by M. S. Willis
“I may have turned out better if I’d remained conscious. At least, then, I could have run.” Her words weren’t bitter any longer, just an observation made without emotion or ulterior purpose.
It grew quiet between them, Hope thinking of all the innocence lost in the world in which she’d been raised. Her heart hurt, but she pushed the emotion aside and focused on the anger that had sparked within her just moments before. She wondered if her sister was still alive, wondered if Xander’s body still existed so she could see him to say goodbye. Pondering how long she had before she joined him, she thought of the ways she could kill the bastard that had created this mess. Imagined his angry eyes, his lewd grin and his repulsive laugh. She allowed her anger to fester and grow, to awaken each nerve ending in her body and to replace the strength she’d lost by forcing adrenaline through her veins. She focused on her hatred and her deep-seated need for vengeance.
“Sometimes, it takes patience and cunning to free yourself … it might be the only thing that saves you and your sister’s life …”
Maddy’s words replayed — the same advice Hope had failed to take before. Her decision to fight, to mock Patrick while he attempted to break her apart — it was a decision that led to Xander’s death and that almost destroyed her when Patrick used Honor in his sick games against her. But Hope wasn’t dead yet. She remembered Maddy’s words and she decided that there had been wisdom behind them after all. It wouldn’t be easy — she’d never been the type who didn’t fight back with everything that she had, but fighting had only ended in heartache. If there was any chance at all for her to, at least, save Honor, she’d have to endure the misery of Patrick’s torture until the opportunity presented itself for her to finally end the bastard’s life.
The decision renewed her, replacing energy in her body, and easing the pain of everything she’d lost.
“What’s your name?”
The woman didn’t answer her immediately, but eventually a small voice responded. “Erica.”
Hope rolled her shoulders back and moved her limbs and neck to stretch out the sore and cramped muscles. “I promise you, Erica, I’ll get you out of this place. If I have to kill every man in this house, you will escape.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The door opened and a light was turned on above Hope’s head. It burned her eyes, immediately destroying the darkness in which Hope had been trapped. She blinked to keep her eyes open, noticing the silhouette of a man enter the room and look between the cage and the two women who were chained in the room.
Erica shrunk back and Hope kicked her feet against the interior of her cage attempting to pull the man’s attention to herself. He looked over and smirked. “You want to come out a play, bitch?” Stepping towards the cage, Hope glared up at him, bound and determined to distract his attention from Erica. Reaching through the cage, he grabbed Hope’s hair, wrapping his fingers tight into the base and pulling her up so that her body was pressed tightly against the bars. His eyes looked black against the red rage in his face.
Hope smiled, the pain of his hold on her only driving more adrenaline into her body, waking her up despite how badly she was injured. She had no energy left — the lack of food and water only serving to weaken her further, but she used the adrenaline to keep her alert.
“Yeah, baby. Why don’t you take me out of this cage and show me how a real man treats his whore.” She winked knowing she would kill him if he pulled her from her cage.
The smirk on his face curled into a lewd grin. Her eyes flicked to Erica and she noticed how her body shook where she’d pressed herself into the corner of the wall. The man’s voice brought her eyes back to his face.
“I’d love to, beautiful; but the boss man has other plans for you. I’d lose my dick if I touched you before he’s done with you.” He gripped her hair tighter and she hissed from the jolts of pain shooting across her scalp. “But when he gets tired and throws you to his dogs, you can bet I’ll be at the front of the line.”
His hand opened and she fell back to the floor of the cage, her bones striking against the metal base, more pain shooting up from her hips into the back. He turned and approached Erica, his boots hitting against the floor with portentous thuds. Her body convulsed, it shook so hard, and when he reached down to grab her arm, a small shriek escaped her. Lifting her from the floor, the man gripped into her small arm but her legs gave out beneath her.
She fell, her head falling back against the wall and the man laughed before reaching to grab her again.
The door opened.
“Get your ass to the upper level. We have a visitor and I want to the front room heavily guarded until he leaves.” Patrick’s blue and green eyes were rimmed red with anger.
The guard appeared stricken, obviously fearful that he’d been caught away from his post. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know our guest would be arriving so soon.”
Patrick moved aside from the door indicating that the guard should leave. While the man moved out of the room, Erica wept where’d he left her. Patrick glanced down at her and smiled. “Well, well, aren’t you the lucky one.” He chuckled. “For now, anyways.”
His gaze moved to Hope and his hands folded in front of him. “I’m glad to see you are still with us Hope. I was concerned that you’d had a bit too much fun during our earlier game. I do hope you learned that being a good girl is in your and your sister’s best interests. I’d hate to have to have you whipped again.
Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from telling the fucker where he could stick his whip, she forced herself to appear docile and afraid. She peered up at him through her lashes, allowed her bottom lip to tremble as if she were holding back tears. Her voice shook when she asked, “Where’s Honor and Xander?”
Patrick’s expression became mock sympathy. “Oh, I’m so sorry you haven’t heard. Your boyfriend had an unfortunate reaction to the drugs we gave him.”
Her heart fell into her stomach and smoldered in the vengeful fire that burned inside. “My sister?”
