by Sansa Rayne
“Is that so?” Hardt chuckles. “I might have imagined. You were said to be an ungovernable young woman.”
Were, he says.
As if I’ve ever really changed. I may have cleaned up my act in all the public ways, but am I really changed deep down? If I had, there’s no way I would have gotten into that limo with Ingram the night we met. Maybe I’d be dead as a result, but then again, I might not have entered the Masters’ cross-hairs: taking down Victor Sovereign started this whole thing. If I hadn’t been so reckless…
“Yeah, well. You’re all governing me now.”
Hardt sighs.
“Ingram’s never found a woman who could match him,” he says. “Girls like Madeleine helped him relieve stress, but they never challenged him intellectually, or tested his will. And that’s something he’s lacked — something he’s needed, even if he didn’t know it. Colette and I were not surprised one bit that he opted to capture you, rather than kill you. Subconsciously, he knew what he wanted.”
I fake a sad smile.
That’s nice of Hardt to say, but what Ingram wanted was a little help finding out who is trying to kill him. If we’ve found something real between us along the way, that was a happy accident.
“You don’t believe me?” he asks, seeing through my facade. “Kate, I’ve known Ingram for years. Not weeks, like you. I know what I’m talking about. He’s needed a true partner for some time, even if he didn’t acknowledge it himself. The same way I need Colette, he needs you.”
“I’ve seen what you do to people you need,” I snarl. “You keep them in cages and steal their lives. Colette isn’t your partner, she’s your property.”
“Maybe that’s how it started, but we’ve been together for decades,” he argues, his expression sharpening. “Relationships evolve over time. She’s accepted the life she lives; I’ve made peace with my guilt. Together, we’re happy.”
“That doesn’t excuse what you did, or what Ingram has done.”
“Doesn’t Colette get a say?” Hardt snaps. “If she wanted to hurt me for what I’ve done to her, she’s had every opportunity.”
“Because she knows what would happen to her if she tried! Maybe if she escaped the spell would be broken, and she’d remember how much she hates you.”
Hardt gets up, shaking his head.
“You don’t know her, or me. You barely know Ingram. You’ll see, life isn’t as simple as you make it out to be. I thought you could help Ingram — you could be the confidante he needs if he’s to take over the Masters someday. Maybe I was wrong.”
My stomach clenches at the idea of being trapped on this island for the thousandth time since I arrived. It would be bad enough to stay a prisoner, rotting in a cage. I’d hate to join the Masters and be a part of their horrific agenda — but to be Ingram’s dark muse as he leads this cabal…
How could I do any of it? Colette could have accepted what she’s party to, but I won’t.
“Yes,” I say. “You were wrong.”
Ingram owes me. If he has any shred of honor, he’ll get me off this island.
“If you serve Ingram, you’ll be protected. If he leads the Masters, and you have his ear, you’ll have more power than you’ve ever imagined. Think of all the good you could do. That’s true freedom, Kate. The ability to exert power.”
I roll my eyes and look away.
“You can be Ingram’s partner or his slave, or you can be nothing,” Hardt says, taking the half-eaten pasta. “You decide.”
—
Our conversation echoes in my mind the rest of the night. It invades my dreams until morning. I wake the next day to my cell door opening: it’s Ingram, as well as Garth and his guards.
“Hi,” I say, smiling despite myself. All my anger towards him and Hardt evaporates when I smell his cool cologne. “What’s going to-”
Ingram raises a finger to his lips to quiet me.
“From this point forward, you’re not to speak unless questioned,” he says. “Is that understood?”
Shit. I suppose I should have expected it to be this way.
“Yes, sir.”
I wait for him to strip me down, which I’ve come to accept as de rigueur, but instead he says, “Hold your arms out.”
While I obey, a guard opens a small, metal briefcase. Ingram retrieves from it a black, long-sleeved leather jacket. I turn around so that he can put it on me, but he barks, “Face front!”
Confused, I halt.
“Arms forward.”
