Desperate Lies

by Ella Miles

  Say the damn safe word, my steps say.

  I won’t.

  You will.

  Say it, and I won’t beat you to within a second of your life.

  Say it, and you get to live.

  I should hit him while he’s down. That’s how you beat a man, but I’m not my father.

  I yank him up by the back of his shirt until he’s standing in front of me. I see the blood on his back, soaking his white T-shirt. That’s why they made him dress in white, so I could see the pain I inflicted on him.

  When I look at him, face to face, I realize that he too got instructions somehow. He wouldn’t be staying here if he didn’t. He doesn’t want to lose his challenge, but tears are streaming down his cheeks.

  “Welcome to my world,” I mutter sadly. This man would have broken a long time ago if he had to face my life. I’ve had a lifetime of this. He’s endured five minutes.

  “Fight me, it will make it easier to take,” I say. That was a lesson I learned too late. I used to grow quiet, meek when my father raged on me. I used to just submit and obey. It took me too long to realize that it didn’t lessen my suffering. It didn’t make him hit me any lighter, and by submitting, I just felt helpless.

  My eyes glisten with the truth.

  I know he sees it.

  He lifts his fists in front of his face, and I know he wants to fight me. But then he immediately drops them.

  If I wanted confirmation that this is part of his challenge, I just got it. He’s not allowed to fight. I don’t know what his demons are, but this is part of it.

  Jesus Christ.

  This is sick.

  But it’s him or me. And a twisted part of me knows this is for the greater good. If he were to win the whole game, he wouldn’t be able to take the bastard down. I would. I don’t have a choice but to win.

  I ball my hand into a fist, giving him my only warning.

  Say your damn safe word, and let’s end this.

  He closes his eyes.

  I sigh; that will just make his fear worse. His body won’t be prepared for the hit.

  I swing with everything I have, aiming for the hinge of his jaw. I hear it crack. He falls back, blood spills from his mouth, and he lands hard on his ass.

  I know how painful it is. I’ve broken my jaw before. It was a pain to reset and heal. The best way to do that is to stitch it shut for weeks at a time, not something I was willing to do. I assume that’s why my smile is more crooked than it ever was before.

  I wait for him to move, for him to get back up so I can knock him down again. That will mess with his head and soul. That will defeat him quicker than any pain will.

  But he doesn’t get back up.

  I walk over to him and lean down, putting a finger to his neck.

  There’s a pulse, but it’s weak. His breathing is shallow.

  His eyes don’t open.

  He’s unconscious.

  I stand up and look around the room.

  The card said to continue until he breaks. Until he uses his safe word.

  The sucker is definitely broken, but he won’t be saying his safe word any time soon.

  I’m the devil, but I’m not so monstrous that I’ll hit a man when he’s unconscious, especially a man whose sins I don’t know.

  I take a deep breath. I’m barely breaking a sweat even though I’m still wearing a suit and living my nightmare.

  “Mr. Pearce, you have a five-minute break. You can clear the room while we tend to Mr. Newman. Then we will continue,” the vile motherfucker’s voice says again.

  The smoke fills my lungs and burns my eyes as I walk to the door at the back. Even though I can’t see, I walk straight to the door.

  It unlocks as I push on it, and then I’m in the hallway, able to truly breathe for the first time.

  I only have five minutes. I don’t know where to go or what to do with that time. But I decide to climb, to get fresh air, to look out at the sea—the place that saves everyone in my group when we need it the most—Kai, Enzo, Zeke, Siren. It’s saved all of them at different times. Now it’s time it saves me.

  I cling to the railing as I stare out at the ocean. For a split second, I consider jumping. But I don’t. I just hold on, preparing myself for what comes next.

  “I’m sorry,” her soft sweet voice comes next to me.

  I don’t know if she’s real or a hallucination.

  “I shouldn’t have come back here. I forgot how bad it can get. This is only the beginning. It can get so much worse,” she says.

  “How do we survive?” I ask the same question I asked before.

  “We don’t. Only one of us does, and that person will be haunted forever. Let that person be me. You don’t deserve this pain.”

  Liesel’s words mean I have to win even more.

  She’ll never tell me the truth of what this place is or what happens when you win, but I have to know. I need to know.

  I enter the room once more, still not completely sure if Liesel showing up was real or a hallucination I formed to help me deal with this traumatic cruise.

  Once I’m back in the room, though, any thoughts of Liesel disappear.

  In here, the only way to win is to stay focused.

  The room is still filled with smoke when I re-enter. I blink, trying to keep the smoke from my eyes. My nose immediately fills with the haze, making it hard to breathe.

  Messing with our senses is meant to strike fear, but my fear is gone.

  I walk further into the center of the room, where I once again find the table with the index card. I pick it up. It has more detailed instructions for the second half of the challenge.

  Take a beating. Endure any pain given to you. This round ends when you come or say your safe word.

  I glance around the room, but I don’t find anyone. Mr. Newman is gone. I’m guessing he’s still unconscious, and hopefully, a doctor is attending to him.

