by Renee Rocco
He has everyone from local politicians to soccer moms coming and going on those videos. They attend Fight Nights. Indulge in illegal drugs. Patronize the brothel. Rape minors. If I can get my hands on those recordings, I can not only cut off the head of the snake, I can destroy the entire body.
“Lyle said you refused to allow him to chain Atticus.” David’s tone is too casual. He turns on the heel of his polished Hermes loafer. I will not be intimidated by a bully—not even one with a torture chamber. “What would have happened if that man hit you instead of the wall?”
Wow.
Lyle didn’t spare a single detail when he snitched. He’s such a slimy turd who’s going to get his comeuppance when David’s empire crumbles.
I arch a brow and give him my best smirk. “I suspect I’d be nursing a nasty bruise.”
Blue fire sparks in his eyes. “Do you think this is a fucking joke, Jamie?”
I pretend to not notice his rising temper and, instead, play the part of the flattered wife. My stomach turns when I place my hands on his arm and give him a plastic smile. “I love how you’re concerned for my safety, but at no point was I in danger. You know how the fighters like to make a big show of it before accepting defeat.”
He shakes off my touch and points his index finger in my face. “That injury will set me back at least a week. A week.”
And there it is—it’s all about the bottom line.
“Forgive me.”
The apology is acid on my tongue.
“I don’t want you seeing him.”
Panic slithers through me, but I keep a level head. David speaks only one language, and because of him, I’m fluent in Asshole.
Up goes the chin, and out comes the practiced haughtiness. “I don’t recall asking your permission.”
“And yet, you forget you need it.”
Oh, how I’d love to smack the sneer right off his mouth.
I curl my lips in an arctic grin. “My darling, you don’t want to do this.”
That I keep the tremble out of my voice is a genuine miracle.
“You’re right. I don’t. You’re a bloodthirsty bitch.” He narrows his eyes on me, and I have to resist backing away. “But now that the deed is done, Atticus is off limits. He’s too dangerous.”
David is obsessed with trying to control me, but the man lives for a challenge. That’s what I am to him, a ripe challenge. He believes enough money and patience can buy him anything. Anything except me, and this drives him insane. I’m not a manipulative bitch by nature, but it’s how I survived this long as his wife.
Rising on my tiptoes, I shove aside disgust and brush my lips across his. “Nothing is off limits. Your rule, husband, not mine.”
David grabs me by the waist and pulls me in close. “You can’t have him.”
“Yes, I can.” I trail my hand down his chest, the material of his suit soft under my palm. With my hand hovering at the waistband of his pants, I finger his leather belt. I keep my gaze fixed on cold eyes. “Please.”
“You’re evil.” David’s groan tells me I’m winning the battle, thank God. I go to move away from him, but he catches me by the wrist and holds me where he wants me. “You won’t go in the cell unless he’s chained.”
A wave of relief rolls through me in the wake of the tension. I cross my heart and kiss my finger. “You have my word.”
David hoods his eyes, lust melting some of the ice in their glacial depths. I resist the urge to pull away when he runs the tip of his index finger along my bottom lip. “I love it when you obey me.”
“That’s because it’s a novelty.”
In an instant, he shifts gears. He clamps a hand around my throat, squeezing hard enough to bring my simmering fear to a boiling point. When Wraith grabbed me, I wasn’t afraid. But David’s touch awakens horrific, blood-soaked childhood memories.
“If anyone else dared to disrespect me…” He lets his sentence trail off, the unspoken threat hanging between us.
I’ll be damned if I let him see my terror. Instead of kowtowing, I lift my chin to give him better access. “Don’t tease me with a good time.”
With a curse, he squeezes tighter. “You drive me insane.”
His words are laced with the perfect blend of thrill and exasperation.
I’m the one person with any level of control over him because in his own sadistic way I think he does care about me. If he didn’t, he would have killed me already. Especially since, I can cause irreparable damage to his reputation if I leaked it to his friends that David Crane is mutilated and found a darker way to satisfy his sexual desires
“Damn right, I drive you insane. Now take your fucking hand off my throat.”
