His eyes narrow to two angry slits. He is disgusting. Vile. I hate this man. I hate him for what he did to me. I hate him because his rescue was not a rescue at all. It was just opportunistic. I hate him because he frightens me, because he is cruel, and because I am not a person to him. I am meat and money and nothing more.

He reaches for the clasp of the dress—and I act.

He has forced my hand. I would never have done this if he had just left me alone. Even if he had allowed me the mercy of clothing all would have been well. But he tried to take the very last vestiges of my self-respect. He tried to turn me into a toy to be used at his command, and he has not earned that right.

I pull the vase shard from the inner fold. It is no longer merely a piece of broken ceramic. It has been wrapped with fabric cut from the bedsheets in the few minutes I had to myself. My father taught me how to craft knives from practically every substance there is. He taught me how to protect myself, how to survive. And he taught me how to kill.

The ceramic sweeps through the air and finds his throat.

It is over very, very quickly.

I have never taken a blade to a man before, but I know where the arteries are, and it is not so different from killing a wild pig. I know to follow the prey down and ensure that both sides are cut. I know how to take life quickly, cleanly, and without remorse. This is too harsh an existence to feel pity for those who must die.

The sheriff bleeds out in a matter of seconds, his body at my feet, his blood crimson like my dress. I am surrounded by a sanguine pool, holding the once pristine ceramic knife, now tainted with his blood.

I look up to the warriors who thought they bought my flesh. They will kill me now, but I am ready for death, and I will take more than one of them with me if I have to.

They stare at what was the sheriff. At me. And then at each other.

Everything is still. I expected cries of rage, an attack to avenge his death, but it would seem nobody is angered by the loss of the man at my feet.

I am surrounded, not so much by anger or even shock, but by pure surprise.

The one in the center, the tallest one, comes toward me. He takes a single step. I draw back, the hem of my skirt dragging blood along with it.

“Stay back!”

I shriek the words, brandishing the blade. He doesn’t even look at it. He looks at me. In his gaze, I am held. It is as though I am falling into deep brown eyes, touched with just enough light to make them gleam amber. There is a kindness and a strength in that hard face partially marked with angular tattoos that run along the lines of his jaw on the left side. There are scars too. He has been cut before. Survived before.

The sheriff twitches at my feet, distracts me for a moment. There’s no life left in him, but his body doesn’t know that completely yet. I glance down, see his face ashen and pale. Suddenly, I want to be ill.

“Trissa, look at me.” The mercenary in front of me draws my attention back to him, and the nausea fades. “It’s okay,” he says, his deep voice reassuring.

But it’s not okay. I just killed a man in front of a pack of professional killers. Now they will kill me. That is natural justice. I deserve it, probably.

I pull the knife back, away from his outstretched hand.

I managed to kill the sheriff because I had the advantage of surprise. I do not have that advantage with these other men. They are trained in the arts of war, every one of them has a bearing that speaks to discipline and pain. My father taught me to protect myself, but not against odds like these. I am lost. I know that now. There is some temptation to give into it, to let them take me, but I resist that call to death.

“Easy,” he murmurs. His voice is so deep I feel as though it is vibrating the very floor beneath my feet. His shoulders are broad beneath the green snake tongue armor he wears, a thousand little y tongue plates folded neatly together to create a shirt that would be impenetrable to my makeshift knife.

That sort of equipment costs a lot of money. He must be very rich. They all must be. They bought me, after all.

It is that thought that makes it impossible for me to imagine any kindness. It would be better if he killed me. Then this would be over. I am wretched with fear as he comes on toward me, taking another step, closing the distance between us as I weigh whether I have the courage to try to take another life.

And then two strong hands come down on my shoulders.

I scream and whip around, the knife poised to strike.

It is Mattias.

Mattias. I had forgotten about him and Elias entirely, but they have been behind me the whole time.

A large hand wraps around my wrist from behind. I start to scream as the knife is plucked from my hand.

