My Bratty Wife

The thin sliver of moonlight that pierced the grimy, high window of the storage room was Suzy’s only companion, her only measure of the passing hours. It crawled slowly across the dusty floorboards, a pale observer of her misery.

She lay huddled in a corner, the rough planks cold beneath her thin silk dress. Every muscle ached, her head throbbed where Jem had struck her with the pistol, and a persistent, gnawing pain had settled in her stomach. Her vision swam in and out of focus.

A strange, bitter smile touched her cracked lips, a "cruel smile" not of malice, but of a desperate, almost hysterical irony. "So this is it," she whispered to the darkness, her voice raspy. "A duchess, reduced to... this. I guess it’s time for me to go... one way or another." The words were ambiguous, even to herself – a flicker of a thought about escape, quickly doused by her profound weakness, or perhaps a darker acceptance of her fate.

Just then, the heavy bolt on the outside of the door scraped back with a protesting screech. The door creaked open, and Jem’s hulking silhouette filled the doorway, blocking out the dim light from the other room.

"Get up," he grunted, his voice devoid of any respect. "Boss wants to see ya."

Suzy tried to push herself up, but her limbs felt like lead, her body protesting every movement. She was so weak, so utterly worn out from fear, pain, and the suffocating confinement. The will to fight, which had burned so fiercely earlier, was now a faint, guttering ember. Jem, impatient, reached in, grabbed her arm roughly, and dragged her out of the storage room, her bare feet scraping against the splintered floor. She was too exhausted, mentally and physically, to offer more than a token resistance.

He hauled her into the main room of the squalid little house and, with a final, contemptuous shove, threw her to the dirt-strewn floor at the feet of another man.

This man was taller than the others, dressed in slightly better, though still coarse, clothes. His face was hard, his eyes like chips of granite, and he radiated an aura of cold, brutal authority. He was, undoubtedly, their boss.

Suzy, dizzy and disoriented, slowly pushed herself up to a sitting position, her head spinning. She looked up at the furious man who now towered over her.

He ignored her for a moment, his angry gaze fixed on Jem. "You idiot!" he barked, his voice like stones grinding together. He struck Jem across the face with a resounding slap, the sound sharp and vicious in the tense room. Jem recoiled, a hand flying to his stinging cheek, but said nothing.

"What in the blazes happened to her face?" the boss demanded, his voice low and dangerous as he gestured towards Suzy’s bruised cheek. "And why is she looking like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards and robbed of everything but her shift? She’s supposed to be pristine!"

Jem stammered, fear evident in his eyes. "I’m sorry, sir... boss. But she... she was resisting too much. Tried to escape back at the carriage, she did. And again when I brought her here. Had to... subdue her a bit." He cast a nervous glance at Suzy. "As for her... her appearance, sir, her lack of... finery... I don’t know what happened to it. She was like this when I got her out of the carriage for the final leg of the journey here." It was a blatant lie about her attire, but he wasn’t about to admit he hadn’t thoroughly searched the carriage for valuables that might have been overlooked.