Daniel grinned. “Red, huh? Pain…” His eyes drifted to the table where the Pear of Anguish sat.

God, no!

Marching over, he picked up an awful looking contraption peeking out from under the black cloth. “This will do.”

I stiffened as he came back, dangling the torture equipment just like Cut had with the Scold’s Bridle.

“This ought to be painful enough.”

My eyes drank in the leather collar and long metal bar on the front. Each end was carved into two sharp prongs.

“Know what this is?”

That damn question again.

Unfortunately, I knew the answer this time. “It’s a Heretic’s Fork.”

Was this a manor house of the fucking Tower of London? Where did they keep these barbaric devices?

“Smart girl.” Daniel grinned. “And you know how it works?”

I made the mistake of looking over at Vaughn. Saliva dripped down his chin from the gag, his eyes blazing with sorrow.

I looked away. “It’s strapped to the accused throat and the fork forces the person to keep their head high to avoid the prongs from entering their chest and throat.”

Bonnie smiled. “You’ve finally shown some aptitude, Ms. Weaver.” Cocking her head, she ordered, “Strap it on her, Daniel.”

“Be my pleasure.” The thread of insanity that infected Cut glowed in Daniel’s eyes as he moved behind me. His cold hands brushed aside my hair as he brought the horrible thing beneath my chin. “Put your head up.”

Tears prickled my eyes as I raised my chin, staring at the ceiling. The square wooden panels kept me company as the fork buckled around my throat and diamond collar.

My neck arched, keeping the delicate skin safe from being stabbed. My teeth hurt from clenching, and my head pounded with a rapidly spreading headache.

You’re failing again. Don’t give in.

I blinked back tears, straightening my spine as if that would bolster my courage.

You’re breaking. They’re winning.

I wished I could tear out my brain from tormenting me. The Hawks did that enough without my mind disabling me, too.

Once the buckle was firmly fastened, Daniel inspected his handiwork. “You look rather regal like that. Guess I can’t make you blow me this round; otherwise, you’d kill yourself with every suck.” He cackled at his tasteless joke.

Vaughn groaned in the corner but I didn’t look over.

I let my vision unfocus, granting a small reprieve from everything.

Please, let this end soon.

Slapping my arse, Daniel commanded, “Walk a few laps. Show me how well you can move with your head high and your wrists bound.”

My heart chugged hard as my worst enemy swooped into being.

No, not now!

The room swirled with vertigo. Sickness fogged my head, and I lost all sense of balance.

Don’t fall!

I’d kill myself.

Moaning, I did my best to equalize.

It didn’t help.

The room shot black; I stumbled forward, falling, falling.

Someone yelled, “Catch her!”

Arms wrapped around my body as I plummeted. I jerked to a stop, hanging in some horrible embrace as the world dipped and swelled. Slowly, I traded oppressive blackness for the orange den.

Swallowing hard, I shoved away the remaining episode. “I’m—I’m fine.”

Daniel planted me on my feet. “Got a fucking death wish, Weaver?”

I wanted to shake away the cobwebs left in my head, but I didn’t dare. I trembled in place, itching with claustrophobia. My neck strained beyond comfort, aching already.

“You gonna faint on me again?”

I calmed my breathing. “I didn’t faint. It’s vertigo, you arsehole.”

“She’s had it since she arrived,” Cut said. “Three laps, Ms. Weaver. Get through that without killing yourself and we’ll remove the fork.”

Three laps. Three lifetimes.

“Can you untie my hands?”

“Nope.” Daniel pushed me forward. “Go on, be a good prancing pony and show us what you can do.”

My knees wobbled, but I shuffled forward. I didn’t know the room enough to avoid ottomans and small coffee tables. My eyes couldn’t look where my feet went. I was basically blind.

Their gaze burned into me as I made my way to the perimeter of the room and followed the wall as best I could. Couches forced me to go around; I bashed my knee on a magazine rack and stubbed my toe on a desk.

I felt like a prized pony on a race-track—keeping my head high, my knees higher, prancing for my life, only to fail and be shot for my efforts.

It took a long time to navigate and vertigo kept playing with my balance. I had to stop a couple of times, swaying uncomfortably. By the time I made my way past V for the third time, silent tears spilled from my eyes and I was on the precipice of breaking.

I wanted it over with. I wanted to be free. I wanted to run.

Run. Run. Run.

Vertigo grappled me again, hurling me headfirst into a vicious attack, scrambling me like whisked cream.

Shit!

I fell, tripping over something and colliding with air. There was nothing to catch me, nothing to stop me soaring from standing to dying.

Time slowed as I tumbled forward. My hands fought against the rope, and my mind screeched instructions.

Keep your head up! Keep your chin high!

My hands were tied. I couldn’t stop my trajectory. All I could do was pray I survived.

The thick carpet cushioned my knees as I slammed to the ground. My shoulders crumpled, and I cried out in agony as the prongs bit into my jaw and chest, biting their way into my flesh.