“Easy, girl. Easy. Easy. Easssssyyy...” the warrior behind me soothes me. It doesn’t work. I am staring into Mattias’ face. I can’t read his expression. But he is holding me there, letting the man who owns me take hold of me too. He is keeping me caught.

“Let me go!”

I scream the words, but nobody obeys them. More hands come. More men join in to restrain me. I start to flail, to kick, to fight for all I am worth, but there are too many of them, and they are all too strong for me. Any one of them alone could overcome me. Together, they are an overwhelming force. They carry me away from the body, out of the room. They take me god knows where to do god knows what.

“Mattias! Don’t let them take me!”

Crying out for Mattias does nothing. I can’t tell if he’s with them or not, or if they pushed him away. I can’t tell what’s happening because I’m panicking to the point I don’t understand anything besides my own fear.

In the marketplace, men came for me, but they never got hold of me. And they were just common men. Now I am held by high-ranking warriors who just saw me kill a man. Whatever they do to me will destroy me, of that I am sure.

“Put her down.”

The one who came toward me first, the one with the tattoos, gives the order.

The others follow it. I am lowered onto what feels like a couch. I can’t see below me. I can’t see anything other than male flesh wrapped around me, holding me down, keeping me in place.

I can’t even fight for my freedom. That doesn’t stop me from panicking. Though I can barely move, I struggle with my fingertips, my toes. My heart is pounding and my breath is coming so fast I am flooded with oxygen, dizzy with fear.

Silver eyes appear in front of my face. One of the men has come forward among the others. He has braided blond hair that reaches down to his shoulders. His neck is marked with tattooed script, a verse written in black and red ink.

“Breathe,” he says, in low resonant tones. “Just breathe. Deep breaths. In and out.”

“Let me go!”

“Settle,” he insists. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“Then let me go!”

“You just killed a man. There is no way we’re letting you go.”

“Kill me now! I won’t be prisoner!”

“Feisty,” someone intones in a curious accent.

“Very,” Silver Eyes agrees. He has a calm way about him. They all do. Not one of them seems surprised or upset by what I just did. A man is dead by my hand, and they don’t care.

“Nobody is going to kill you, girl,” Silver Eyes reassures me. “You’re safe with us.”

That’s a lie. I’m not safe anywhere. I haven’t been safe since the day I was born. No woman anywhere on Earth has been safe in decades.

I stare at him ferociously, baring my teeth so they all know this fight is not over. Their lies mean nothing to me. They came to buy a girl today. They are not the heroes. There are no heroes.

“Let me go,” I repeat in a snarl as I look around at their faces. They have very little in common, any of them. They seem to have been drawn from all over the world. We are all a mixture of genetics, survivors of the global pandemic.

There is a tall Nordic-looking man, then a darker skinned man with elegant features who reminds me of a pharaoh. He is holding my left leg down, and if I could, I’d kick him right in his gorgeous face. Tattoo Face has the heavyset build of a warrior or a wrestler. I can see the influence of the Southern Isles in him. Then there is another one, whose deep-set eyes and Roman nose put me fully in mind of a gladiator. His hair is thick and dark and curls ever so slightly. Put a robe and a wreath on his head and he could be Julius Caesar. Next to him is a man with brownish gold stubble, a square jaw, steely narrow eyes. Cowboy. The word pops into my head. He looks exactly like the pictures of cowboys I saw on the old novels my father used to read.

I am starting to calm down now, only because there is no option but to calm down. I don’t know these men. I definitely don’t trust them, but my body only has so much adrenaline. It has been coursing through my veins since I lifted the blade, and now it is seeping away, leaving me weak and tingling.

The fear is still there, but it’s impotent. And there’s a new feeling, one I know I shouldn’t allow myself to have for a second: guilt.

I took a life, and that is wrong, I know that. But what was done to me was wrong, and what will still happen to me is just as wrong. I will not feel guilty for this. I will not. I will not be sorry. I will not apologize. No matter what they do to me.

“What is this?”

