Free Torture (Siren Book 2) by Katie de Long

rooms with more sedatives and overdose them in their sleep. Same end, less work.
    But no—that's too kind for them. Not one accepts responsibility for what they've done. No one will admit they can see the world rotting around us, eaten away by these people's greed and lack of empathy. They're the same bleating sheep down there that they were out here, carrying out their grand schemes. Except for Calder, who accepts some responsibility, even if he lies and tries to pawn it off on others. Not exactly a step up, that.
    He's a good actor, good at playing sincere. He'll be a helluva politician, once he tires of dealing with the shipyard. And he'll rain hell down on all of us, with that lopsided smile and easy charm. Even as he fucks me like I'm the most beautiful creature he's ever seen. Oh yes, sir. Of course I'll look the other way on that bribe. His easy charisma, and confidence taking charge, his ability to make people in dangerous situations feel safe ... it would've ruined us, if I hadn't taken steps to ruin him first.
    Nothing wrong with breaking him first. Like I promised.
    I've seen enough broken men in my life. I don't want to see any more. Except for him.
    It's time to go. The abandoned ship is sealed up tight, the doors checked methodically, and I still need that shower.
    As I step off the gangway and return to my normal life, at least for the time being, I miss the way the Siren rolled in the waves. I miss the floor shaking under my feet, reassuringly volatile.
    It doesn't do any good to weep for reality's intrusions. I'll be back to them soon enough. And I doubt I'll be gone long enough for them to do anything I'd miss seeing.
    The road slips into a hypnotic streak beneath my tires. The scenery turns to the familiar urban decay, trees fading into scraggly trees, fading into ramshackle buildings. Time to put away my power and plumage, and be a drone.
    I park out front, pausing to stare at a car a block away, rather nicer than any of my neighbors should have. Maybe one of them managed to secure a good loan, or bought it from a relative. It's odd, but nothing unheard of. And I'm in too much of a hurry to think about it. I slide in the front door, automatically reaching down to slide my finger across the bullethole still marring the front wall. Nothing else remains of Mara's short life, except a handful of childish drawings. But it's a constant reminder of the cost of defiance.
    Soon, the rest of them will know Winchester's pain. Soon, they'll face karma for the lives they've stolen.
    But in the meantime, there's ships to repair. There's a charade to keep up. And there's more planning to do, more opportunities to watch for.
    Soon, I'll break my silence. But not yet.
     
     

Chapter Eight
    Calder
     
    For the first time in fuck knows how long, I wake up alone. And it's doubly disturbing after falling asleep with Milla's hair tickling my cheek and her breath on my neck. The pain of waking up nearly erodes the effect of such peaceful dreams.
    At first, I think I'm blindfolded, until I realize there's just no light here. I hope my eyes will adjust, start making out at least a little in the blackness. In the meantime, I feel around on hands and knees, trying to get a sense of the perimeters.
    I'm on a bedframe with metal netting still intact, but no mattress. No wonder my neck aches. The whole thing is nailed down, and I can't pry up the bolts securing it to the floor. Why would someone do that ? Certainly no factory I've heard of would have facilities like this; am I still in the same place, or was I moved far? Does that mean someone's looking for me, and our captor had to hide me elsewhere? The room is tiny , smaller even than my room at the boarding school I attended until eighteen. And I thought that thing was a closet .
    “Hello?” I call, though I doubt an answer’s gonna come. There’s no sound around me except for the faint creaks of the structure settling. The panic is thick enough to almost  choke me. But