by Jamie Begley
The hell of his existence grew each time he was dragged from the basement to fulfill whatever depraved need Slate could devise. It had gradually worn him down like water weathering a stone.
The hope of The Last Riders finding and rescuing him had been extinguished under Slate’s venomous jabs, and the constant drugs had distorted the truth.
Each of the brothers had one characteristic that had made them formidable opponents—loyalty, integrity, commitment, honor, bravery, strength, nobility, and intelligence. He was no longer able to find one of those qualities in himself because the degradation Slate forced on him was a blow to his very core. He had arrogantly believed he contained a piece of all the original members. The military allowed him to learn about himself and taught him ways to get out of any situation. His inability to escape his captors had not only ripped his arrogance to shreds but had him questioning if he ever had those qualities. Had Viper and The Last Riders grown tired of him not measuring up to their standards, fed up with his arguments, and had they been relieved when he had angrily given his cut back?
He shakily sat down on his cot, moaning. Every bone in his body ached. Folding his arms over his chest to combat the chill, he rocked himself, trying to get warm. Then he anxiously jumped to his feet when the door opened.
Practically running to the wall to face it, he put his hands behind his back, waiting for the cuffs to go on. At the sound of a woman’s scream, he spun around to see Ink forcing her down the steps.
Unable to comprehend what he was seeing, Gavin remained transfixed in place as Ink roughly threw the naked woman to the concrete floor. Ink moved out of the way, then Brewer shoved a man down next to the woman, who was sobbing on the floor.
“Please don’t hurt us!” she screamed.
Slate came down the steps, his gun trained on the couple who had grabbed each other in terror. “I brought you some company, Reaper. Meet … Excuse me, but what did you say your names were?”
The man and woman looked too terrified to answer.
“Wait. I remember. It’s Brad and Cami.” He proudly stared at them as if remembering their names was an accomplishment. “Brewer and Chain offered them my hospitality when their car broke down. Of course, they reluctantly agreed when Ink and Chain refused to accept no.”
“Let them go, Slate.” Gavin didn’t know how long it had been since actual words had come from him.
“Why in the fuck would I do that?”
“Let them go.”
“Fortunately for me, it doesn’t matter what you want. Only what I want counts.”
Slate then rested his cold eyes on the couple. “Excuse us arguing. You two make yourselves at home while I make a few calls. I can’t leave my friends out of this show. They’d never forgive me. You three should get better acquainted. I can tell you are going to be good friends.”
Ink and Brewer went up the steps with Slate following behind, not turning his back to them. When the door closed, the woman began crying hysterically.
“It’s going to be okay,” the man tried soothing the woman he was holding in his arms.
“No, it won’t.” Gavin had to force the words out. They needed to be prepared and letting them believe that nothing was going to happen to them wouldn’t be doing them a favor. He needed to seize any chance of escape, as if their lives depended on it, because it did.
When they turned toward him, their horrified gazes had the woman tearing away from the arms holding her to run up the steps and bang on the door.
“That won’t do any good.”
The man went up the steps to place his arm around the woman, quietly talking to her before leading her back down the steps. Sitting side by side on the third step, they stared at him fearfully.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” That was one promise he could make to them.
“How did you end up down here?”
Gavin felt his lips curl in a half-smile. “I ask myself that all the time.”
“Oh … How long have you been here?”
From their initial reaction seeing him, his appearance must have been worse than he thought. He knew his body was emaciated. Slate using him to make videos was less frequent, and from their expressions he could see why. The ones they’d made of him now were sadistic, catering to more twisted desires. He would have starved to death long before, if Slate hadn’t increased his amount of food days before shooting new videos.
“Don’t know that either. What’s the date …?”
When they told him the date and year, Gavin wished he hadn’t asked.
Shell-shocked, he walked numbly to the cot and sat down, burying his head in his hands. Slate hadn’t stolen only days and months from him. He had stolen almost nine years.
Feeling wetness slipping through his fingers, he lay down on the cot to stare blankly up at the ceiling. Memphis had told him the truth—The Last Riders weren’t coming for him.
“There has to be a way out of here?” The man came to stand next to him.
Gavin didn’t answer until the man shook his shoulder. “There isn’t. I’ve tried sixteen times, and I’m still here.”
The man’s jaw dropped. “Sixteen times?”
“Could have been more. I quit counting at sixteen.”
“There has to be a way ….”
Gavin pressed his lips together. He refused to give false hope, but three could work faster than one. His sluggish brain started thinking of their chances, when the door opened and Slate came down with Ink and Butcher.
“Sorry, Brad, we don’t need you this go-around. This show is just for Cami and Reaper.”
Gavin tried to get off the cot, his spasming muscles failing at the effort. When the woman started screaming, Gavin tried again, this time managing to get to his feet.
“Let her go!” he yelled as Ink started dragging the woman up the steps.
“Please no,” she begged.
“Wait.”
Ink stopped at Slate’s order.
“I’m getting a new video to upload. I really don’t give a fuck of who it is, so I’ll let you decide who should be the star of the show—you or Brad here.”