As he slips my hands inside, I realize that the sleeves fuse together at their end, rather than opening up. Buckles and metal rings line the jacket up and down its length. The zipper goes up the back, not the front.
It’s a straight-jacket, just not one I’ve ever seen before. I’ve seen the classic, white version famously used in mental institutions — not one like this. I shiver, imagining who might have worn this one before me — and for what reason.
Ingram takes several minutes strapping up the jacket, making sure it’s tight as hell. Locking clasps keep my arms wrapped around my chest, with practically no slack; I can hardly move them, let alone get them free. A pair of bands extend down from a belt and pull up between my legs, ensuring I can’t somehow have the jacket taken off from over my head. Of course, this is as tight as the rest of the jacket, ensuring every movement causes a rubbing sensation I can’t help enjoying.
I’d be worried about hiding my illicit pleasure, but Ingram retrieves from the briefcase a matching black, leather hood. Without a word, he slips it over my head and fits it by tying a series of laces in back. Holes for my nostrils let me breathe, and ones for my eyes grant me a field of tunnel vision, but I can’t open my jaw to speak. I’ve never been claustrophobic, but seeing as though through a door’s peephole adds to my dread and discomfort.
For the second time I think Ingram’s finished, but he continues: locking cuffs around my ankles and connecting their chain to a hook on my jacket. Do they think I would try to run like this? It must be a psychological tactic — an attempt to make me feel vulnerable, to wear down my resistance. Or am I being paranoid? Maybe it’s just a form of punishment for killing Victor.
To finish, Ingram puts a leash on my jacket’s collar, then gives it a gentle tug.
“Come with me,” he says. “And if you value your life, prepare to be on your absolute best behavior.”
The guards chat quietly as we walk to the pavilion. There’s no need for all these security measures — it’s all theater to appease the angry Masters who want to see Kate suffer. Every time one of Garth’s men chuckles, I have to keep myself from ripping off his head and punting it into the sea.
Maybe if they had let me see Kate before now, I wouldn’t be so pissed. I refused to tear my eyes away from her cell’s security feed, so I haven’t slept many hours. Not that I would have rested much anyway — there’s too much uncertainty about today. Having to rely on the truth as our sole defense… I can see why normal people fear the legal system as much as they do.
Thankfully, today’s jury isn’t twelve random strangers. We all know each other. They trust me. They’ll listen.
Somehow, I think I’m more nervous about today than Kate. She handled her isolation so well — I’m proud of her, and it’s infuriating that I couldn’t tell her so.
When this is over, I’ll make it all up to her.
At the center of the pavilion, the Masters’ seats have been arranged in a semi-circle so they can all face Kate. The wide-bottomed chair has been bolted to the ground to keep it steady. A metal wand the length of my index finger sticks out from the middle, already coated with lubricant.
Kate doesn’t see it because of her hood, and so she grunts in confusion when I loosen the straps between her legs and pull down her pants. She gets the picture after I apply some extra oil to her ass, and groans as I guide her ass onto the wand. The sound makes my cock spasm. Her eyes roll back in their sockets, especially as I fasten straps over her thighs to keep her legs in
place.
“You may remove her hood,” says Jamison.
I do so gladly. Kate gasps as it comes off, her cheeks rosy. I take an extra second to brush the hair out of her face and give her a supportive smile. I’d rather kiss her. I should. But not now. The other Masters have to believe I’m one of them, not that I’m more loyal to Kate — even if I’m not fully sure that’s still true.
“Look at me, Ms. Atwood,” Jamison says, holding out a small tablet in his hand. “The device you sit on will release an electric shock whenever I press this.”
He runs his thumb over the screen, and Kate shrieks, jolting in place. She thrashes against her bonds uselessly as the men laugh. The sight fills my cock until it aches, but my fists clench at their amusement.
“Don’t speak out of turn,” Jamison warns.
Kate gasps, though the jacket likely keeps her from breathing too deeply.
“Ingram,” she grunts, turning to me. “Please, you can’t-”
She howls, writhing once more.
