Azrya hit the ground with a harsh thud as her captors dragged her back into the hut and tossed her to the ground like dead weight.
Angry shouting filled the air, and her breathing grew erratic as a wave of claustrophobia swept over her. Her sight was still shrouded by the rough sack they'd yanked over her head, the coarse fabric scraping against her skin.
She tried to steady herself—breathing slower, focusing on the sounds around her.
Suddenly, coarse, rough hands seized her, shaking her violently. The sack was ripped off her head, and she blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted from pitch black to the illuminating candlelight of the room.
"You've cost us a lot of trouble... and a hell of a lot of money, little missy," Thug 1 hissed.
Trying to save face and seem as calm and confident as possible, Azrya mockingly replied, "Glad I could be of service," with a smirk plastered on her face.
Before she could even process it, a heavy slap exploded across the left side of her face. Her cheek stung sharply, turning hot with pain.
"PLAYING SMART WITH US, YOU WHORE?!" shouted the second thug—the one she'd previously injured.
"Let's just kill her!" he barked furiously.
"Don't be stupid!" Thug 1 snapped. "We've already lost one girl. We can't afford to lose another!"
Azrya glared at them both, ignoring the pain in her cheek and pushing back the tears that threatened to wellup in her eyes.
She had almost forgotten about the third man—the one who had stood silently in the corner—until her eyes met his. He hadn't said a word, but the way he studied her sent chills crawling down her spine.
She quickly looked away.
Thug 1 began pacing in agitation.
"When the boss finds out what happened, we're finished. Forget punishment—he'll kill us. We need a plan, NOW!"
Then, with venom in his voice, Thug 2 snarled, "Let's just blame it all on her. That way the boss can direct his rage at the wench instead of—"
"QUIET!"
The third man's voice cut through the room like a blade.
"You idiots," he said slowly. "Take a good look at her. Don't you recognise this woman?"
Azrya's heart pounded hard in her chest. She held her breath, panic rising.
The two thugs glanced at each other in confusion.
"This 'wench,' as you so eloquently put it, is none other than Lady Halen. The same Lady Halen the boss tried to capture weeks ago—the one the rebels failed to bring in, and foolishly got themselves killed." He stepped forward now, eyes locked on her. "She's the last known descendant of the Argentum line. The silver hair. The mahogany skin. It's unmistakable."
Azrya flinched as though having being struck, terror-struck.
He let out a slow, devilish laugh.
"And now—" he said with relish, "—she's fallen straight into our hands. Didn't you say she was worth ten girls? That brat who got away doesn't matter anymore."
He stepped forward and yanked Azrya up by her hair, forcing her to her feet.
He then whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her skin, "The boss will be more than happy with this product." Then he tossed her back down to the ground.
"I don't give a damn who she is," Thug 2 growled. "The bitch cut me—so now I'm going to CUT HER!"
He lunged forward like a wild animal, grabbing Azrya by the collar of her dress and slamming her up against the wall. One calloused hand clamped around her throat.
"Since you cut me, it's only fair I return the favour. Isn't it?" he hissed, dragging his other hand down to her waist, fingers tugging violently at her dress.
Azrya thrashed, panic and fury intertwining—and then, instinctively, her knee shot upward, smashing into his already-injured groin with brutal force.
The man dropped immediately, doubled over in agony, letting out a strangled, pained howl as he clutched himself and sank to the ground.
Azrya panted, chest heaving. "Not so tough now, are you?" she spat.
The thug's face twisted into a mask of pure rage. He roared and made to lunge at her again, but the other two men sprang forward and restrained him, holding him back as he thrashed violently in their grip.
"LET ME GO! LET ME HAVE HER! I'LL KILL THE BITCH!" he screamed like a rabid beast.
"Calm yourself!" Thug 3 barked. "She's worth more to us alive. Untouched. If you lay another finger on her, it'll be our heads on the chopping block."
Slowly, the second thug relented, rage still seething in his blood. He stormed across the room, kicking a chair so hard it smashed into the wall, the noise making Azrya jump.
She slid down against the wall, terror flashing in her eyes, her body trembling no longer able to keep up the brave face.
"Tie her up," Thug 3 ordered coldly. "We leave now."
Thug 1 did as instructed. He retrieved something stashed in one of the cupboards, then bounded over to Azrya, gagged her tightly with a strip of cloth, ignoring her muffled protests. He then tied her wrists roughly with rope and shoved the sack back over her head.
Darkness again.
Moments later, she was hoisted up over someone's shoulder, kicking futilely and jostling with each heavy step. The air turned cool as they exited the hut, the night breeze brushing against her skin.
Then she was thrown into a wagon.
A sharp crack of a riding crop echoed through the night.
The cart lurched into motion.
Azrya lay helpless in the dark, her wrists bound, her hope slipping through her fingers. There was nothing she could do—nothing but close her eyes and pray that Akio would find her...
before it was too late.