Jake and Dravin had left some time ago, but even when they’d been there their presence had barely registered. I heard their muffled voices and saw their aggressive postures out of the corner of my eye, but couldn't begin to comprehend what they’d disputed. It reminded me of two gorillas fighting over a piece of fruit.
At some point no more water came, and Dravin had left the room. Jake had lifted the seat of the chair and smoothed the hair back from my face, and for once I’d felt nothing when staring into those eyes. I watched his lips move, but it sounded as if he were talking under water. None of his words registered, and eventually he left as well.
I wasn’t sure who I feared more, Jake or Dravin. Dravin was ruthless. There was no doubt in my mind that he'd kill me the moment I gave them the information they wanted. The man had no compassion, warmth, or humanity.
Jake, on the other hand, was terrifying for an entirely different reason. He was unpredictable. He'd plaster a smile on his face, drawing you in and giving you the illusion of safety just before biting your head off. I don't believe he was any less cruel than Dravin, especially now, but the mind games he played with his shifting appearance made him both more and less dangerous.
A beeping came from outside the room, and my pulse picked up. I opened my eyes and stared into my lap, trying to feign the numbness that'd convinced them to stop torturing me before. It seemed too soon for them to be back, but I had no idea how long it'd been. My fogged mind could've lasted for five minutes or five hours and I wouldn't have known the difference.
Each step the person took down the stairs echoed along the walls, making me wonder if the place was designed to have that creepy effect. Every sound sent more foreboding down my spine, and my breaths came far too rapidly for someone lost in their mind. I attempted to slow my breathing and force any emotion from my features as metal creaked and someone stepped inside. The door clanged shut behind them and I flinched, cursing myself for already ruining the facade I so desperately needed to display.
Something seemed off about the footsteps as they approached. They were softer than I would’ve expected, and as the faint smell of perfume drifted to my nose I peered up at the person who'd come for me. It was a woman. A breathtaking one with long blonde hair drifting in waves to her waist and perfect ivory skin that didn't have a blemish in sight. She held a water bottle and sandwich, and as I looked into her eyes she gave me the tiniest of smiles. Hope soared and I shifted in the restraints.
"Help," I said, my voice cracking from the countless screams I'd let out. "Please, help me."
"Shh," she whispered, dragging a chair that rested on the other side of the room next to me and sitting down. "My Master would kill me if I let you go, so I can't do that. But I brought you food." She lifted the sandwich for me to see.
"Your Master?" I asked, horrified by the word. This time as my voice shook it had less to do with my raw throat.
That small smile graced her lips again, and she leaned forward, lifting the sandwich to my lips. "You should eat."
"I'm not hungry," I said, shaking my head. "Isn't it the middle of the night?"
Her eyebrows rose and head tilted. "It's three in the afternoon."
My jaw dropped, giving the woman access to my mouth. She prodded the sandwich against my teeth, and I reluctantly took a bite, cringing as the bread and ham made their way down my sore throat.
"What's your name?" I asked in between bites and gulps of the water I took with the woman's persistence.
"Isabella."
I took a deep breath, allowing my hope to flutter once more. "It's nice to meet you Isabella. My name’s Detective Ashby. I've been working on a case to bring these men down for the last year, and now I have everything I need. All I need you to do is take these binds off and come with me. I promise as soon as we get out of here they won't be able to hurt either of us ever again."
I'd hoped for my voice to show more authority, but the desperation that filtered in took away whatever convincing tone I'd attempted to conjure. Isabella had noticed as well, and instead of the hope or pity I would've expected to see, amusement flashed across her face before disappearing a moment later. I almost thought I'd imagined it.
"Sorry, Detective," Isabella said with an innocent tone. "I can't."
I nodded, taking the last bite of the sandwich as Isabella pressed it to my lips. Something was off about the woman. She acted as if the small amount of compassion she showed was forced. There was no loyalty to me or my situation that I could sense, but she must've come down here for a reason. And then it dawned on me.
