Dixie lay alone on the floor of the black room. Her dark eyes stared fixedly at the ceiling, unnaturally bright in the lightless void.
The room was narrow, suffocating. Not a sliver of light, not a window. When the door slammed shut, the stench of dried blood and rust choked the air.
This was Burman Bar's punishment. Darkness and silence, weapons designed to maximize terror.
Effective on killers and desperados.
Time lost meaning. Finally, footsteps approached outside.
Dixie's eyes flickered.
Male voices, loud with coarse laughter and conversation, drifted through the door. Unfamiliar language. Definitely not Rex.
Dixie sat up instantly, gaze burning towards the small iron door in the blackness.
The men lingered outside, swapping vulgar jokes.
Dixie held her breath. Her spine went rigid as a feral kitten sensing danger.
Clink. Rattle.
Keys scraped in the lock. The door swung open.
Blinding light hit Dixie's face. Her dark-adapted pupils contracted violently. Sight vanished. She flinched, squinting, scrambling backward.
Harsh, chaotic footsteps invaded. A hand grabbed her collar, yanking her upright. Her head cracked against the floor. Thud!
A powerful flashlight beam landed beside her face. The overwhelming scent of male sweat and cheap tobacco flooded her nostrils.
Weight pressed down on her hips. Dixie's eyes flew wide. She struggled frantically. Tears welled, stung by the glare.
Through blurred vision, a shape loomed closer. Dixie swung her arm. Her fist connected solidly with a jaw.
Oof!
"Sh*t!! D*mn it!!"
A slap exploded against her face. Her head cracked against concrete again. Pain seared her scalp as fingers knotted in her hair, pinning her skull to the floor.
Her wrists were seized, crushed together in an iron grip. Bones ground together. Crack.
Dixie pressed her bleeding lips tight. Silence. Her ears rang.
Her dark eyes locked onto the man straddling her.
"D*mn it! Staring at me, b*tch?!"
Another slap rocked her head.
Hands forced her head back by the hair. She heard a zipper rasp above her.
Three men filled the cramped space. One crouched at her head, gripping her hair. One stood behind the blinding flashlight beam, just a dark silhouette. The third pinned her down, one hand crushing both her wrists.
The man on top was huge, thickly muscled beneath a garish, too-tight suit jacket.
Dixie's eyes darted. Beside the flashlight beam: expensive leather shoes. A discarded alligator-skin belt lay crumpled on the floor.
Bar regulars. They'd heard whispers about "fresh meat" locked in the black room. Borrowed a key, probably from a distracted enforcer, for a taste.
Common enough in Burman. The enforcers usually looked the other way.
The "princes" and "princesses" rarely fought back. Rarely got killed. Just… played with.
"Told you this runt's vicious, man. Sure you can handle it?"
"Bullsh*t! I've handled Melissa herself!"
The other two laughed. Cruel. Aggressive.
"Hey, runt." The big man leaned close, grinning savagely.
Dixie's lashes barely flickered.
"Play nice now. Makes it easier." His tobacco-tainted breath washed over her face. His free hand yanked at her shirt collar.
Dixie stayed silent. As his fingers tightened on the fabric, ready to rip, her dark eyes blinked. Her lips parted.
"Okay."
Soft. Clear.
"…"
The man paused. A cruel grin spread. "Oho? Smart girl. What'd they lock you up for?"
"…" Dixie didn't answer. She hunched her shoulders, eyes downcast. Her wrists trembled. "…Hurts…"
The man glanced at his friends. Seeing her muscles relax, the one holding her hair released his grip.
The big man's crushing hold on her wrists slackened.
In that split second, Dixie exploded upward. Cold fury ignited in her dark eyes. She seized his lapels and slammed her forehead into his face.
CRUNCH!
A howl of pain. Blood spurted from his nose. Dixie bucked her hips, throwing him off balance. She scrambled to her feet, bolting for the door.
Stunned by the sudden violence, the other two snapped into action. A scar-faced man cursed, lunging. He grabbed the back of her collar, hauling her bodily off the ground.
Unlike with Rex, Dixie fought like a wildcat. Her collar ripped. *Rrrrip!*
"Sh*t!" The scarred man grabbed her arm. He swung her like a sack of grain, slamming her down onto the concrete.
Thud!
"Cough…"
Agony shot through her right ribs. She curled into a tight ball.
"F*ck!! D*mn it!! Beat her to death!!" The big man scrambled up, nose streaming blood, face crimson with rage.
The third man spat, snarling curses. He wrenched a thick iron bar from a pile of scrap metal in the corner.
CLANG!
He slammed the bar against the metal pile. The sickening vibration echoed.
Dixie's dark eyes reflected the three-finger-thick iron bar. She pressed her lips tight, surged up from the floor, and made another desperate dash for the door.
She didn't get two steps.
The iron bar, swung with killing force, cracked across her back.
