I looked away, gulping down little breaths in an attempt to stay quiet. I didn’t want this man—or any of the other men in this twisted organization, whatever it was—to have the satisfaction of knowing how scared I was.
“Why did you take me?” I asked. “What do you want from me?”
‘Cooperation’ was the simple response.
I narrowed my eyes. “I’ll never cooperate with you.”
The man was still for a moment. Then he typed out another short reply. We’ll see.
He left the room for a few minutes. Then he returned with a large knife, a black rope, and a big white bag. I shrank back against the wall again, eyes widening.
He dropped everything except the knife and slowly approached the bed, each heavy footstep eliciting a soft, petrified moan from my lips. One hand lifted, silently commanding me to get up. When I refused to move, too frozen with terror, the same hand shot out and grabbed my left arm, yanking me off the bed.
“Please… don’t hurt me,” I whispered. The knife in the man’s other hand was hanging perilously close to my right thigh, and I was struck by a horrible image of it accidentally nicking my femoral artery, making me bleed out in thirty seconds.
He lifted the knife to my throat, forcing me to raise my chin and keep it high. Then he brought the blade down, slowly but surely slicing through the thick fabric of my sweater and the black tank top beneath it until they fell away to the floor in strips.
My breaths came in short, terrified bursts as he knelt down and sliced away my leggings, leaving me in nothing but my white cotton bra and panties. Then he brought the knife back up to my chest and held the tip there for a few terrifying seconds before running it down the valley between my breasts and over my abdomen.
He wasn’t pressing down hard enough to cut me. Just hard enough for me to feel the cold steel of the blade on my skin and know how easily it could hurt me if I moved even a fraction of an inch.
The man kept trailing the knife over my bare skin, and I closed my eyes as heat rose in my cheeks. I was deeply ashamed to admit it to myself, but I was pretending the man was Hunter, even though I had no idea who it really was.
That way I could pretend, just for a few moments, that the kidnapping didn’t happen. I could pretend this ‘will he or won’t he’ knife torture was just another part of the twisted game Hunter and I played with each other last Friday night. Like when he kissed me so intensely it hurt, and the pain blended with the pleasure that his hands brought me as they sneaked between my legs, rubbing me in slow, gentle circles. Or when he reached up and squeezed my breast so roughly that jolts of electricity shot through me, and instead of pushing him away, I moaned and begged for more, losing myself in his dangerous embrace as primitive arousal overwhelmed me.
There was a clattering sound, and my eyes flew open. The man had dropped the knife on the floor and taken a step back from me.
I couldn’t see his eyes through the dark mesh in the holes on the mask, but I could tell he was appraising my half-naked body. I kept trying to pretend it was Hunter, but with my eyes open, it was hard to get my imagination fired up again.
I had to face reality now. I wasn’t in my dorm, playing wild, silly games with Hunter. I was here, held hopelessly-captive in this cold gray room, and I would probably never taste freedom again.
People in movies escaped hostage situations all the time, but that was just Hollywood drama. In real life, girls like me didn’t get away from evil men like the ones who took me. Instead we suffered for their pleasure and entertainment until we died.
It happened all over the world, every single day—girls taken by rapists, sex traffickers, or other twisted organizations that live-streamed their demises on the dark web.
I was going to be one of them now. Another vanished girl. A statistic.
Some people might remember me from time to time, briefly wondering what happened to me. They might even post about me on web sleuth forums or Reddit threads regarding unsolved mysteries and disappearances. But no one would find me and help me before it was too late. No white knight would burst in to save me.
The man grabbed the black rope and tied my wrists behind my back. Then he tipped out the white bag all over the floor. It was sand.
I knitted my brows, staring down at it. Of all the things I thought that bag might contain, sand definitely wasn’t one of them.
My captor lifted a hand in the air and slowly brought it down, gesturing for me to kneel. I did as he said, and he wrote another note on the tablet.
See how long you last.
He turned and switched on the wall-mounted TV, using the tablet as a remote control. A slideshow of images began to play on the huge screen, and my mouth went dry.
It was me.
Hundreds and hundreds of photos and short video clips of me.
They weren’t like the school-based ones my RFA bullies used to send me. They were taken all over the place—outside my house in Silvercreek, at my old weekend job at the diner on the main avenue, in the woods and park where I walked the little dog I shared with Mom. A few were even taken inside my bedroom at home while I was asleep.
Whoever these men were, they’d been stalking me for months. Long before I ever started at RFA.
I scrunched my eyes shut, not wanting to look at the screen anymore. It made me feel sick to know that someone had marked me and followed me for so long.
All those times when I thought I was safe in my own bed, I wasn’t. Someone was always there, watching me. Waiting to take me.
My captor clicked his teeth with annoyance, and then I heard him fumbling in one of his pockets. There was a short snipping sound, and one hand went to my face, forcing my left eye open.
“No,” I cried out as he placed a piece of tape on my eyelid to keep it open. “Please! I don’t want to see it anymore!”