"Did he send you down here?" I asked, keeping my tone as steady as possible. She was loyal to someone, it just wasn't me. She'd been brainwashed, conditioned to think of her captor as her lover instead of the enemy. I'd only seen it a handful of times, but seeing it now made me want to vomit the sandwich I'd just forced myself to eat.
"Who?" she asked, a bit of nervousness entering her voice.
"Your… Master."
A larger than normal breath rushed over her lips, and the amusement flashed once again. "No. He doesn't allow me down here." Her face took on a seriousness it had lacked before. "And Master would punish me if he knew I’d broken his rules. You won't tell him, will you?"
"Of course not," I said. "I want to help you, Isabella. I'd never say anything that could get you hurt." I paused, unsure if I actually wanted to ask the obvious question that sat on my mind. I took a deep breath and readied myself. "Isabella, what's your Master's name?"
"I'm not allowed to say it out loud," she responded, shaking her head.
"Okay, I'm sorry. I won't make you. If I guess, can you tell me if I guess correctly?"
Isabella's face lightened and she nodded.
"Dravin Hines?" I asked, secretly hoping the answer was yes. My stomach dropped as her head shook from side to side.
"Jake Cryson?"
Her lips tilted up as I said the name. "Yes."
I directed my gaze to the floor. I'd studied the man for months and still didn't have that basic piece of information. It angered me to know that all this time this woman had been the victim of someone I'd studied so closely, or at least attempted to. Other emotions swirled in my brain along with anger at myself, but I wouldn't acknowledge those.
As I lifted my face to meet Isabella's she appeared to be studying me. Her head was tilted and eyes hard. Her face softened after I met her gaze, a small amount of pity showing. "Detective, I believe I need to warn you about something."
"Okay," I said, the fear evident in my voice.
"My Master has many lovers. He's very good at telling women what they want to hear, but unfortunately he doesn't mean any of what he says. I learned that a long time ago." She lifted a hand to rub her eye as if the statement made her tear up. "He'll try to trick you into telling him about the people working with you, but you shouldn't. It's all an act, and he'll kill you as soon as you do."
Isabella's words hit hard, even as I knew them to be true already. "I have no intention of it," I said, shifting my gaze to the floor.
Isabella lifted from the chair, dragging it back to where it'd been and walked out of the room.
"Thank you," I said, making her pause at the door.
Her shoulders tensed, but she didn't turn back. She left, allowing the door to slam shut on her way out.
Jake
"Can I help you, Master?" Isabella said, glancing up from a magazine as I barged through her bedroom door. She rested on her stomach with her legs kicked in the air like a teenage girl, and it pissed me off all the more.
"What the fuck were you doing with the detective?"
She sighed, closing the magazine and sitting up on the bed as if she was bothered by my presence. I strode toward her, red clouding my vision as I grabbed her by the hair and forced her to look at me. "Answer. Now."
"Nothing," she gritted, pure hatred pouring from her eyes. "I was just bringing her food."
My grip on her hair tightened. "Why?"
&nb
sp; "Because I thought she might be hungry."
I laughed humorlessly, releasing my hold and running a hand over my face. "Jesus Christ, Isabella, why do you have to be such a pain in the ass?"
"I don't interfere in your playtime, but I don't see where a sliver of kindness messes anything up for you. You don't know what it's like, Master."
"I don't know what it's like? What exactly are you referring to?"
Isabella stood and made her way to the door, muttering over her shoulder as she passed me. "Just forget it."
My face grew hot as I followed. I twisted her around and slammed her into the wall before she could leave. Her head turned to the side, and eyes glued to the floor. Fear finally began to show in her stance as she realized she'd gone too far this time.
"What don't I understand, Isabella?"
Her eyes narrowed as she finally lifted her gaze to meet mine. "What it's like to be tortured by a sick fuck like you."
