Bleeding Edge: Elliot Security (Elliot Security Series Book 2) by Evie Mitchell (books to read for beginners TXT) 📕

I struggled to consider a plan of attack. My body required rest, healing; the concussion throbbed, and the nausea crested as I struggled to focus.

After what felt like hours, the door opened, permitting four people in. The two men entered, taking position on either side of the door. I remained on my side, watching women enter the room. The men were middle-aged with matching haircuts and beards. Both wore fierce expressions and glared down at me. I ignored them, knowing I would find no help from them. The women were a mix. One was older, her hair long and tied back in a strict braid. The other was younger, with a softly rounding belly and hair in a loose Dutch braid. The older woman placed a plate on the bolted down chair, then moved to lift the waste bucket.

The younger approached, kneeling beside me, placing a bucket of water and two water bottles down. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and withdrew a rag, dipping it in the water.

“I’m just going to clean you.” Her voice was soft as she wrung out the cloth. “Please stay still.”

Gently, she rubbed at the dry blood and crusted dirt on my skin, dipping and rubbing, dipping and rubbing. I tried not to move as she worked her way down my face, towards my top, the mattress growing wet from the pink water.

“That’s enough, Beth,” one of the men said from the door. The girl pulled a hand back, her free hand going to rest on the curve of her belly. “Edward only wanted her presentable not ready for marriage.”

“Let me just clean the blood from her arms, and then we’ll be good.”

He made a sound but let her carry on.

She pressed the bloody rag to a deep cut in my arm. I sucked in breath, desperately battling nausea as the red haze of pain overwhelmed my thoughts.

“You’re pregnant,” I whispered, as the men murmured between themselves. She hesitated, and then her head dipped in the slightest of nods as she continued cleaning the deep cut.

“Was it… consensual?”

She didn’t react, her eyes on my cut.

“Who’s the father?”

Her lip trembled, but she said nothing.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.” Her voice was an exhale of breath, barely a whisper.

“How long have you been here?”

“Five years.”

“Do you want to–”

“Quiet!” The man at the door snapped, causing us to jump. “Beth, you’re done.”

She quickly packed up her rag and bucket, leaving the bottled water behind. The men and the other woman also left, locking me into the dark room.

I slowly pushed up. Clean clothes were piled beside the chair. Flat bread and a paper plate, all they gave me.

Smart.

I ignored the clothes and food, instead drinking slowly from the water bottles. They may be drugged, but I had to take that chance.

I could hear movement downstairs again. I drifted in and out of consciousness, tiptoeing the line between delirium and lucidity before finally giving into the darkness.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Emmie

Footsteps echoed on the stairs outside the prison room. I forced my eyes open. The room remained dark; I had no concept of time.

Had I been here days? Hours?

Everything hurts.

Be strong. Be ready. Look for mistakes.

The door scraped along the floorboards, protesting as it opened. I couldn’t summon the strength to look up.

“Abishag, damn it!” Hands settled on my feverish skin, rolling my body. My head lolled before I forced my eyes open.

“Abel.” My voice was a hoarse whisper. “Why?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he lifted me. “Greenfields.”

Ice froze the blood in my veins.

Fuck.

“They found it, sis.”

I groaned as he moved me, repositioning my body. “They want the password.”

“Now?”

He carried me through the door, out into glaring lights. My eyes snapped closed, vomit burning the back of my throat as my body protested the bright lights.

“Now,” he confirmed, carrying me down the stairs. “Edward has demanded it.”

“Why are you still here?”

He hesitated for less than a moment before continuing down the stairs. “I can leave after you deliver it.”

“I’m the bribe?”

“You’re my indulgence. Delivering you is the price I have to pay for my excommunication.”

I was silent as he carried me through the house. An indulgence, much like those practiced by churches back in the 1500s, was a way for members of the God’s Patriots to purchase an exemption. In the commune, indulgences were large amounts of money that purchased three things - wives, favours, or excommunication. Only one person had achieved the sum required for excommunication while I was there, leaving behind his wife and children because he hadn’t the funds to take them with him. The wife had been forcibly remarried a month later.

Excommunication was the only way to cleanly leave. It sealed your fate, cutting you off. The church had nothing to do with you, and you were free to live your life.

Greenfields had been my ticket out. I’d worked on the program for months before David finally got his way, derailing my secretive plans.

“How much?” I choked out as we cleared the steps, moving into a large room.

“Rough estimates show over a billion.”

How? How had they not discovered it? How had no one stopped it?

“Why do they need it?”

“To enact your plan. It’s time for the final coming.”

Oh, God. I was right.

Abel bent, placing me on a chair, arranging my body gently before stepping back. I forced my head up as I looked at the room through one squinting eye.

It was a large space, brightly lit thanks to the numerous fluorescent lights that hung from the wood beams above. I assumed it was some kind of garage, with a little loft where I’d been kept. In the garage, women and men stood or sat here and there, all watching. There was a computer in the centre of the room, cables running from outside.

“Abishag.” Edward stepped forward, his smooth voice sending a chill up my spine. “Your trial begins.”

“I’m not called that.” I forced out between swollen lips. “My name is–”

“Quiet!” he snapped, clapping a hand down on the desk. “You’re here to