He releases me, and I force myself to breathe normally. To act as if I’m not gasping for breath, even as my lungs scream for air. I eye the table littered with the remnants of brunch. My hand itches to palm one of the knives and embed it in his chest. But I think about the armed guards stationed outside the door. They’ll shoot me dead before David’s done bleeding out. I think about Wraith and everyone else locked in the Coliseum, who would be collateral damage. Their bodies incinerated, and their ashes disposed of like garbage.
I hold my temper and hunker down behind my wall, where no one and nothing can hurt me.
“One day I’m going to make you love me.”
Good luck with that.
His pretty face and elegant disposition may fool everyone else, but I see through him, right to his rotten core.
I step back and smooth a hand over my depressing gray dress. “Today’s not looking good for you, babe.”
“Maybe not, but there’s always tomorrow.”
“We’ll see.” I run a finger along his freshly shaven jawline. “Now be a dear and tell the guards Atticus is mine.”
David exhales loudly, on a combined sigh and a chuckle. “You’re ruthless.”
“I learned from the best.”
Yes, I do mean him.
He drags a critical glower over me, flicking my low ponytail, his expression one of disdain. “When I get back from Miami, you and I are going to reevaluate our relationship.”
His cryptic tone chills me to the bone. “It’s a bit too late for that, don’t you think?”
“No, Mrs. Crane, it’s not. I give you Atticus, and you’ll give me something in exchange. Those are the rules, remember?”
“But I’m the ruthless bitch in this relationship,” I say before I can stop myself.
The slap snaps my head to the side and splits my bottom lip. The coppery taste of blood explodes in my mouth. Instinct kicks in, and I lunge for him, swinging for his face. He deflects the strike and snags me around the waist, twisting me, so I’m facing outward.
“Let go of me.”
“Calm down.” David laughs as I fight him with everything I’ve got until I’m heaving in his arms and battling nothing but air. “Are you done?”
Never.
I won’t stop until Wraith and I eradicate this monster. “Let me go.”
“If you continue to act like an animal, I’ll have you caged like an animal. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” I grind out between clenched teeth.
“Good.” He opens his arms just enough so I can wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth. Before I can move away, he spins me back around and grabs my jaw. The crush of his lips is punishing, and when he leans back, his expression is pure aggression. “The slap was to seal the agreement in blood. I want us to be happy together, and I need to know you’re going to make this marriage work. I anticipate a new beginning, Jamie.”
He’s insane.
Every part of me is shaking. With outrage. With fear. I flex my fists as I fight for a calm I can’t find. But releasing the rage will bring a call to action that will keep us all trapped in this hell—every person in the Coliseum along with me.
With the weight of their lives on my shoulders, I force down the need to spit in this monster’s face. “I can’t promise we’l
l be happy, but I do promise to try.”
The false vow is all I’ve got.
“That’s all I can ask. For now, anyway.”
Vomit rolls up my throat when his lips brush my forehead.
As quick as he struck me is as fast as he strides out of the solarium with the confidence of a man who believes himself indestructible. He leaves me standing there, a tempest in a teapot, with a ticking clock joining the sirens ringing in my head as time begins a frantic beat against my brain.
As if I needed another reminder that every minute spent here keeps us all at the mercy of a madman.
5
Wraith
If Lyle cuts any deeper, he’s hitting bone.
Or bleeding me dry.
Correction. He did hit bone about a dozen slices ago.
They’ve been at it for hours. I’m leaning toward David wanting this to end with me dead because there’s no way I’m making it out of this room alive.
Lyle and Owen have me on my knees, arms outstretched at my sides. Chained to the floor, a rabid animal in metal cuffs kneeling in a puddle of blood. I grind my teeth to keep them from chattering when Owen douses me with ice water. The giggly bitch finds this hilarious. I track his movements back to Lyle, who’s busy playing eeny, meeny, miny, moe to select which tool to use on me next.