My lips tilted into a devilish smile as I lifted one of the flawless, golden locks of hair, admiring it. "Do you honestly think you know what it's like, my pet? Tell me, what horrible things have you experienced at my hand?" I threaded my fist around the strand and yanked. "Hmm?"
Isabella's face softened and she tried to twist away, but my hold wouldn't allow it. "Better yet, when is the last time I punished you? Maybe it's time you were reminded of your place. Should you join Laila in the basement?"
Her gaze returned to mine, and this time only fear showed through. I tugged hard enough to bring tears to Isabella's eyes. "No, Master," she said, her voice breaking.
I let up on my hold, but couldn't bring myself to step back just yet. Emotions stirred, sending a rush of warmth over me as I inhaled Isabella's scent. This wasn't typical for us. For the most part, Isabella stayed out of the way, playing the role of the perfect slave for my associates, and biting off a snarky comment on occasion. It was why I kept her around. I didn't know what'd gotten into her lately, but in that moment I didn't care.
Isabella's eyes moved to take in my erection, and the hate returned in her gaze as she glared at me. "Tell me, Master," she said, her voice acidic. "Do you ever get turned on by women who aren't afraid of you?"
I smiled, amused by her hatred of me. I took a step away from her and glanced around the room. I realized how infrequently I'd been in here, and marveled at the unfamiliarity of the place. The blood ceased rushing to my cock as the tension subsided, and my mind cleared, allowing me to remember my other reason for coming to Isabella's room.
"How is she?" I asked, trying to look unconcerned as I flipped through a notebook Isabella used for drawing. She snatched it from my hands, closing it and setting it back on the dresser.
"Who, Laila?" she said the name as if she were taking a dig at me. "She's peachy."
"You know what I mean."
Isabella sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "She's fine I guess. Wants me to help her escape, developing a case of good ol' Stockholm syndrome, nothing out of the ordinary."
"What?" I asked, still trying to mask most of my interest.
Isabella smiled knowingly. "I'm curious. How much do you have to butter someone up to be able to torture them and still have them eating out of your hand? What the hell do you do to these women?"
My face pinched. "You say that as if I make kidnapping women a habit."
Isabella rolled her eyes. "Oh, right. I forgot, you're a complete gentleman."
The comment stung, and I wondered where my ability to brush off insults had gone. What Isabella thought didn't typically matter to me, yet I still felt heat as it rushed to my ears. "Well it's not as if I'm a rapist. You of all people should know that."
"Yes, well maybe not physically. But you certainly enjoy raping people’s minds."
"Whatever," I said, rising to my feet. The childlike tone of my voice caught me off guard, and I found myself pausing before leaving the room. I looked down at Isabella's curious expression and narrowed my eyes. "Don't go down there again," I muttered before walking to the door.
"Busy?" Dravin asked, stepping into my study.
I stared at a file of information on Laila, attempting to study every detail of her as she had me. The identity of the mole was somewhere in this paperwork. I just had to find it.
"No, what's up?" I asked, closing the file and leaning back in my chair. Things had significantly progressed with Dravin since our last encounter here. We still didn't totally see eye to eye, but his attitude toward my authority had improved. He even made a point to stay out of my study. Unfortunately for him I held grudges, and it didn't matter much to me how nice he played at this point. My plans for him wouldn't change. Still, it was easier to work with him while we had the same end goal.
"You ready to head back down? I think we should get started."
"Yeah, actually I've been meaning to talk to you about that."
Dravin took a few steps into the room, raising his brow and leaning against the wall. "Yes?"
"The torture by itself isn't going to work."
"Oh?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"She's a detective who's worked with criminals the past four years and studied them in college for the four before that. She knows the torture bit. It's too straightforward."
"And what are you suggesting we do instead?"
"Not instead," I said as my lips pulled into a grin. "In addition to. Did you hear her yesterday when she asked me not to let you hurt her?"
Dravin shifted against the wall, not grasping my meaning. "Yeah." He dragged the word out.
