Page 76 of Rescuing Rebel
Rebel.
She stands apart from the others, dressed impeccably in a red silk dress that clings to her curves and shimmers with a life of its own. Her hair is a cascade of fiery waves, her makeup flawless, her stance proud and defiant. Yet despite her outer composure, there’s strain in her eyes, belying the effort it takes to keep her face a mask of indifference.
She’s definitely a player in this twisted game, but not by choice.
Kaufman turns to address the room, his voice cold and unyielding. “Rebel offered you the chance to become Angels.” He sneers, gesturing grandly toward her. “And yet, you refuse this gift. Your defiance will be the death of you. We offer that, too, just so you know. Your death bartered and sold. Is that what you want? To die before an audience?” He scans the terrified women. “Or will you become Angels? Docile, obedient slaves with the chance to live?”
His words are weapons cutting through the room, silencing any protest before it forms. The women’s faces blanch, eyes widening with terror as the true weight of his threat sinks in.
“You see,” Kaufman’s voice drips with malice, “to be an Angel demands absolute obedience. Anything less, and you are useless to me. Useless to anyone. I can crush you as easily as I can elevate you. Remember that.”
He pauses, letting his words sink in, and his gaze flicks to each woman. Then his sight settles on Rebel. A slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. “Isn’t that right, my dear?”
Rebel’s eyes meet his, and for a moment, something raw and primal flashes in her gaze, but then it’s gone, replaced by a cool, calculated determination.
“Yes, sir.” Her voice is rock steady, betraying none of the turmoil I know she must feel. I refuse to believe she does this by choice. Kaufman has some hold over her.
I watch from the shadows of the hall, my heart pounding in my chest. Beside me, Hank and Walt are as still as statues, their faces set in grim lines.
We’re all aware of the danger we’re in, of how easily we could be discovered, but I can’t look away. The scene unfolding before me speaks to the twisted world we’ve stumbled into.
And Rebel’s role within it.
As Kaufman speaks, his threats become more and more explicit.
It’s all I can do not to burst in and end the vile spectacle, but that would doom the mission and forfeit countless more lives. With one last look at Rebel, her face a study of controlled grace, I pull myself away from the door, my mind racing ahead to our next move.
I turn my back on the victims inside. With Walt and Hank by my side, we continue the pretense of why we’re here, stopping to check, log, and test every piece of electronic equipment we find. None of us say a word.
We’re too choked up by what we’ve seen.
The scene inside that room is seared into my mind.
The sobs of the terrified women are a haunting refrain that propels me forward. Behind me, Hank and Walt are silent shadows, their faces pale, eyes wide with shock. We move as one, driven by a purpose greater than ourselves, but the horror of what we’ve witnessed lingers, a stain that can never be washed away.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Rebel
Exhaustion dragsat my limbs as I make my way down the long hallway to my quarters after another grueling day playing the part of Kaufman’s prized Angel. My cheeks hurt from all the demure smiles.
The door opens, and I step inside, barely making it two steps before collapsing back against the wall in sobs. These sessions with the new captives are draining in every way. The things Kaufman forces me to do…
I slide down the wall, curling into the fetal position and hiding my face as gut-wrenching sobs overcome me. I cry until I have no tears left.
I wish I could scrub the images from my mind—the blank terror in their eyes. The bruises blossoming on their pale skin with each blow. And my voice, cold and taunting, telling them this is their only path to survival.
It’s the only way, I repeat to myself. If I can convince them to become Angels, Kaufman will protect them. I can teach them how to endure. They’ll live as pampered pets rather than chattel sold to the highest bidder. It’s the devil’s logic, but it’s the only way I can ease their suffering.
Still, it shreds my soul to break them like this. I cling to the hope that in doing this, I’m giving them the tools to someday be free of their masters. The fighting techniques I teach under the guise of “poise and grace.”The lock-picking skills hidden in lessons about manners and etiquette. It’s all I can do to arm them for escape—one day.
I barely register the creak of the doorway over my cries. I bolt to my feet, thinking it’s Kaufman, but it’s Ethan instead.
And rage burns in his gaze.
“What are you doing here?” I press back against the wall. His unexpected presence sends adrenaline surging through my veins.
“I saw you today.” Ethan closes the door behind him with an ominous click. “With them. With him.” His voice is tight and controlled. His rage simmers beneath the surface.