The Red Hand? No…that was impossible. The Red Hand was a myth that the people of Anima Mors made up to scare their children away from the edge of the Wastelands. He wasn’t real, of course. No one as brutal and horrid as the Red Hand could exist.

But here was a man standing before me, being called that very name by the bandits. I swallowed, looking up and up until I finally met his eyes.

And stared…because wow. He was…gorgeous. And surprisingly young—almost as young as me.

His eyes were golden, shining under the sun. His hair was dark, slightly wavy, and framed a finely chiseled face. He was also tall, leanly muscular, a man who looked more suited to a ballroom or a parlor than to life as a bandit.

There was absolutely no way this boy was the Red Hand. I didn’t believe it for a second.

Feeling buoyed by the thought, I climbed to my feet and stood, defiant—which was hard to do with my hands tied, but I wasn’t going to act like I’d been beaten. This could still turn around in my favor.

“Release me immediately.”

The man who was not the Red Hand’s eyes widened, and he gave an exaggerated look around at his bandits, then broke into laughter.

I glared at him as the other bandits followed his example, laughing and guffawing as if I was the most hilarious thing they had ever seen. I would have been more offended if I wasn’t very aware that my life could end at any moment.

Don’t act like you’re scared. Stay confident.

The “Red Hand” finally stopped laughing and smiled at me, though it did not reach his golden eyes. It was a cold smile and sent a slight shiver racing down my spine.

“I’m happy to let you go, in the middle of the desert, without any of your clothes,” he said, his voice low and articulate, a slight accent there that I couldn’t place.

His eyes moved up and down my body as if he could already see me naked. Instinctively, I lifted my bound hands to cover my chest, which only made him grin and the bandits laugh, one of them slapping the Red Hand’s back.

The only one of the bunch who didn’t laugh was a man as young as the Red Hand, but light where the Red Hand was dark.

I couldn’t help but eye him speculatively. Perhaps he didn’t approve of the lewd behavior of the bandits. And if so, could he be my ally?

Then again, maybe not. He wasn’t even looking at me.

When I glanced back at the Red Hand, his gaze was on my wrist, and a second later he was leaning down to pluck the silver bracelet from it.

“Hey!” I lunged forward, jumping on him despite my tied hands. “Give that back!”

He gave a surprised grunt as he shoved my shoulder, and I bit down on his hand as hard as I could.

“Feisty little rat!” he shouted, and a second later his bandits were pulling me off of him.

“Give that back!” I shouted. It was the last piece of Caius I had, the last link to the friend who had sacrificed his life for me.

The stoic blond man stepped forward, pulling a bandana from his pocket and wrapping the Red Hand’s wounded hand.

“Get her out of my sight,” the Red Hand said, eyeing me warily.

Good. Come a little closer, and I’ll bite you again!

“And make sure she doesn’t take a chunk out of anyone else,” he added, seeming to sense my train of thought.

I squirmed as the bandits grabbed my arms hard enough that I was sure I would have bruises later.

“She can be our entertainment for tonight,” the Red Hand said, which only made several of the bandits cheer and whoop.

What did he mean to do to me? If they weren’t going to kill me, then what were they going to use me for?

Catching the lewd looks of some of the bandits, I desperately wanted to lift my arms again and cover myself, but the ones dragging me along had an iron grip on me.

Soon I was being shoved into a makeshift cage that seemed to be made out of petrified pieces of wood. It certainly wasn’t made for a person, because it stank of piss and crap.

Caged like an animal… Just what did they have planned for me?

I tried not to breathe in the smell as I clutched at the bars and called after the retreating bandits. “You can’t just leave me here!”

They ignored me. “Hey! Come back! This is inhumane!”

Of course, Nepha. They’re bandits. Did you expect them to treat you better than anyone else ever has?

Ignoring the voice in my head that told me it was useless, I kept shouting until my throat burned. But no one came.

I sighed. Maybe it was time to save my energy and assess. I was in a small oasis in the middle of the Wastelands. There was no one here except the bandits. And even if I did manage to escape, I would only end up back in the horrible situation I was in before.

So…I couldn’t just run away. I would need to steal a horse and some supplies if I was going to get anywhere that someone wasn’t trying to hurt me.

Plus, the bracelet. I would have to steal it back from the Red Hand.

It settled on me then, just how much I had to do.

Great. So, so easy.

***

After I’d managed to get my hands untied, I started attempting to loosen one of the bars of the cage. It was a slow—painfully slow—process, but it was wiggling a bit at least.

I’d saved the rope that bound my hands, tying it under my dress in case it came in handy later. I was low on options and completely devoid of weapons—except fists and feet and teeth—but I might not even have the chance to use those in a fair fight.

At the sound of footsteps, I backed away from the bars. The female bandit approached, a woman with tan skin and jet-black hair cropped at the neck. She shoved something that looked like a rock through the bars.

I backed up a little more. What was it? Some sort of creature? A weapon?

“Eat,” the woman said before turning on her heel and walking away.

Food? Frowning, I picked up the rock-like thing. It was certainly as hard as a rock. I touched it tentatively to my lips and bit through the skin, surprised when it easily gave way. It’s…edible.

Whatever it was, it tasted bitter, earthy, and a little bit stale, the inside mostly soft but with a slight crunch. It wasn’t the most pleasant thing to eat, but it was food, and I was starving. It wasn’t long before I’d devoured the entire thing.

I’d barely taken the last bite when another bandit came over and opened the cage. I tensed, ready to leap out and attack, but a second bandit appeared, holding a pistol on me.

It was ornate, made of wood and brass, similar to what I had seen the officers at the citadel carrying. Even though I had never been hit with one, I knew the bullets inside could easily maim or kill.

And since I had already made the decision not to die, I walked out of the cage with forced calm, waiting and watching for any opening they might give me.

One of them shoved a pile of vibrant fabric into my arms. “Change.”

“I will not.”

The bandit holding the gun eyed me. “You want us to do it for you?” The look in his eyes told me he wanted me to say yes.

I turned my back and pulled off the dirty and torn hemp dress. I’d been wearing it since the procedure, and now it was stiff with blood and sweat and dirt.

Too aware of their eyes on me, I quickly pulled on the other dress, alarmed to see that it dipped very low, so that my cleavage—what little there was—showed. The dress had skinny straps and was far too loose on me, a ruffle going across the neckline that matched the heavily ruffled skirt. It was hard to move in, making the possibility of an easy escape very slim.

I didn’t really have a chance to breathe before the bandits were pulling me along again. Under the broken moon, they had started a fire, and as we approached, I could hear the raucous laughter of the bandits, clearly already in their cups and well on their way to getting even more drunk. One of them had a stringed instrument—a lute, I thought—and was playing a song.

My gaze strayed to the Red Hand, lounging among them and drinking from a jug. His eyes found me, following me as I was moved along. He reminded me suddenly of a panther, perfectly still as he watched his prey.

In this case, me.

I swallowed as the bandits pushed me in front of their leader, who gestured with this jug.

“Dance.”

I scowled up at him. “No.”

His expression did not change as he lifted a pistol, pointing it at my face.

“Dance, or lose your head.”