  Who will be giving me my lashing?

  I don’t see the belt I used before, but I’m guessing it’s somewhere. I also don’t see the bed.

  “I hope you are ready for this round, Mr. Pearce. This will be your biggest challenge yet. The games begin, now,” the voice comes over the speakers again.

  I want to flip him off, run through the ship to find him and kill him. But I’d never get to him before he killed me. He’s too secure where he is. The only way I find the voice at the other end of the speaker is to win.

  Let’s get this over with.

  People run into the room in a flurry. Between the smoke, rush of people, and now lights flashing in my face, it takes me a moment to count how many people are in the room.

  Four.

  Two men.

  Two women.

  Jesus, this isn’t just a man whipping me like I did to Newman.

  Before I can fully process what’s happening, the two women are removing my coat jacket, then one is unbuttoning my shirt, while the other works on my pants.

  It’s not the women I’m worried about. I can overpower them easily. It’s the men.

  I was told to endure and come, but no one said anything about not fighting back.

  Within seconds, I’m stripped of my clothes, and then the women are gone. I think they are still in the room, but they are no longer touching me now that my clothes are off.

  I focus in on the guys. They are boxing me in on each side. I could take the two of them.

  No.

  Let them come.

  Let them hurt me.

  That’s what has to happen for this to be over, in order for me to win.

  I let them attack.

  They run at me like they are afraid I’ll put up a fight. It takes everything in me to not knock them both out, to not resist.

  I close my eyes, but that only intensifies their movements in my head. I try meditating as they come for me. I think they are going to tie me up, but they stop just short. That’s when I feel the cracking of belts on my back.

  The familiar feeling of m
y dad’s belt on me creeps back into my muscle memory. I feel everything just like I did as a child.

  They aren’t hitting me that hard. The pain is doable. The problem is the haunting memories playing in my head like a movie.

  My dad’s voice.

  His hand grabbing me.

  His belt hitting me.

  I open my eyes, hoping the memories will fade.

  I jolt forward as a belt hits my back. This one was harder than the previous ones, but still not enough to make my eyes water, my pulse to race, or my body to send signals to my brain to fight back.

  The two women start approaching me, and I remember the other part of my challenge.

  I have to come.

  I glance down, but I don’t have to to know that I am zero percent turned on. Coming right now seems almost impossible. Even if both women start sucking and licking and giving me the best strip show of my life, it won’t be enough.

  I should give up now, rather than be tortured like this.

  But his voice.

  Knowing who he is…

  I have to win. I don’t have a choice.

  I welcome the women in as I collapse to my knees with my cock in my hand. I try to stroke my cock like I did only hours ago in Liesel’s bathroom.

  My body doesn’t respond. My cock is limp in my hands.

  “We can help you out there,” one of the women says as they reach me. They are wearing lingerie. One has a black, lace bra and thong complete with a garter. The other woman is wearing a white flowy number.

  I suppose they are supposed to fulfill whatever my fantasies are. Whether I like a bad girl or an angel—I have both.

  Their hands start roaming over my chest as the men continue to hit my back over and over with the belts. Not exactly inflicting pain, but delivering a constant thread of nightmares.

  I try to focus on the women.

  Their touch.

  Their smell.

  Their bodies.

  I can’t feel any of it.

  I’m back in the house I grew up in. My father is beating me because he ran out of beer.

  The back door opens just as my father is about to hit me again.

  Liesel is standing there, except she’s no longer a child; she’s the woman I know.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “Saving you.” She smiles.

  And then, she’s running to me.

  She scoops me up from the floor and carries me across the street to her couch.

  Finally, I can breathe. My father can’t hurt me here. Liesel’s protecting me.

  I half hiccup, half sob.

  “Shh, it’s okay. There is nothing to fear, not anymore. I’m here.”

  I nod.

  I’m safe because of her.

  Liesel climbs on top of me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Loving you. We both need love. This is the only way.”

  The only way to what?

  But then she’s kissing me. Her long blonde hair is spilling onto my cheeks and brushing against my neck as she kisses me. It’s everything I wanted it to be and more.

  So much more. It pushes out all the pain until all I feel is her.

  And then I feel her hand grip my cock.

  My eyes roll back. I’ve never been touched like this before.

  It’s heaven. It’s everything.

  It’s…

  17

  Liesel

  I stifle my gasp by biting my lip and swallowing it down until it burns my throat.

  I’m sitting in a room with six other participants watching Langston fall to the floor.

  He passed out.

  I look over at Beckett out of the corner of my eye, trying to gauge his reaction. But he’s just as good at hiding his emotions as I am.

  Beckett doesn’t so much as speak.

  I glance back at the large screen in front of us. The men whip him one more time after he collapses, and I want to barrel through the wall and rip their throats out.

  Finally, they stop after they realize he’s passed out.

  The women step back.

  I don’t know what happened.

  Watching him broke me more than whatever I will face next ever could.