"It means she has some level of trust in me. It's probably fractured since yesterday, but I can get it back. As of now, she thinks we'll kill her no matter what she gives us. All we need is to get a little bit of hope in her to kick in those survival instincts."
Dravin's eyes lit up. "You want to play good cop, bad cop?"
I shrugged, "Essentially."
He nodded, a smile growing. "I like it." Then the smile faltered slightly. "But why the hell would she trust you?"
"She probably feels like she knows me, since she's been studying me the past year. You're a stranger to her. I'm the devil she knows."
"Right," he said, rubbing a hand over his chin. I relaxed by a hair when he didn't question any further. I had no intention of telling him I'd met Laila before. That I'd kissed her just days before finding out that she was the detective on our case. She wasn't the lead. That was her partner, Anthony Riley, but my PI had assured me she was the one working it. I'm not certain what my reasoning was for not wanting Dravin to know about our encounter. Whether it was that I didn't want him to know I'd allowed Laila to get close or that she'd rejected me. Either way, as long as she kept her mouth shut, Dravin wouldn't know.
He pushed off the wall and lifted his brows. "Well, I guess I'll get started then."
8
Laila
As footsteps sounded outside the door, I prayed it was Isabella returning. Goosebumps covered my flesh at the hurried, heavy clacks on the concrete. They sounded nothing like Isabella's. Only one set of feet made the noise though, and I tried to rationalize what that meant for me as Dravin strolled through the door.
His hard eyes locked onto mine as he stalked toward me like a predator. "Good evening," Dravin said with a nod. I didn't respond, just stared at him, my breaths shaky and mouth agape. I would've played dead if it meant he'd leave me alone.
He huffed, shaking his head as he made his way to the wall of instruments. "Still not ready, huh?" he asked with his back to me. I took in the nonchalant way he chose the instrument with both awe and fright. He looked as if he were trying to decide on a brand of toothpaste, with his hands on his hips and gaze raking the wall.
Dravin sighed as he spotted his choice, and he stepped forward to lift a metal rod from the wall. He held it gingerly in his hands as he approached me, turning it in his palms as if he were admiring the instrument. I studied it as well, my eyes widening with each step he approached. It was a
black metallic rod with a rubber handle and two points at the end.
"W-what is that?" I asked in a tremulous voice.
For the first time, I saw Dravin's smile. It had no appeal. There was nothing pleasant or wholesome about it. It was pure evil mocking me.
"It's a cattle prod." He lowered the rod to my face for me to see, and I pressed myself back against the chair out of instinct. I didn't know exactly what the thing did, but I was absolutely certain I didn't want to find out. Dravin laughed above me, and my gaze darted from the rod to him. "I have to press the button for it to work, detective. See?" he said, touching the tips of the rod to his palm.
The function of the rod came into focus and sent a fresh wave of terror through me. A lump formed in my throat before he'd even asked the questions we both knew I wouldn't answer.
"Please don't do this," I begged hopelessly.
"Name of the mole." The smile vanished from his face, and he turned the rod so that the tips touched the fabric of my T-shirt just above my breasts. I balled my hands into fists, bracing for what I knew would come next, but nothing would've prepared me for the bolt of current that rushed through me in the next moment.
I don't know how long it went on this time. I think I must've passed out because one moment I was screaming in pain and the next the leather straps were loosening around my arm. I moaned as my eyes fought to open but refused.
"Relax, Laila. I've got you."
It was Jake's voice. Even with my clouded mind, the deep baritone registered crystal clear, and tears leaked through lids I still hadn't managed to open. The strange thing about the torture sessions the men had put me through was that I never felt sore afterward, only weak and rigid. Few marks littered my body to give an indication of the pain and terror they'd put me through. It was my mind they sought to break, not my body. And while my body recovered by the time the next session came around, the fractures that my mind incurred hadn't.
Dethroned (Darker Places Book 3) Page 6