A shout from the room we just left announces the onset of more chaos. The sheriff’s guard has found what remains of the sheriff and is about to raise the alarm. In an instant, five of the seven men holding me rush from my side and make their way to the guard. I am left with Silver Eyes and Cowboy, who swiftly prove that they can hold me down on their own just as easily as seven men can.

“Will you lose your life for a dead man?” I hear strong, definite tones. Is that Tattoo Face talking? It’s hard to tell, but I recognize the way he is speaking. It is the authoritative speech of a leader, and it is what calmed me down somewhat. Maybe it will calm the guard as well.

“Murderers!” The guard’s voice quivers.

“No, this seat is decided by blood. His is already shed. Will yours be too?”

I hear stammering, but no words. I bet there’s not one soldier in the sheriff’s employ who ever expected to find him dead like this. He was too much of an asshole. Truly evil men never really seem to die.

“We have taken control of Dallas,” Tattoo Face says. “Call your captains and have them report here. And do it now. Any attempt to overcome us will end badly, I promise you that.”

I don’t hear what happens next. A few seconds later, the five men return. This time, I am not the center of attention.

“Alright. This is an opportunity.”

Nordic Man speaks. He has bright blue eyes and the kind of blond hair that only men seem to ever have, the thick, shaggy kind that has to be cut into submission.

He isn’t talking to me. He’s talking to the others.

They don’t say much in return, but I can see agreement in their eyes.

“Zen?” The Nordic man addresses the man who has been holding onto my right arm. He is an intense-looking man, not as old as some of the others, or as large, but his olive musculature ripples with every motion he makes. He has green eyes and brown hair, and unlike the rest of the group, he is the only one I can’t see visible tattoos on.

“Tie her up,” Tattoo Face says. “Before we talk about this.”

“No!”

“And gag her. We’ll calm her down later, but for now we need her secure.”

The Nordic-looking man produces plastic ties from a pocket. Fuck this. Fuck them. Fuck everything that is happening. I start to fight again for all I am worth, biting and twisting and screaming for help I know won’t come. The last man who saved me from anything just bled out on the floor.

They pin me back down, all those hands making movement impossible again.

“She’s trouble,” Silver Eyes smirks down at me. I get the impression he doesn’t mind that so much.

“Listen to me, girl,” Tattoo Face says very, very seriously. His voice comes in a gravelly growl that makes my stomach quiver, and his expression is so completely serious I suddenly feel the full effect of how much trouble I am in. “We are going to keep you safe, but if you act out, I’ll have you thrashed. I have no time for an undisciplined female.”

“You call this keeping me safe? Tying me up, dragging me around?”

While Tattoo Face speaks, Nordic Man is drawing my arms behind my back and securing them in place with the plastic straps. I scream my hatred and my fear and anger at them, but they all ignore me.

Tattoo Face starts telling the others what to do.

Silver Eyes and Pharaoh are stationed by the door. Gladiator picks me up over his shoulder and moves me to the corner of the room, then starts stacking furniture around me. I’m being barricaded in, and not a moment too soon, because the sheriff’s guard have come to the aid of a corpse, and are apparently not going to heed Tattoo Face’s wise advice.

There is chaos in the next room over. I can’t see it, but I can hear it. The sounds of battle are much worse than the sounds of normal death. The kills are not as clean. There is screaming and gurgling and nastiness I wish I could close my ears to, but my hands are behind my back and I am forced to lie there and listen to men unleashing their brutality on other men until in the end there is silence.

Total silence.

I hear nothing.

There is a ringing in my ears, a panic that threatens to overwhelm me. I don’t know who won that exchange. If it was the mercenaries, then they will be back for me. And if it was the sheriff’s guard, then they will find me eventually and my fate will be worse.

I try to wriggle out of the bindings on my wrists, but they’re impenetrable. It’s going to take something sharp to snap them off. They left my legs untied, so I push up to my feet and start trying to climb over the barricade without my arms. It is awkward and ultimately, impossible.