I’m doing my best to stay alive, but holy shit, I don’t know how much more I can take before my body shuts down.
These two assholes keep this up, and Jamie’s going to be busting out of here alone.
First, Lyle and Owen had fun breaking my fingers, which was a special treat since my knuckles hadn’t fully healed after their collision with the wall. Then they had a blast shredding my back with a whip. Now, they’re playing with snips. Outstanding. If they keep snapping at my skin, there won’t be much left of me for noz to stitch together.
I hitch in a hiss when Lyle catches a chunk of my Unholy tattoo. Once. Twice. And again, until a river of red flows down my chest. Goddamn. What’s he trying to do, tear the ink out of my skin?
Probably.
Now look, I can take pain, as this place proved, but I’m not fucking superhuman. I lock my jaw and drag in a ragged breath through my nose as he snags my skin. Again. And again. Until everything around me blurs. But I don’t have to see clearly to know I’m fucked. I clench my jaw and hold in my screams, trying not to dwell on what else is laid out on the table that runs along the far wall. Because I know there’s all sorts of nasty shit on it for them to use on me.
Instead, I listen to the spigot’s steady drip where a hose is coiled in the corner. I glance at the drain a few feet from where I’m chained. It’s for when they have to clean the room after they’re done with us. Some bleach, some water, and it all gets washed away. Another unlucky bastard is brought in, and the torture starts all over again.
An assembly line of agony.
They keep this room stocked with all sorts of toys. Blowtorches. Drills. Hammers. Scalpels... It’s a nasty collection of surgical instruments and carpenter’s tools used to inflict as much pain as possible on those of us brought in for Crane’s amusement.
I’m not a random pick. There’s a method to today’s madness.
Crane rarely gets his hands dirty. He’s an objective observer, the camera his eye in the sky as his henchmen spill our blood all over this room.
He’s making an exception this afternoon
Apparently, the idea of me screwing his wife got under his skin. Now he wants to get under mine.
Literally.
The image of Jamie, grown up and gorgeous, is at the forefront of my mind. The vision of her keeps me from coming undone. Lends me the fortitude I need so I don’t shatter under their tools and beg these bastards to stop hurting me. I can still smell her, sweet and summery. Her taste lingers on my mouth, overpowering the acidy sting of bile and the metallic tang of blood.
But it’s not just her face that gives me strength. Survival means I’ll get the chance to kill her cunt of a husband. And trust that I’ll relish murdering him more than he’ll enjoy torturing me.
“Can I go first?” Owen’s got his hand wrapped around a package of salt.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I’m shaking. Can’t help it. Christ. My muscles seize, and my eyes water in anticipation of what’s about to happen.
“You gonna cry, Atticus?” Lyle taunts.
I wet torn lips with the tip of my tongue and battle back panic. “What’s it like being a fucking coward?”
“I ain’t afraid of you.” Lyle snatches the package from Owen.
“Yeah, you are,” I insist.
“Fuck you.” Lyle steps behind me and slaps the salt on my back, working the granules into my shredded flesh.
Can’t hold back the scream. It rips from my throat in a roar I’m positive imprints itself into the molecular compound of the walls. My head falls forward, my fight gone. No use wasting more energy on these assholes when I know there’s worse pain on the horizon.
And speaking of…
The door groans open. A gust of cologne sweeps in, and I don’t have to lift my head to know who’s joined the party.
Lyle and Owen laugh hysterically, two court jesters whose king has finally arrived. Leather shoes whisper against concrete. I glance to my right and track Crane’s advance as he strides forward. He’s got at least fifteen years on me and is elegant as a motherfucker with his slick hair and expensive gray suit. He’s style and grace to my feral destruction, and I can’t help but wonder for the thousandth time why the hell Jamie married this polished piece of shit.
I understand desperation forces people to take desperate measures, but seriously. This guy? Her situation must have been beyond bad for her to marry him.