“I can turn up the voltage if necessary,” says Jamison. “Next time I will. Is that clear, Ms. Atwood?”
“Yes… sir,” she replies, though her lip quivers. Whatever rage she’s swallowing, it’s nothing compared to mine. If this was anyone other than Jamison, my hands would already be around his neck.
“By now you are all aware of why we are here,” he says, addressing the assembled Masters. All gathered in person, they fill the twenty-one seats, save for Victor’s. The chair could have been removed — I assume Jamison left it there as a sign of respect — or because he expects it to be filled again soon, by Anton Ford. He stands to the side, listening in, his piercing gaze studying every person here, though his attention frequently returns to Kate. That is, until Jamison begins the trial.
“Victor Sovereign was killed five days ago,” he begins. “There were no outside observers to witness what happened, but by now you have all heard the testimony of Ingram Dent and Kate Atwood, who admit their involvement under the claim of self-defense. After hearing from them both, I am inclined to believe their account: Victor attacked them, and Ms. Atwood was forced to fire on him to defend Ingram. We’ve all known both Ingram and Victor for years — we are aware that Victor’s temperament in recent months had tended toward wrath and impulse, especially concerning Ms. Atwood.”
The Masters nod — there’s no sense in denying the obvious.
“That said, we will review what evidence we do have so that everyone can make an informed decision,” Jamison concludes. “Mr. Lipinski, please present your findings.”
Garth clears his throat and strides over toward Kate, where he can address the group. He takes a card from his pocket and reads, “As you’ve all seen from her interrogation, we questioned her thoroughly. Through prolonged terror and humiliation, we drove her stress levels past the breaking point of even a hardened operative. At no point did she deviate from her account. In my professional opinion, she believes she acted in defense of Mr. Dent, with no additional motive.”
I exhale, leaning back in my seat.
“During your interrogation, did you ask her about the history between her and Victor?” asks Sidney Traves. Still dressed in beach shorts from his cut-short vacation on Mauritius, he speaks to Garth but glares at Kate. Considering he and Victor were friends, I don’t expect him to vote in Kate’s favor.
“Excuse me?” Kate blurts. “We didn’t have a-”
She wrenches in place, jaw dropping from the pain of the shock.
“Mr. Lipinski,” Jamison says, once Kate’s settled down.
“Not directly,” Garth replies. “It was in the context, like when I pressed her on the subject of revenge. It was, uh… implied.”
Sidney nods to him, then turns to Kate, asking, “So when you killed Victor, you weren’t thinking about how he, and all of us, sent Ingram to murder you?”
“No,” she replies, her soft voice barely hiding her contempt. “I was protecting Ingram.”
The Masters whisper to one another. Ford and I briefly make eye contact before we each turn away.
“But afterward, I was glad,” Kate continues.
I nearly yell for her to stop, especially when the other Masters go silent.
She shrugs her shoulders the best she can in her bindings.
“He left Bethany traumatized from his abuse. He was going to torture me to death. Fuck him. I’m not sorry.”
“Kate!” I shout, unable to hold back any longer. “Shut up!”
“Oh no,” says Sidney. “Now we’re getting the truth. Why stop?”
“I’ve always told you the truth,” Kate continues. “In the moment, I acted to save Ingram. Should I pretend to feel guilty after the fact? You people murder all the time. At least I had a good reason. And would you all really rather have Victor alive and Ingram dead? I don’t fucking think so. I did you all a favor by-”
Another shock cuts her off. She convulses, then goes still, blinking away tears.
“That’s enough!” I growl, getting up and ripping the tablet from Jamison’s hands. I crack the screen over my knee before he can object.
“Would you kill again?” Sidney asks, marching up to Kate. “Would you kill one of us?”
“If I have a good reason,” Kate says.
Does she have a fucking death wish?
“Like kidnapping you and holding you captive? Would you kill Ingram?”
She glances at me, smirking.
“He’s made up for it,” she says.
Several Masters chuckle, and the rest smile.