He ignored me and taped my right eye open as well. Then he roughly tilted my chin up and forced me to continue watching the slideshow of terrifying images.
I knew what the sand was for now. After I’d kneeled on it for a certain length of time without moving, the little granules started digging into my skin like countless hot needles. At first it was more of an annoyance, but then it began to hurt, increasing in torturous waves until the only thing my nerve endings could register was an awful, never-ending stinging sensation.
“Please,” I begged the man. “I’ll watch your slideshow… just let me sit in the chair instead.”
He shook his head and wrote another message for me on his tablet. You can stay where you are, he said. A good part is coming up.
The photos changed a moment later. Instead of having me as the focal point, they showed my mom, our dog Mignon, Adam, Trina, and my old colleagues at Tom’s Diner. Even my Silvercreek neighbor’s friendly old ginger cat was in some of the pictures, lounging near our gate after one of his daily strolls.
“Why are you showing this to me?” I asked. Sweat was dotting my forehead, and I was trying my best not to scream over the burning pain in my knees.
Why do you think? came the response.
A lump appeared in my throat. “You… you’re going to hurt them,” I whispered.
Not necessarily. It depends on your attitude while you’re here. If you’re a good girl, nothing will happen to them. That’s why I said it’s up to you.
I swallowed thickly and nodded. I understood now.
I could defy him all I wanted, but I wasn’t the only one who would be punished as a result. The people and pets I loved would suffer too.
Just like that, my earlier ‘I’ll never cooperate’ attitude shriveled down to nothing. I no longer had a choice.
The man wrote another short message to me. Do you know what’s required of you now?
I nodded. “You want me to do what you say,” I murmured.
He cocked his head to the side and held out a hand, moving it from side to side as if to say I was half-right but needed to provide more information.
I took a deep brea
th and spoke up again, slowly and haltingly. “You want me to do what you say… and be a good girl.”
He nodded and held up the tablet again. Are you going to be a good girl?
A pit appeared in my stomach, and I nodded shakily before whispering my response. “Yes.”
24
Laney
There was a scraping sound at the door. I slowly opened my eyes, wincing at the slight stinging from the tape that used to be there.
The masked man who’d tortured me was back again. Even though he’d changed clothes, I could tell it was him because he was the exact same height and weight, and he also stood the same way—broad shoulders squared, head held imperiously high, one gloved hand in a jacket pocket while the other rested at his side.
I sat up with a grimace. Every single part of my body ached. I was losing my mind from boredom, too.
I had no idea how much time had passed since my captor left after the cruel torment with the sand and slideshow. He took my phone with him, along with the tablet he used to communicate, so I had no way of keeping track of the minutes and hours unless I sat and counted them out in my head.
The lights were always on too. A bright, steady reminder that I was stuck in this cell. That made it almost impossible to sleep the hours away to stave off the boredom, so I was stuck trying to amuse myself with absolutely nothing but my own imagination, which at this point could only conjure up terrible images of what might happen to me soon.
I knew what my captors were up to. This was another form of torture—the waiting game. They were purposefully keeping me in solitude for days, making me agonize over every thought and question. What were they going to do to me? When would they return? When would the real pain begin?
I guess the time had finally come.
I crossed my legs and took a deep breath, keeping my head respectfully bowed. The masked man wrote something on his tablet and showed it to me. Are you still going to be good for me?
I nodded. “Yes,” I murmured. “But… can you tell me how long it’s been?”
41 hours since we took you from RFA.
My eyes widened. It felt like it had been at least four days. “Is that all?”
He nodded.
“So it’s only Sunday afternoon.”
Another nod, and then another typed message. Do you want something to eat?
“Yes, please,” I said softly. I was absolutely ravenous after being deprived of food for so long. The only thing I’d had in my stomach for hours was water from the tap in the little bathroom.
I didn’t move as the man went over to the door and opened it. I wished I could sneak up behind him, knock him out of the way and run outside, but I couldn’t. I knew well enough by now that my loved ones would be hurt if I defied my captors and behaved badly.
The man returned with a tray of food—a big salad sandwich with a side of thick-cut fries and a bottle of blackcurrant and guava juice.
I wolfed it all down, and then I licked my lips, brushed the crumbs off my hands and looked up at the man. “Thank you,” I murmured. “That was good.”
He reached out and stroked my hair, letting out a soft, taunting chuckle beneath his heavy mask. Then he wrote another message to me. You break so easily.
“You didn’t give me any choice,” I said. “If I threw the food at you and tipped the drink on your head, you might send someone to hurt my mom.”
He laughed and stepped over to the other side of the room to grab the wingback chair. Then he dragged it over to the bed and sat down, facing me.
“I know you think you’ve won,” I said in a low voice. “Because you got me to agree to do whatever you want. But you haven’t really won. Not in the end.”
The man held up the tablet again. Why not?
“Because I know who you are. Who all of you are,” I went on. “I know what you’ve done, too. And if I can figure it out, other people will eventually figure it out too. Too late to save me, probably, but maybe not too late to save the next girl you go after.”
