Thrown to Wolves
1209 Words
As the crowd began to filter toward the exit, August stood up. He reached under the chair and pulled out a black designer bag.
He held it out to me.
"Change into this before we leave."
I froze, my hand hovering mid-air. I looked from the bag to his face, searching for the catch.
"I... I already have a dress," I stammered, thinking of Ashford’s midnight-blue silk.
"Consider it a reward," August said, his voice lacked its usual edge of ice.
"For giving me a helping hand. I don't like owing debts, even to you."
Beside him, Tricey stood. I could hear her teeth gritting together. To her, It was August publicly acknowledging that I had value.
"August, surely you aren't serious," she hissed, her voice trembling with suppressed fury.
"You’re rewarding her for a lucky guess?"
August didn't turn his head toward her.
"It wasn't a guess, Mother. It was an observation you were too blind to make."
I took the bag and retreated to the dressing room. Inside the bag was a coat of pure cashmere and a dress of understated, ethereal cream. It was soft, warm, and felt like a protective shell.
The ride home was different. August sat in the corner seat, his shadow long against the window.
"How did you know?" he asked suddenly.
I blinked, surprised by the genuine curiosity in his tone. "Know what?"
"The bronze. The Ru ware. Even the experts missed the dragon engraving. How did a girl who spent her life in the suburbs of a dying city develop an eye for Imperial artifacts?"
A small, genuine smile touched my lips. For the first time in front of him, I felt a spark of the girl I used to be.
"I’ve always loved to read," I said, my voice brightening, becoming more animated as I spoke.
"When Grandma was still healthy and I had my scholarship money, I didn't spend it on clothes or jewelry. I saved every cent. Every bit of my part-time pay went into books. I used to take the bus to every museum and historical site within a hundred miles. I’d spend hours just staring at the brush strokes or the way the clay was fired."
I leaned forward slightly to continue, the passion for my old life spilling out of me.
"I was actually lucky enough to meet someone back then. He saw me staring at a broken vase in a gallery for three hours and took pity on me. He taught me how to see the soul of an object, not just its surface. He taught me that the truth is always hidden in the defect."
I was lightened up, my words coming out in a rush of excitement. I was sharing a piece of my soul, forgetting for a moment that the man sitting across from me was the one who had made my life a living hell. I felt alive. I felt seen.
As I laughed at a memory of a failed restoration attempt, August’s expression underwent a terrifying transformation in a seconds. The intrigue vanished, replaced by a flash of agonizing recognition.
The air in the car turned to liquid nitrogen immediately.
"Stop the car," August barked, his voice felt like a blade.
Fanel glanced in the rearview mirror, startled.
"Sir? We’re in the middle of the bypass—"
"I said stop the car!" August roared.
The tires screeched as the vehicle pulled onto the dark road. August turned to me, his face twisted in disgust.
"Get out," he hissed.
My smile died instantly.
"August? What did I..."
"I told you to get out!" He reached across the seat, his hand gripping my arm with a force that made me gasp. He practically threw me toward the door.
"I can't stand to look at you. You sit there, mimicking her joy, wearing her grace like a costume. You are a murderer, Spring. A filth that shouldn't be allowed to breathe, let alone smile. Get. Out."
He shoved me out into the cold night. The door slammed. I stood on the road, my breath coming in ragged gasps, as the taillights of the car disappeared into the darkness.
The silence of the road was terrifying. It was nearly 2:00 AM. There were no streetlights here, only the skeletal shadows of trees and the biting wind that whipped through my cream-colored coat.
I started to walk, but I didn't even know which direction led back to the city.
A set of headlights appeared in the distance. Relief washed over me for a second, then turned to ice. It wasn't August coming back.
A rusted, silver sedan pulled over, the engine idling with a rough, predatory growl.
Four men stepped out. They were stumbling, the smell of cheap beer and stale smoke preceding them like a foul cloud.
"Well, well," one of them drawled, his eyes raking over my expensive coat.
"What’s a pretty little doll like you doing out here all by her lonesome?"
"Please," I whispered, backing away until my heels hit the grass at the edge of the road.
"I’m just trying to get home."
"We can give you a ride," another mocked, stepping closer. He reached out, his hand grabbing a lock of my hair.
"But a ride like that isn't free, is it, boys?"
"Leave me alone!" I screamed, turning to run.
But I was wearing heels, and the ground was uneven. One of them lunged, his arms lifting me off the ground.
I kicked and clawed, my nails catching the skin of his face, but he only laughed.
"She’s got spirit," he grunted, throwing me against the side of their car.
My head hit. I felt hands—too many hands—touching me inappropriately, pulling at the cream coat, their laughter ringing in my ears like the screams from the lake.
It was devastating. I felt like an object, a piece of trash to be used and discarded.
"Please... no..." I sobbed, my voice breaking.
"Help me!"
They shoved me into the back seat of the sedan. The door locked. One of them climbed in beside me, his weight pinning me down, his breath hot and putrid against my neck.
The car roared to life, turning down a narrow, abandoned dirt road that led away from the highway, toward the darkness of the woods.
I closed my eyes, the whirlpool in my head finally winning. I waited for the end.
Suddenly, the car lurched. The driver cursed, looking into the rearview mirror.
"Someone’s tailing us! Since when do the cops patrol this shithole?"
A black SUV roared behind them, filling the cabin with a white, heavenly light.
The thugs stopped the car, spilling out into the dirt, emboldened by their numbers and their intoxication.
"You want to play, asshole?" the leader yelled, pulling a tire iron rod from the trunk.
The door of the SUV opened. A man stepped out. Behind him, four men in black tactical gear moved like experts.
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- Writer