“Stay there, girl!” It’s Tattoo Face. He’s back. The others are behind him. Nordic Man, Zen, Gladiator, Pharaoh, Cowboy, Mattias, and Elias return to me and pull the barricades away.

I face them, nine men, covered in blood. Nine men who just forged their fates together in battle. Mattias and Elias must have been part of the fray. There is blood all over their once pristine robes. Though they wore no armor, they seem not to have been damaged at all. It is a relief to see them. Nine men... no, eight. There is one missing.

“Where is Silver Eyes?” The question slips out before I can bite it back. I don’t want them thinking I care. There is no reason for me to care. I don’t know them. They are nothing but more brutes in a long line of brutes who have sought to take advantage of me.

The question is followed by a chuckle as the man I asked after walks into the room behind them. He has washed his hands of blood, but it doesn’t make him look clean, because it only means that the blood is gone from his hands. He wears sanguine gauntlets up his arms.

“Worried for me?” He flickers a wink, which makes me quiver.

I have no reason to worry for any of them. I am sure now they have killed the sheriff’s guard, they will take me as they always intended to. But I am relieved to see him alive. There is some little spark of hope in me that dares believe this might be a rescue—but I know it can’t be. These men lined up to buy me. That is not the action of good men.

“She calls him silver eyes,” Gladiator smiles. “Have you named us all, little one?”

“...maybe.”

“Tell us what they are.”

“Untie me first.”

“You killed a man today. You’ll be lucky to ever be untied,” Cowboy drawls. I knew it. He’s from around here. Native to these parts. He speaks the way I do, while the rest of them have various accents. They must have come a very, very long way to claim me.

“You all just killed a lot more men than I did! Nobody tied you up!”

“She’s got a point,” Zen says. “And if the nine of us can’t handle one frightened girl, I think we have a problem.”

He comes over to me, walks behind me, and I feel the plastic being snapped free from my wrists. Free at last to use my hands, I draw them up around myself, protecting my body from these big, brutal men.

“Now,” Gladiator says. “The names. I need amusement after battle.”

I give a shrug, and start going down the line, starting with Cowboy, who smirks at his name. Pharaoh seems pleased with his, as does Gladiator. Nordic Man seems a little nonplussed and tells me his name is Tore. Tattoo Face gets a laugh from all the men, including Tattoo Face himself.

“My name is Keanau,” he rumbles. “But you will call me sir.”

“No, I fucking won’t.”

He lifts a brow and I reconsider that decision a little, but hold my ground.

“She’s disrespectful,” Tore says. “Needs discipline.”

“She just has high spirits. She’s brave,” Gladiator cuts in.

“Oh, she needs discipline,” Keanau growls.

“But not now. Now, she needs rest.”

It is Mattias who speaks. His words, calm and certain, cut through the growing tension and surprise everyone.

“Come here, Trissa,” he says, offering me his hand. “I am going to give you a bath, and some food.”

I take his hand. He’s not a friend, but he is the most familiar.

“Are we going to let him just take our spoils?” Pharaoh questions.

“Those two are cut. They won’t do a thing. Let them take her,” Tore says. “We don’t need a squealing woman interfering in the conversation anyway.”

My temper flares. They may be men, may be warriors, may just have defeated a small army of the sheriff’s most loyal men, but I am the one who drew first blood. I shoot a vicious look at Tore, thinking brutal thoughts. There has been much blood today, but maybe there should be more.

“Oh, she doesn’t like that!” Silver Eyes smiles. He has a way about him I do like. He is calm and he has the kind of authority that doesn’t need to be yelled at people.

“I don’t like that,” I agree. “And I don’t like you.” I’m looking at Tore, but I am speaking to the group of them. “I’m not for sale, and anyone who tries to treat me the way that leaking bag of guts did, will end up the same way.”

The threat elicits varied reactions. Pharaoh laughs, but it is a scornful one. Gladiator and Silver Eyes seem to be genuinely amused by my statement. Zen and Cowboy and Keanau appear to be taking it more seriously. Tore gives me a piercing blue stare.