“I’m not going to touch her.”
“Well, I don’t need both of you. I’ll give you guys a chance to talk this over for a few minutes.” Slate motioned for Ink to release the woman.
Free, she ran into the man’s arms, burrowing her face into his shoulder.
Slate started to go back up the steps, then stopped on the third. “Did I mention that three’s a crowd? I’m not taking on two more mouths to feed, so ….” He used his hand to slash across his throat, the sickening motion leaving no doubt that one wasn’t going to live, whichever choice was made. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m still waiting for a couple of my guests to arrive.”
“He really doesn’t mean it, does he?” the woman whispered.
“He means it.” Gavin brushed the sweat away from his brow. The need for a bump from one of Butcher’s syringes had his skin crawling as if bugs were feasting over his flesh.
“What are we going to do?” the woman screamed at them. “We have to get out of here!”
Gavin clenched his jaw. He knew what was going to happen to the woman when Slate came back.
“You can’t let them kill my fiancé.”
“Help me.” Gavin went to the cot to stand beside it.
Neither of them moved.
“Help me move the cot.”
That got them moving.
Gavin lifted one end of the cot as the man lifted the other, not caring that Slate and his men would now see what he’d done. He exposed the tunnel he had been digging.
“I’ve been trying to dig as far away from the house as I can get. It’s not very far, so if they see us from the bedroom window upstairs, it’ll come to a foot race. I’ll break through the ground on the other side, make sure it’s clear, and then let you two go first. If we’re spotted, take off running into the woods across the road. Split up. That way, one of you have
a better chance of making it out to get help.”
Gavin barely had enough strength to lower his body to the ground. Bending over, he was about to lower his head and shoulders into the hole when they heard, “Slate, you might want to get down here!”
Gavin closed his eyes tightly when he realized one of his “new captors” had called out for Slate. He didn’t even bother to turn when he heard the footsteps. He didn’t know how many or who had come to watch his humiliation.
“I have to give you credit, Reaper. I knew you were up to something, but I just couldn’t figure out what it was. Had to ask a few of my fans for some help. Had to promise them a show of their own. Butcher isn’t really happy about that part of it, but he’ll get over it.”
He was lifted up from under his arms to face them.
“Can we get out of here?” The woman scrunched her nose up in disgust. “It reeks down here.”
Slate mockingly waved his hands toward the steps. “Ladies first.”
Bitter, amber eyes watched her leave before he turned to the man who had been willing to dupe him. “I hope whatever Slate promised you will be worth it.”
Desire-filled eyes met his. “I think it’s going to be very worth it.”
Emotionlessly, Gavin watched him leave before turning his attention to the men left with him. Holding his arm toward Butcher, he waited for the sting of the needle that would cloud his mind.
Butcher looked at Slate with a questioning brow.
“Give it to him. He’ll be working hard for it tonight. Ink, you and Chain fill that hole in. I think you should do a couple of weeks without a bed. You’re going to have to build my trust again. From now on, we’ll move it to another position. Ready?” Slate asked Butcher once he released the tourniquet.
“Give him a couple of minutes, and he’ll be good to go.”
“You know, Reaper, you might have succeeded with that one. I thought almost talking Butcher into helping during your last escape attempt was brilliant, but I think I can appreciate the ingenuity you showed with this one.”
“You’ve done me one favor, Slate. When I die, I don’t want to go to Heaven anymore. I want to spend eternity in Hell with you.” Heaven was just a fictitious place that everyone believed in to make people feel better about dying. The only solace he had was the certainty that Slate would kill him when he was ready, and if there was just a smidgen of truth that Heaven and Hell did exist, then he preferred Hell.
God had turned His back on him. By the time justice found Slate and sent him to Hell, this Reaper would be waiting for him with open arms.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Taylor, do you still love me?” Gavin was shaking so badly he wasn’t aware the bed he was lying on was shaking more. “I still love you.” He held out his hand to the woman floating beside him.
Rubbing his eyes to bring her into focus, his teeth snapped together as another round of chills seized him.
“I’ll love you forever. We’ll have the biggest wedding Ohio has ever seen.”
The only spark of sanity he had left was when he talked to Taylor.
“Don’t leave me alone again. I don’t like it when you stay away so long. Have you talked to Viper? Told him where I am? He doesn’t care, does he? Memphis said he didn’t. Tell him, if he helps me, I’ll stay out of his hair. That I’ll do anything he wants me to do.”
“Who’s he talking to?”
Gavin rubbed his eyes. The female voice talking didn’t sound like Taylor.
“Who cares?”
He didn’t have trouble recognizing Slate’s voice. He heard it every time he shut his eyes.
The bright light in the bedroom was burning a hole through his eyeballs. Placing an arm over his eyes, he used his free hand to keep himself steady when he felt the bed sink under someone’s weight.
“Are you sure you can make him do this?”
Even in his drugged-out state, Gavin could hear the tinge of desperation in the woman’s voice.
Lowering his arm, he tried to make out the vague profile of the young woman sitting on her knees beside his hips. She didn’t sound like the other women who had been eager to use him.