He grinned. “She’s alive. We’ve been very impressed with her. She makes an incredible slave; especially now that her mind has been lost. She will do anything she’s told; especially for her angel.”
His words caused memories to trickle back and Hope remembered hearing her sister say them. “Who’s her angel?”
“Tsk, tsk, Ms. Delacroix. You ask far too many questions.” Kneeling down, he pulled a key from his pocket. “I’m taking you upstairs. We’re going to clean you up and then I intend on having some fun with you. You’re not going to fight me and you’re going to do everything I tell you to do with a smile on your pretty little face. Any disobedience on your part will lead to punishment.”
She blinked up at him, completely disgusted by every word he said.
Smiling, he added, “However it won’t be you who is punished, do you understand?”
Nodding, she bit the inside of her lip again. She would have to play the part to get to her sister and she fought to control her instincts and not resist the man she knew she would eventually kill.
“Good to see you are learning to be more cooperative. I suspected you were an intelligent girl. It appears I was right.” The metal key struck the lock followed by a small click. He opened the door slowly, the hinges groaning with the movement. “Crawl out to me. When you reach the door, put your hands behind you and bend over so your forehead touches the floor.
Hope complied and felt where he handcuffed her hands in place behind her back. He slipped a leather collar around her neck and she recognized it as the one Xander had used. Clenching her teeth, she fought not to feel the devastation of his death. She needed to think clearly to escape and thoughts of him would only distract her from her task.
“I never did get the chance to thank Xander for this leash. It’s a magnificent toy.” He chuckled and her muscles tightened along her spine at the sound.
Pulling her from the cage, his shoes clicked against the ground in time with the pads of her
bare feet. She struggled to stay upright and walk behind him. Focusing on her breathing again, she followed him through hallways to a back staircase. They climbed steps to the third floor and Patrick pulled another key from his pocket. He turned back to look at her, his mismatched eyes shining brilliantly against the tan of his skin. Black hair fell over his forehead and his cheekbones gave him the appearance of a cat. He could have been handsome if he wasn’t so fucking psychotic.
“You’ll love what I have set up for you. I must admit, I was extremely surprised to see how you got off on being whipped. It was extraordinary. It is rare to find woman so turned on by pain. People would pay good money for a woman like you.” He ran the tip of his finger down between her breasts, stopping just above her navel. “I always knew you’d be the more interesting twin.” The tip of his tongue flicked out to run along his lip and Hope fought the urge to rip it from his filthy mouth.
Turning back, he unlocked the door and opened it to unveil a large room with black-tiled floors. Candles were ensconced on the walls, and were spread over every available surface — except for those surfaces that held the knives and other tools. She sucked in a deep breath, calming the rapid beat of her heart.
Patrick turned back to take in her expression. “Is that excitement I see glistening in your gold eyes? Because I’m sure you can see it in mine.”
She didn’t flinch at the implication. Remaining impassive, she trained her gaze over his shoulder, refusing to look the bastard directly in the eye.
His eyes traveled over her body, her skin prickling in disgust at the gesture. He tugged on her chain. “We’ll need to clean you up first.” He sniffed at the air around her. “I’m going to want you nice and clean for what I have planned.”
She entered the room at his back, wishing her hands weren’t bound so that she could grab a knife and shove it into his black heart. They moved to a side door that he opened to reveal a small bathroom. There wasn’t much room to move once they’d entered and he shoved her in the shower stall and turned on the water. She cried out when the ice-cold water met her skin and her eyes watched the blood and dirt wash down the drain at her feet.
“Look at your beautiful skin.” He traced his finger down a scar on her abdomen. “They show up so well against your natural tan. Are they battle scars?” His laugh was sickening. “Or, given your perversion, did you do these yourself?”
She flinched away from him, tried to appear timid and small. She needed him to drop his guard, to give her one second, one chance to kill him so she could find her sister.
He pulled his hand back to his body and stepped back, still gripping the chain. Reaching to the counter at his side, he grabbed soap and a cloth. “I’d tell you to wash yourself; unfortunately, you’ll need your hands to accomplish that. That’s not a luxury I can trust you with quite yet.”
He wrapped the chain around his wrist a second time to secure it and moved back. He touched her everywhere, his fingers rough and crude above the cloth. After he’d finished, he dropped it to the floor, choosing to use his hand on her skin. He cupped her breast, pinching the tip, sending a jolt of sensation through her body. She bucked at the feeling, willing her body not to react, but losing against a man who’d discovered her weakness.
“I’m going to have fun with you.”
Pulling her from the shower, he ran a towel over her body and walked her into the larger room. The table in the center was a smooth wood and there were no shackles stuck to its surface like the other table. He backed her to its edge. “Sit down.”
She did as instructed. He kneeled at her feet and she fantasized about kneeing him in the face. When the chains attached to the table legs secured her ankles, he moved around her, locking her wrists to chains attached to the legs at the other end.
“Tell us what you know!”
The sound was faint, but a man yelled from another room. Her eyes widened to realize the space hadn’t been soundproofed and she could hear somebody being interrogated on the other side of the wall. Patrick’s expression grew annoyed.