“Guess you’re off the hook, Dent,” says Evo Grieken. “What about the rest of us?”
“Look,” I cut in before Kate can answer. “We’re all aware that Kate is not here by choice and she is not happy about it. We marked her for death. She’s justified in harboring some resentment. But that just means she has something in common with all of us: we eliminate our enemies. Isn’t that right?”
Most of them nod.
“Usually, when we kill, it’s because we have to. That’s what happened with Victor. He didn’t give Kate a choice. She saw that I was in danger and she acted. It’s as simple as that. She defended me and herself.”
“And not to be callous, but Ingram is far more valuable to our organization than Victor,” Jamison adds.
The Masters confer with one another, their murmuring staying low in volume. Does that mean they agree? Would they be louder if they were disagreeing?
“You shot him five times,” Sidney calls out over the noise. “Ingram says you had no choice, but that’s bullshit.”
The group shuts up.
“Why shoot him five times, Ms. Atwood? Why not fire a warning shot? Why not shoot him once?” he asks. “Victor might have lived if you hadn’t unloaded a whole clip.”
“I called out a warning,” Kate replies. “I warned him I’d shoot. He didn’t listen. So I shot him. I was trained to keep shooting when there’s a danger.”
“You hit Victor with five very good shots,” says Sidney. “Any one of them would likely have killed Victor.”
“Like I said, I’ve had some training. I know how to shoot.”
“Why’s that?
“I had a feeling I might need it someday,” Kate says, throwing her gaze around the room. “My job isn’t the safest.”
Sidney grimaces, then grips her chin in his palm.
“You think you’re cute?” he growls. “Victor was a friend of mine, you cunt. He had a lot of friends here, and we don’t appreciate you celebrating his-”
Kate blanches, trying to fidget out of his grasp. I’m on him before he finishes, ripping him away from her. Holding him by the lapels of his Hawaiian shirt, I ask, “I’m your friend too, aren’t I? Victor lost his fucking shit and almost killed me. There was no other way.”
Sidney brushes me off, but backs away. I could pound his face into sludge and he knows it.
“It could have ended differently,” he says, pointing at Kate. “Fucking Anni
e Oakley here could have clipped Victor in the shoulder. He’s dead because she wanted to kill him. Even though she saved your life in the process, she should pay for that.”
“What would you suggest, Mr. Traves?” Jamison asks. “What do you want?”
Sidney steps back and sweeps his eyes across the room. His lips curl.
“Victor was one of us. We don’t let attacks against us go unpunished. Kate Atwood was supposed to die — we decided she had to be eliminated. I say we enact our original plan and kill her immediately. It’s what Victor would have wanted.”
One day, I’m going to rip his spine out through his mouth.
No matter what happens here, Sidney Traves is a fucking dead man.
“I understand your thirst for vengeance,” says Jamison. “But we can’t ignore the fact that Ms. Atwood acted to save Ingram. In my opinion, Ms. Atwood should remain imprisoned here on the island.”
“Not a fucking chance,” says Sidney.
“That’s for us all to decide. I’m calling a vote. Who’s for Ms. Atwood’s execution?”
I cross my arms in front of my chest and stare down Sidney. He raises his hand, as do nine others.
“Who’s for continuing imprisonment?” Jamison asks.
Nine hands go up with mine.
It’s a tie.
I have to grin at the irony: the twenty-first and deciding vote would have been Victor’s.
Committing to memory the ten men who voted to kill Kate, I promise myself they’ll all suffer later. For now, I need to keep their general favor, even if we disagree on this matter.
“Well, now what?” I ask.
“This is why we avoid even numbers,” Jamison sighs. “We’re at an impasse, unless someone would consider changing their vote.”
The Masters murmur their annoyance. Kate’s eyes dart around fearfully.
“Mr. Hardt?” says Anton Ford, who has observed the proceeding silently until now. “I have a suggestion, if my input could be of use. I think we could achieve a compromise.”
Ford and Victor were friends. There’s no way this compromise will be fair, but Jamison’s still in charge.