  I would’ve called out my safe word if it had a chance at stopping his madness. I don’t know how they know our greatest fears and weaknesses, but they always find them here and exploit them. They did the last time I was here too.

  Get up.

  Get the fuck up, killer!

  I watch, but Langston doesn’t get up. Does that mean he’s disqualified?

  “Mr. Pearce will be advanced to the next round,” the voice says. A voice that always sends chills down my spine.

  How will Langston advance?

  I stare at Langston more closely, and that’s when I see the drop of cum on the floor.

  Technically, he came.

  A part of me wishes he had lost now. The rest of me wants him to win so he can kick everyone involved in this organization’s ass.

  But I need the money. I need to win.

  Langston is the only person standing between me and victory. Right now, all I can do is beg him to wake up. To show me he’s still alive—that this didn’t ruin him forever like it did me.

  Finally, a couple of men walk over to him. Langston’s back is covered in red welts, and there are a few drops of blood, but it doesn’t look like they did any permanent damage to his back.

  They hook their arms under his and lift him up.

  I lean forward in my chair as I stare at a man I thought could never be broken.

  Please, don’t be broken. Please, please, please.

  Langston is slumped in their arms, only being held up because of the men’s strength, not his own. He’s completely naked. He looks like he just walked through hell, and his limp body is all that is left of him.

  I want them to cover him up, to show him some dignity. I know they won’t, though.

  Slowly, Langston starts to awaken. His head rolls side to side. At first, he doesn’t have the strength to even lift his head. But he won’t let anyone see him as weak.

  It takes everything in him, but he lifts his head up, and then it’s like he’s looking right at me into a nearby camera. He’s telling me he’s fine. That he isn’t broken. That he survived. And I was the one who helped him survive.

  Me.

  I’m whom he thought about to get through it.

  Not Phoenix.

  Not Siren.

  Not some other whore.

  Not his kids.

  Me.

  I don’t know what to do with that information. It’s a lot to take.

  Finally, Langston is led out of the room, and we can no longer see him. I know from experience he will be given a room where he can shower, take a hot bath, eat some food, and drink some coffee. There is also a screen to watch the rest of the round if he so chooses.

  He’s safe now.

  Just for now, not for later. Later is the opposite of safe.

  What did I do? Why did I bring him here?

  I didn’t, he followed. This isn’t my fault.

  At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

  “Ms. White and Mr. Beckett, your turn,” Mr. Reyes says, entering the room.

  We both nod, but don’t show any emotion. Soon one or both of us is going to be as beat up and broken as Langston. I hope Beckett realizes what he’s gotten himself into now.

  He can still stop this before it goes too far. I don’t know what his trauma is, but everyone has trauma. Everyone has a past they are running from—Beckett is no different.

  I only know pieces of his story. He’s the half brother of Enzo Black. Their family is darker than any I know. Beckett’s full name is Eli Beckett, but he’s always gone by his last name. I know that he’s close to Enzo’s kids. I don’t know how he lost his arm, just that he helped to save Enzo and Kai. Once he did that, he became more a part of the group than I ever could be.

&nb
sp; I don’t want to belong to their criminal gang. I’ve tried most of my life to get out, to stop belonging. Now I finally succeeded. They all entered the game just to show me how much they hate me and are on Langston’s side.

  Beckett remained till the end. I thought he had a woman he cared about. Nora, was it? Apparently, they aren’t that close.

  “If you’re ready, you can follow me, Ms. White and Mr. Beckett,” Mr. Reyes says.

  We both stand at the same time. Beckett holds his hand out to indicate I should go first.

  I follow Mr. Reyes while Beckett walks behind me.

  I have a few ideas of what awaits me in the room now that it’s my turn. I’ve been here before. They know my weaknesses, my strengths, and my fears.

  We enter the room, and Mr. Reyes locks the door behind us.

  Beckett and I exchange glances, knowing the lines we will cross if we both try to win this game. I don’t give a damn who tortures me, who fucks me. As long as it’s not Langston, it doesn’t matter.

  There are two white, labeled cards on the small table in the center of the room. We walk over and pick up our respective card, neither of us letting the other see what’s on our own card.

  I read mine:

  White,

  You already knew what this round would be—a rematch of your last round here. You survived once, but can you survive again?

  X

  I grip the paper tightly in my hand, crumpling it into a little ball.

  I never got over what happened here the last time. To relive it would be my greatest hell. It’s one thing to go through it once and survive. It’s another to know exactly what’s coming, to have visions of the last time haunting my head while it’s happening again, and to not mutter my safe word.

  I still haven’t looked at my safe word. I won’t until the final round. I’ve already made the choice. I’ll finish this round. I’ll either die or win. There is no pulling myself out.

  I glance over at Beckett, who has a stern expression under his black mask.

  He doesn’t like what’s on his card either.

  I don’t care if he stays or leaves. My card will be carried out whether he continues the game or not, just like what happened to Langston.

  I try to think of Langston, try to let my thoughts drift to him, soaking his wounds in a warm tub right now.