Dixie's eyes flew wide. She crashed face-first onto the floor.
The bar's sharp edge tore through skin. Blood soaked her dirty shirt instantly.
"Sh*t!! D*mn mutt!! Still tryin' to run?!"
Another blow landed on her side. Dixie curled tighter, arms wrapped over her head, lips sealed.
The bar fell again and again. Crude curses punctuated each strike against her ribs, spine, thighs. Dixie clenched her jaw, body trembling violently with each impact.
Finally, she lay still. Like a broken animal. No more tremors.
Her protective arms slid limply to the floor. Matted black hair covered most of her face. The man swung the bar one more time. It landed with a dull thud. She didn't move.
"Sh*t," the man breathed, tossing the bar aside with a clatter. He flexed his wrist. "Little b*tch's got hard bones."
As he spoke, his companions' eyes widened in disbelief. They shouted a warning.
He turned.
Blood-smeared face. Dark eyes blazing with cold, focused rage.
Legend said wolves played dead when trapped. Waited for the hunter to lower his guard, ready to skin them. Then sprang up, vanishing under his nose.
Blood sprayed from the man's shoulder. The sharpened end of the iron bar was buried there.
The other two froze, stunned by the sudden gush. By the time they reacted, the iron door crashed open. Dixie was gone.
…
Rex surveyed the trashed room, jaw clenched. Arms crossed, fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against his bicep.
Sherry's expression wasn't much better. Her pale green eyes narrowed to slits, like a snow leopard coiled to strike.
"You find Dixie," Sherry said, plucking the forgotten key from the lock. She held it up, then pocketed it. "I'll handle them."
Rex gave a curt nod, face stormy, and strode out.
A trail of blood droplets led from the black room, turning down a narrow side corridor.
Rex rounded the corner, nearly colliding with a figure rushing towards him.
"Will?" Rex stepped back, ice-blue eyes narrowing.
"Was lookin' for you, Rex! Blood!" Will gasped, pointing down the corridor to a bloody handprint smeared on a window ledge.
"…" Rex stalked over. A small, distinct handprint marked the dusty ledge.
"She jump?" Will peered out the open window at the razor wire below. His face paled. "That'd be suicide…"
Rex's arms remained crossed. He tapped his elbow, silent.
"Seriously, which 'princess' did this? So much blood?" Will frowned.
Rex's icy gaze flicked to him. "Your stray. Dixie."
"Dixie?!" Will's eyes widened. "That runt?!"
Rex ignored him. His eyes shifted to a rickety ladder bolted to the wall. It led to the attic – cramped, unused, forgotten.
Rex pressed his tongue against his cheek. He started climbing.
"Wait… Rex! You think Dixie's up there?"
Will called out. Rex didn't pause. Will cursed and scrambled up after him.
Dust motes swirled in the beam of Rex's flashlight as he reached the top. He flicked the switch. A single bare bulb flickered on.
The attic was empty. Starkly, obviously empty. Not even a box to hide behind.
"Hey Rex, Dixie's gone?" Will puffed, waving dust away.
Rex didn't answer. His gaze fixed on a smudged, partial handprint on the grimy wall.
She was here.
Will saw it too. He looked back at the empty room, eyes widening.
Rex took a few steps, stopping before an electrical panel.
The panel was half a man's height. Inside: nothing but wires.
Only a lunatic would hide there.
"This…" Will felt absurd. "You crazy, Rex…?"
Rex ignored him. His fingers found the latch. He pried it open.
Click.
Will's breath caught.
Behind the dense tangle of wires, Dixie lay curled. Eyes closed. Face, nose, forehead – caked in dried blood and grime. Head lolled unnaturally on her shoulder. Upside down.
Like a dead fledgling.
Will's heart hammered against his ribs.
He watched, voice quivering, as Rex reached into the mass of wires towards Dixie's still form. "You'll get shocked…"
Two lunatics… Lunatics!
Rex paid no heed. His ice-blue eyes held the cold focus of a killer. He cradled Dixie's limp head, carefully disentangling her body from the wires, handling her like shattered porcelain.
Finally, she lay cradled in his arms.
Will exhaled shakily. He tentatively pressed fingers to Dixie's neck.
A pulse. Faint. Thready. But there.
He slumped with relief. "Why's she so cold?"
"…" Rex held up his bloodstained hand. "Severe blood loss."
He ran his hands gently over her ribs. His expression darkened. "Fractured one."
"Those bastards!" Will hissed, lifting the torn edge of her shirt. "What'd they hit her with?"
He froze.
A horrifying mosaic of deep purple and angry green bruises covered her back and sides.
Will's hand trembled on the fabric. He looked helplessly at Rex.
Rex ground his teeth. His eyes were fathomless, icy. Deep within the ice-blue, something dangerous flickered. The madness that earned him his name. Madman.