The man clicked his teeth and wrote another message. Who do you think we are?
“You’re part of that secret society everyone at RFA whispers about. The one that’s been there since the beginning,” I said, lifting my chin. “You think you’re above the law, so you get up to all sorts of horrible, twisted stuff. Like kidnapping young girls so you can rape and murder them. For fun.”
So you actually have no idea who we are, then, he replied.
I frowned. “I don’t know who you are personally, no. But like I said… if I can figure out what organization you’re from, others will eventually figure it out too, and they’ll hunt you down and expose every single one of you,” I said. “You might be rich, but that doesn’t mean the world will turn a blind eye to what you’ve done. Not forever.”
The man chuckled. The secret society you’re talking about is just an urban legend in Royal Falls. As far as I know, it never existed, he wrote.
I folded my arms. “I don’t believe you.”
I’ve never been in a secret society. None of my associates have either. The only RFA-based secret society I know of is the Medusa Society, and that’s for girls, he replied.
“You’re lying,” I said.
He wrote another message, still chuckling softly. Urban legends aren’t real, Laney.
“Some of them are,” I said indignantly, cheeks turning hot.
You sound like a complete lunatic, he replied. Next you’ll be telling me to check the back of my car for serial killers.
I swallowed hard. “So you’re really not from the secret society?”
No. I told you, it doesn’t exist.
My shoulders slumped, and I leaned back against the wall, feeling stupid. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t part of some secret cabal of psychotic murderers. It was an urban legend after all.
Bet you feel pretty stupid now, came the next message.
I let out a short huff. “Well, what was I supposed to think after I was chased by four masked men through the same forest from all the creepy stories before being kidnapped and thrown in a cell?” I asked, cheeks flaming even hotter.
Fair enough, he said.
I sat up straight again. “If you aren’t from a secret society of crazy serial killers, then what do you want with me?” I asked.
Before he could respond, sudden clarity hit me like a bolt of lightning, and my brows shot up. “Wait… you’ve hidden yourself from me this whole time, and you only communicate with the tablet. That means you’re worried I’ll recognize your face and voice… which means you’re someone I know,” I said, heart pounding. “And if you’re worried about me finding out who you are, that means you’re actually going to let me go at some point, but you’re worried I’ll turn you in.”
Took you long enough to realize, he replied.
“Well, excuse me for not thinking straight when I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, starved and tortured for two days,” I snapped, narrowing my eyes again.
He cocked his head to one side. Back to the attitude, I see, he wrote.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “Sorry,” I muttered, hoping he wouldn’t send one of the other guys to punish someone I knew for my sudden outburst. “I just don’t understand. If you aren’t going to murder me like I thought before… then what do you want from me?”
He held up his index and middle finger to signify two things. Then he wrote another message to me. 1) I want to hurt you.
I looked down at my scraped-up legs and raw knees. “Well, you’ve already done that. So what’s the second thing?”
I haven’t hurt you enough, he replied. I want you screaming, crying, and begging for your life.
I looked down at the floor. “Okay, I get it. You’re going to hurt me more,” I muttered. “But can you just tell me what else you want from me first?”
He stood and left the room again. When he returned, he had a backpack. He fished out a video camera, a notepad, and a pen. Then he wrote another message to
me.
2) I want a written and recorded confession for the murder you committed.
My jaw dropped. “Oh my god. Hunter?” I cried out. “It’s been you this whole time?”
What makes you think it’s him? he asked, barely even reacting.
My nostrils flared. “Look, I might be tired and scared right now, but my brain hasn’t completely melted,” I said, leaning forward. “You confronted me in the hallway on Friday and called me a murderer, and now I’m here, being told to record a full confession of that murder. Of course it’s you.”
He typed another message. How do you know Hunter is the only one who knows what you did?
I rolled my eyes. “Drop the act. There’s only one other person who knows about it, and they’d never tell a soul.”
If Hunter found out, maybe someone else did too, he said.
“Stop talking about yourself in the third person,” I said, glowering at him. “I know it’s you!”
He didn’t reply to that. He just shrugged indifferently.
“If it’s not you, prove it,” I said, crossing my arms. “Speak. Show me that you’re a different guy with a different voice and I’ll drop the subject.”
He remained silent. Filled with a sudden rush of adrenaline, I lunged forward and ripped the mask right off his face.
It was Hunter.
“I knew it!” I said, jumping to my feet and shoving him in the chest. “You psychotic freak!”
He grabbed my shoulders and pushed me back toward the bed. “Stay the fuck over there,” he said through gritted teeth.
My chest heaved with anger. “I should’ve known from the very start,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “When I saw the guy in the parking lot the other night, my first thought was that it was you. I figured only you would do something like that to scare me. It was only when the guy spoke and sounded different that I started to think it was something else. Like the secret society from the legends. Then the other guys showed up, so I ran with that theory. Literally.”
“The first guy you saw was Asher,” Hunter said, staring down at me with unbridled hatred in his eyes.
Savage Prince: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Royal Falls Elite Book 1) Page 28