“I wouldn’t worry about that. Your screams will drown theirs out very soon.” He pulled a black cloth off the table to his side. Folding it over itself, he held it out for her to see. “I’m going to blindfold you. It’s more exciting when you don’t know what toy I’ve selected.”
Her stomach churned and bile shot up the back of her throat. She would kill him slowly when she finally had the chance. A quick death was too good for the vile piece of shit that stood above her. He tied the cloth around her eyes delivering her once again to darkness. Her other senses came alive when her sight was stolen. She listened intently to Patrick move about the room and she jumped when she heard a crash on the opposite side of the wall.
Patrick’s phone rang a few seconds later.
“Yes … tell me you are fucking lying to me right now because I’m about to come in there and rip your balls from your fucking body if you are not lying to me right now!” His voice darkened, menace dripping from his words. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
He was suddenly next to her, walking so quietly that she’d not noticed his approach. “I’ll be back for you shortly.”
The door clicked behind him when he left and Hope was left bound and exposed atop the table. She heard more shouting from across the hall and she struggled to understand what was being said.
“Rebellion … The Estate … mansion … Aaron …”
Her heart leapt into her throat and she choked on her own intake of breath. She laid her head back on the table and listened carefully, couldn’t allow herself to believe what she thought she was hearing. They were interrogating someone, alternating between screaming and silence. But she never heard another man answer and she wondered whom they held. Tears formed in her eyes and slid down the sides of her face. Crystal blue eyes flashed in her thoughts, but she forced away the hopeless idea that he could still be alive. She’d seen him die in that chair, the life leaving his eyes and body, the breath leaving his chest for the last time.
The door clicked open and her eyes opened beneath the blindfold. Her body tensed, her skin tingling from the anxiety coursing through her veins. Another click and footsteps, slow and heavy, approached. She braced herself for his touch and was surprised by the size of his hands.
She could tell immediately that he wasn’t Patrick. There was something darker, more evil, rolling off his skin and she became physically ill when he ran his hands over her body. He didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound except for the brush of skin over skin. He moved slowly over her, as if he was studying her.
When he’d moved to her feet, she heard the sound of a latch before the table broke apart. Her legs spread to the side, held in place by the chains. A shudder rolled over her and she fought back the desire to fight. His large hands gripped her ankles, sliding up her legs, over her knees to squeeze around her thighs.
Her legs jerked beneath his hold, the tips of his fingers digging into the tense muscle. He was silent except for his breathing that was loud but even. A finger slipped inside her suddenly and she bucked against it. Another hand smoothed up her abdomen, pausing over her breast before moving further and encircling her neck. He pulled out of her and she heard belt unbuckle and his pants fall to the floor.
Within seconds, he was inside her; the width painful against dry skin. It burned and she clenched her jaw in reaction to the pain. The hand around her neck tightened cutting off her ability to breath. He moved inside her, skin slapping against skin when he sped his pace. It was strong, angry strokes — a man taking a woman freely. The way he moved made it obvious that this wasn’t about sex; it was about having power over her, taking something from her against her will. The fact that she didn’t know his identity only added to the insult. Laid out and bound, she was nothing but meat, a whore meant for every man’s use.
She didn’t react to him. Bile spiked up her throat that she would swallow back down refusing to give him any reaction to what he was doing. Eventually he pulle
d out, lifting her hips with one hand before shoving himself into her ass to finish himself off. She absorbed the pain, allowed the endorphins to wash her into a numb place and to fan the flame of rage that was building inside her. His other hand squeezed around her throat, and white noise boomed in her head when he’d pinched the arteries and blocked blood flow to her head. She struggled to stay conscious, coughing beneath his grip.
“… fucking your girlfriend now …”
It was Patrick’s voice on the other side of the wall and the man pulled out of her suddenly, but squeezed her neck tighter. She struggled for breath, her arms and legs pulling against the chains that bound her. Her vision tunneled, her body jerked over the wood, but her struggle was useless and consciousness was lost.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
His ribs were broken. Three men had held him, and the fourth beat him with every available surface of his body, eventually moving on to tools and heavy objects that now lay scattered across the room. He could feel blood dripping thick and wet down the side of his head and the skin of his arms felt like it had been shredded from the torture he’d endured.
He sat on the floor — his legs bent at the knees in front of him, his head falling heavily against the wall at his back. Shattered, splintered, broken and fractured, his body had been beaten, abused. Blood choked out his lungs, crimson coughs bubbling from his lips. But, he wouldn’t talk. Despite how they beat him, despite the chains that bound him, despite the torment and suffering, the pain and the agony, he wouldn’t give them the information they sought.
He knew they would kill him. They would toss his body aside as nothing more than a useless carcass, not worthy of reverence of respect. He didn’t care, couldn’t care because, despite the lies they spoke, he knew she was gone.
Hope. A woman he never imagined to exist, her name was a concept that was lost to the world in which he’d been raised. And just like the concept, she couldn’t exist in this place, because there was no hope, no redemption, no honor and no deliverance. There was nothing left but the obliteration and annihilation of anything good. Morality didn’t exist and only pain remained.