“You’re going to be tamed,” he tells me. “There are seven of us here to do it, and don’t think you’re ever going to get away with anything like that again.”

“Nine of us,” Mattias says, squeezing my hand.

“You have paid nothing for her.”

“Oh, Elias and I have paid plenty,” Mattias disagrees. “I have handled her. I have a connection to her. I...”

“You let her bring a ceramic knife in here and slit the sheriff’s throat. For all we know, you set her up to murder the man.”

“No, I did that all on my own,” I exclaim. “Mattias and Elias had no idea what I was doing, and neither will any of you. I will not be an owned woman. I was not made for that. If you try to turn me back into a slave, I will go through you. I will never rest. I will never sleep. I will find a way to kill every single one of you...”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Mattias says, drawing me against his body, turning me around, and wrapping me in a hug from behind. “Settle down, nobody is going to hurt you.”

“Oh, I’m going to hurt that little ass,” Keanau growls.

“She dares threaten us?” Pharaoh booms. “She will learn not to do that.”

“She will,” Mattias agrees. “But she will learn better after she has been bathed, and fed, and slept.”

“Let them take care of her,” Silver Eyes says. “We have much to discuss, and she needs to be cared for.”

I like him. He is not threatened by me. None of them are, probably, but some seem to take my threats more personally than others. I don’t know whether it is better to be taken seriously and make a warrior angry, or be laughed at.

It doesn’t matter. Mattias and Elias are taking me away from the warriors. They lead me through the sheriff’s rooms to a bathing chamber that must have once belonged to the sheriff, and they run a bath without hardly a word to me, cleaning themselves off with a little soap and water first to stop the water from being contaminated with the blood of their foes.

In the end, they strip down to the waist, tying the arms of their robes around their hips, exposing the muscular plane of abdomen and torso. I try not to look, but I can’t help it. Whatever implant they have does not affect the masculinity of their bodies. They are sculpted, planes of muscle elegantly flowing from one into the other, abdominals rippling like the washboard I used to use in the river, their chests so broad and so powerful, utterly hairless and smooth.

It’s not lust I feel right now. I am too tired, too disturbed for that. Right now, it’s awe and appreciation at just how handsome they are. Two perfect works of art drawing a bath for me, the murderess.

That is what I am now. I have taken life. I will never be able to take that back. It will stain whichever part of my soul used to be clear. But I will not regret it, and I will never apologize for it.

“Get in,” Mattias says when the bath is ready.

I am surprised by their lack of comment as to the events of the day.

“Are you angry at me?”

Mattias and Elias exchange looks.

“Angry? No,” Mattias says. “Worried, yes.”

“Why? I thought you, of all people, would be happy at what I did today. I got vengeance. For me, and for all of us. You’re free now!”

“We are no more free than we were, and nor are you,” Mattias says. “Get in the bath before it goes cold.”

I find myself pouting. What I did to the sheriff was shocking, even to myself. It was monumental. People have been wanting that asshole dead for more than a decade, and I did it. But nobody around me seems to be impressed, much less appreciative. A monster is dead. It has to be a good thing.

For once, I don’t argue with them. I do want a bath. More than that, I want to be cared for. I want to feel... I don’t know. What is it I want? Approval, forgiveness, praise?

I shed the red dress now crimson with drying blood and I step into the bath. Mattias and Elias kneel on either side and wash me, saying calm little words and soothing phrases.

“There there, raise your arms, that’s right...”

“Good girl, lie back...”

“Close your eyes, I don’t want to get water in them...”

Totally pedestrian phrases uttered in low masculine tones settle my nerves. The warm water washes away the blood, and slowly helps the aches and tightness in my muscles fade away too. I lie back, naked and let Mattias and Elias rub me down, their big hands soothing my stress.

What have I done? What have I become? And what will become of me? There are so many questions, each larger than the last, but for the moment, I don’t need to answer any of them.

I let my eyes close. I let them take care of me. I sleep.