“I wouldn’t have taken your money if I couldn’t. I guarantee all my customers satisfaction. Don’t worry, you’re not going to be around to complain.”
“Taylor, make them go away,” he pleaded.
A sharp smack had him trying to concentrate on Slate’s distorted face staring down over him.
“You want to go home, Reaper? Then you need to do something for me.”
“You’re lying. You won’t let me go.”
“I will. You’re no use to me anymore. I’ll have Ink drive you wherever you want to go. You want to see that bitch of yours again, I can make it happen.”
Gavin didn’t trust Slate as far as he could throw him, and he was so weak now that he couldn’t throw a bar of soap across the room. “You’re lying.”
“What if I’m not? You could be home with Taylor tonight. All you have to do is one thing for me before you go.”
“What is it?” he mumbled.
“You see the girl sitting next to you? Her name is Runner. She wants you to do a favor for her.”
Gavin raised his hand to the bridge of his nose, pinching it, desperately trying find a focal point with the lights blinding him. “What does she want?”
“She wants you to strangle her.”
“No. Go away.”
“If you don’t, Butcher offered to do it for her, but she wants you to do it.”
“No.”
God, why couldn’t he die? He was past praying to be saved. He knew no help was coming. The only thing he prayed for now was death. He didn’t even care if it was an excruciating end, only that there would be a final breath.
Gavin felt a hand on his chest.
“Please. I want you to do it. You hurt as I do. Put me out of my misery. Please, Slate swore to me that he’d let you go.”
“No. Go away. Won’t do it. Won’t ever do it.”
Strong hands gripped his neck, strangling the air out him. “You’re going to do it or so help me God ….”
Wheezing laughter managed to find a way out of his throat. “Do it. Please do it.”
The hands went away.
“You’ve got him so lit—” Slate snarled.
“Don’t blame me for that. You’re the one that told me to.” Butcher’s fear-filled voice moved away from the bed.
“Fuck! Take him back downstairs.”
The woman sitting by his side threw herself on his chest at Slate’s order. “No! He’ll do it.”
Gavin felt hands slap at his face.
“Do it!” she screamed at him.
Gavin stared up at her blankly.
“If you don’t do it … I’ll … I’ll find Taylor and kill her.”
“No.”
“I will. I’ll get Slate to tell me where she is … I’ll kill her. I swear I will.”
Gavin grew cold. She was threatening the woman he loved. Still, he couldn’t give her what she was asking. If the woman was determined to die, she could do it by her own hand. He couldn’t, wouldn’t do it for her.
“Go away … Get yourself help.” Gavin tried to think of something that would make the woman realize how precious life was.
“Better yet,” Slate interjected, “how about I send Ink and Butcher to get her? I can see her becoming a bigger star than you.”
The idea of Taylor being subjected to be the same horror had rage rising in his chest. “I’ll kill you before I ever let you put a hand on her.”
“How can you stop me? Crash will tell me where she is, and you know he’ll do it.”
Slates infuriated face swam into his vision.
“No.”
Slate was pushing his rage like a battering ram, not letting up.
“I will. I’ll make sure I’m the first to fuck her. Then I’ll let Butcher have her. By the time he’s done with her, you won’t even want her anymore. I’
ll guarantee that.”
Slate’s laughter sent him off the deep end. Pushed by threatening Taylor, Gavin flayed around, grabbing the neck below Slate’s grotesque mask. Gripping it tighter, he pulled the mask closer.
“Die, die, die, die …,” he screamed the chant over and over.
“You can let her go now, Reaper.”
Gavin opened his eyes at Slate’s voice. The bright light had been turned off, and now the only light was from the bathroom, filling the bedroom.
Confused that Slate was standing at the foot of the bed holding onto the video recorder, Gavin raised his hands to move his hair away from his face so he could see clearly. When he did, something slipped to his side.
His horror-stricken gaze fell to the body of a young woman lying next to him, her eyes open and empty, staring back at him.
Demented screams tore from him with no beginning and no end. The screams maniacal until a sting in his arm had the crazed sound slowing until there was nothing but the vacant shell he’d become.
“Ink, get her out of here. Butcher, cuff him to the bed until Ink and Chain get back from dumping her body. I need to get this video uploaded. This one is going to make me more money than the one I let the Count direct to tell me how he wanted Reaper hurt. You sure he’s not going anywhere?”
“You kidding? Fuck, I don’t think he’s even on planet Earth anymore.”
Incognizant of being left alone in the bedroom instead of his cot in the basement, he lay motionless on the bed, not even a faint flicker of reason left or the ability to feel the light wind that had the curtain swaying.
Indistinct music teased at him, trying to ignite the dying, infinitesimal spark that was left within him. The wind blew harder through the window as thunder roared and lightning lit the sky, strengthening the force of the air hitting him. It traveled down his arm and settled on his palm as if a hand was holding his, giving promises he could no longer hear.
“Don’t give up … Endure … You’re not alone … Survive … They’re coming.”
The vacant shell couldn’t hear the promises that the drugs whispered to him. There was nothing left.