Gwen had been bundled into the room then, the door locked behind her. As far as she could tell there weren't many other survivors, unless they were being held in different parts of the castle? Perhaps The Tsar had shot them all?
She wondered what might have happened to Jack, Mark, Sophie… and, yes, Tate. She did still care about him, in spite of herself. Were they all dead, or in the same state as Mary?
But the room. Oh God this room.
It looked different; had no bed in it for a start and had been turned back into some sort of office. Probably where Robert organised his little missions. Just who did he think he was, appointing himself the guardian of this land, withholding vital things like weapons from people who just wanted to protect themselves? Leading suicide squads of young men to their doom? He was lucky they'd go with him, though she had to admit he had a way of sucking people in. Didn't work on her, of course. Too bloody-minded.
Gwen rocked Clive Jr on her knee. "I won't let anything happen to you, sweetheart. Not while there's still breath in my body."
The door lock clicked and Gwen jumped. She watched as the handle slowly turned. When the door opened she felt a lump rise in her throat.
"Remember me?" said the man standing there.
Gwen said nothing.
"I had to see if it was true, that you were back." He grinned, but it came out more like a leer. A leer that stretched the scar across his jawline tight.
"Jace," she said.
"That's right," he chuckled. "You haven't forgotten me, then?"
How could she? He'd been her means of escape, the guard posted to keep an eye on her. She'd lured him inside, then stolen his clothes and knocked him unconscious with the butt of his own gun.
"But you were-"
"A prisoner? Just like you were back then? Fucking locked away when I hadn't even done nothin'."
Is that what you really believe? Yes, I think it is.
"Well, the new boss around here's letting all of the prisoners free who want to work for him. Good old Tanek vouched for me."
Shit, he's here as well? One big, happy family reunion.
"Hey, it'll be just like the old days, 'cept for the fact you've got a sprog now, eh?"
Gwen stood, holding Clive Jr close to her. "If you go near him, I'll-"
Jace pulled out a pistol and levelled it at her. "You'll what, Duchess?"
Her eyes were fixed on the gun. Gwen was keenly aware that he'd pull the trigger in a heartbeat. He had a grudge not only against her, but this whole place.
"Now, take it easy and everything will be fine." Jace's eyes were crawling downwards, over the front of her jumper, just as they had that day when she'd deliberately enticed him into the room. He'd been distracted then, the horny little shit, and she'd been able to get the better of him. How was she supposed to do that now, holding Clive Jr and with a handgun pointed at her?
"I seem to recall that you got me to strip off the last time we met. So, how's about we start by you returning the favour."
"Please… My son."
"What about him?"
"You can't, not in front of him."
"Listen, I've been banged up in that fucking hotel jail the best part of a year, bitch. I haven't had any in all that time, so I'm going to make up for it. Just a happy coincidence that it's you, so I can kill two birds with one stone. Now, put him down so you can get on with things."
Gwen closed her eyes out of resignation. It was all happening again, wasn't it? It would happen in this room, just as it had before. But instead of the Sheriff it would be some wet behind the ears young thug. Only she'd changed so much, been forced to change. She'd do what he wanted, just until she could get that piece off him. Then she'd fucking well blow his brains out.
"I said put him down!" shouted Jace.
Gwen placed Clive Jr in the corner, telling him everything was going to be okay. Then she turned to Jace.
"Make it nice and slow. I don't want to miss nothing." He said.
Swallowing dryly, Gwen took hold of the bottom of her jumper and began to raise it. She took her time, like he said, but was apparently taking too long, because Jace jabbed the gun in her direction and told her to get the jumper off. "Now! I want to see."
Gwen pushed her elbow into the hem of the jumper and peeled it off. It wasn't particularly cold but she shivered anyway, and thanked God she'd worn a bra today. It was the last thing standing between Jace's beady little pig-eyes and her nakedness.
"That too," Jace ordered, indicating the bra. He licked his lips, eyes glued to her chest. With his free hand he began to undo his belt, his trousers swelling where he was growing excited.
Gwen began to walk towards him. "Wouldn't you like to get a closer look, Jace? Maybe touch them?"
He straightened his gun arm and pushed her back. "I'm not falling for that twice. I'm not a moron."
Are you sure about that? thought Gwen. Quick as a flash she flung the jumper at him, knocking the gun sideways and allowing her a clear shot with her foot, to kick him between the legs. Jace managed to twist around, though, and the kick caught him on the thigh.
Angrily, he pushed her back, shrugging the jumper off his gun and pointing it at her again. "Gonna regret that."
Gwen tensed herself, but the shot didn't come. He didn't want to kill his plaything. Instead, he turned the weapon in the direction of Clive Jr.
"No, please. Not my son. I'll do anything."
"You will anyway," Jace reminded her. "Remember what you said to me last time, how was I going to do anything with my 'maggot'? Heh. When I've shut the kid up, I'm going to show you exactly what I can do."
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. As she flung herself across the room — in an effort to put her body between the bullet and Clive Jr — Gwen noticed every tiny detail. Like the slight pressure on the trigger of the pistol; Jace's forehead crinkling as he concentrated on shooting her boy; the scar along his chin stretched tighter than ever. And the exact moment Jace's expression changed, his face creasing up in pain rather than concentration. At the exact same time a trickle of blood sprang from the corner of his mouth and began its downward journey.
Then there was the flash of metal and Jace was pitching forward, the gun falling from his grasp. He caught her eye as he followed it, dropping first to his knees, before coughing up blood. She knew he was thinking: Why is this happening to me? I'm not such a bad guy.
Gwen felt nothing as he collapsed onto the carpet, but she could now see the vicious blow that had caused his death. A long cut across his back, so deep it had probably severed his spinal column. And behind Jace, his attacker. The man she hadn't even seen or heard come in.
He stood there, blade dripping with Jace's blood, the hood he wore obscuring his features. But Gwen knew what he looked like. Knew it was him.
Knew that under that hood there was a painted face, a skull. Lifting the machete, he wiped the blood off on the edge of his dark robes.
Frozen in the process of running to Clive Jr, Gwen gaped at him, not comprehending. Skullface had just saved her, and her child.
Clive Jr! Gwen found she could move again and went to her son, gathering him up into her arms. She didn't once take her eyes off the cultist, though.
He had something in his other hand, the one not clutching his huge knife. He tossed it over, and when she held it up she saw it was one of their robes. "Put it on," he said. His voice was flat, robotic, but was she imaging things or was there a hint of humanity in there? (She thought this regardless of the fact this man had just killed someone in cold blood without showing a trace of emotion.) At first Gwen thought he might also be telling her this to cover up her dignity — as she was still standing in only her bra and jeans. Then she realised he had other plans.