“Now, boys, I warned you to go easy on him. We don’t want to kill him.” Then to me, “How’s my favorite pet on this fine afternoon?”
“Never better.” I beam him a bloody smile.
Behind Crane, Lyle plucks something off the table. A wrench, I think. He tosses it at me, bouncing it off my chest. “Fetch, puppy.”
Yep, a wrench.
Crane saunters over to me, grabs my hair, and yanks back my head, forcing me to look him in the eye. “You may have had her for a night, but I have her for the rest of her life.” His voice is low, a furious whisper meant just for me. “You’re going to die here, Atticus. You’ll disappear, and once you’re gone, I’m going to make my wife pay for lying down with a dog. Easy, mongrel,” he says when I fight against my chains. “I will kill her, but as I’m sure you’ve learned by now, I enjoy taking my time. I like to hurt a person properly first.”
He walks backward and peels off his suit jacket. Folds it. Places it on the table nice and neatly before rolling up his sleeves.
I pull at the restraints until the cuffs dig so deeply into my wrists, it feels like the metal scrapes against bone. “You’re dead.” I snarl and keep fighting against the restraints. My knees skid in the blood, but I can’t fall given how I’m chained. “Dead, you motherfucker.”
He nods and makes an impatient whirling motion with his index finger. “As you’ve said ad nauseam. Yet here I am, still alive.” He comes to stand directly in front of me and bends at the waist until we’re eye level. “And you are nothing but a rabid dog groveling at my feet.”
I spit a mouthful of blood on his shiny black shoes. “Let me lose, and I’ll show you a rabid dog.”
“No, I don’t think I will.”
“Coward,” I hiss.
“Shrewd,” he counters as he stretches to his full height. “Better to be the captor than the captive.” To Lyle, “Bring me the drill.”
Owen cackles. “You’re screwed now, pal.”
Again, literally.
We’ve played this game before, and shamefully, my bladder clenches. If I were a man given to pissing myself, the call for the tool would have me kneeling in a puddle of urine.
“What happened, Crane?” I taunt. “Jamie finally saw through your bul
lshit, so she came to me looking for a real man?”
A muscle tics in his jaw as he untucks the gray-and-white-striped button-down shirt from his starched charcoal trousers. Ice-blue eyes narrow on me. “If I didn’t enjoy listening to your screams, I’d cut out your tongue for saying her name. And as for my wife, I’d choose my words wisely if I were you, lest they affect how I treat her during the short time she has left.”
And just like that, Crane put two of us in this room.
I suck in a breath and fight to control my panic as I watch my torturers through a veil of filthy hair. This is about to get nasty—real fucking nasty—as Owen fastens a long, thin bit to the drill. He hands the power tool to Crane, with Lyle off to the side to watch in morbid anticipation.
“Crane, listen to me. Nothing happened. She wanted to see if it was me. We talked. She told me she was your wife. I got pissed and punched the wall. She left. That’s it.”
Crane tsks me like he’s patronizing a child who’s told a whopping lie. He strolls over, power tool in hand, and the yellow Black & Decker is all I can focus on. “What’s done is done, Atticus. Your lies can’t save her. She made her choice, and she’ll face the consequences. But because I’m a benevolent man, I’ll give her a reprieve. As long as you live, I won’t hold her accountable for letting you defile her body. See how generous I am?”
Crane lines up the bit to my right deltoid. I tense and steel myself, but honestly, I can never fully prepare for this level of torture. He hits the trigger. The bit spirals, corkscrewing into meat and muscle, ruining a section of my Grim Reaper tattoo. I hyperventilate as a tidal wave of agony rolls down my arm and across my chest. When I think I can’t take another second, when I swear the bit’s about to come out the other end and I’m going to start screaming, the tool cuts off. Reverses. Spirals out of my arm…
…then blessed quiet when the whirl stops.
Crane steps back, an artist admiring his masterpiece. Oh my fucking God, I can’t stop my stomach from heaving. I vomit all over myself. Crane sidesteps the mess to keep his expensive shoes clean.
