by M. S. Willis
Now released, she slid from the table, caught at the waist by the steel band of his arm and she purred against him in response to the heat of his body rolling against her own. Her mind wasn’t strong enough to control the her body’s reaction and she died inside knowing that she’d given these men exactly what they’d wanted to see.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Are you ready to talk business?” Xander held Hope up beside him knowing that if he let her go, she’d fall to the ground. He was disgusted with what he’d had to do, his body barely responding to her chained and offered up to him on that cold, metal table. Playing out the role had been difficult, faking a release only to end the encounter. Rage bloomed in his chest at having the men see her unclothed. That rage grew and twisted into fury when he had to lay her across a table intended for torture and pain. But having to be the one inflicting harm — to have to embarrass her and treat her as nothing more than meat — had been the act that pushed him over the edge. He’d never felt anything like it and he remembered clearly the look on Aaron’s face many years before when he’d been forced to hurt Maddy. It was a terrifying cruelty: to love someone and be forced to abuse them; to be made to tear apart the mind and body of the only thing you found beautiful in the world. That is what Joseph had made Aaron do and that is what Xander was being forced to do now.
Patrick held up a key, the ring dangling from his finger. “Put away your pet and have a seat. Her cage is behind your chair.”
His words caused Xander’s blood to boil, but he bit back his anger, maintaining a mask of indifference over his face. “Thank you for allowing me to keep her close.”
Patrick smiled. “We are nothing if not accommodating. With a trophy like that, I can understand your hesitancy to let her go far.”
“I’m sure. I’d love to see her twin. I find it hard to believe that two exist.” He fished for information, hoping to discover if Honor lived.
Patrick’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “I’m sure we can make that happen.” He held up his glass. “But first — let’s have a drink.”
Xander took the key from Patrick and led Hope to the cage. He grit his teeth when he opened it and forced her inside the box already stained with the sweat and blood of its previous occupant. While locking her inside, he commented, “It appears this has been used before.”
Patrick laughed. “Yes, well there are accidents that occur. The men can get somewhat aggressive at times. Only makes the entertainment that much more interesting.”
Taking his seat in a chair facing Patrick, Xander asked. “Who are the units you’ve pulled to your side? If it is only three, then our outlook is quite grim. They’ll never be able to force their leadership of the network.”
“It is building slowly. Most of the units are happy with the money Aaron is able to filter in their direction. They haven’t been affected yet by the bullshit rules Aaron is imposing. But they will be, and when that happens, they’ll come to our side.”
“Who leads the rebellion?”
“I do.” Patrick eyed him before reaching to retrieve a glass from the table between them and filling it with dark liquor. Offering it to Xander, he said, “Have a drink, it’ll help settle your nerves. I can’t imagine what it’s like to know you’re Aaron’s next kill.”
Xander took the glass, swirling the liquid around the crystal, watching as Patrick poured himself another. Only after he’d seen Patrick drink from the same bottle, did he bring the glass to his lips and sip. He didn’t trust the bastard sitting in front of him.
“Aaron doesn’t appreciate being disobeyed. He is very much like his father in that way — brutal in his punishment of even the slightest bit of defiance by his men.”
“At least Joseph had style. Aaron is nothing more than an aggravating nuisance. However, now that we have you, we have a wealth of information. I’m sure that we can be beneficial to each other.” When the phone rang next to Patrick, he pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the display before downing his drink and excusing himself to answer it.
Xander watched as Patrick walked away, speaking in a hushed whisper so that no other person in the room could hear what was being said. Every once in a while he’d glance at Xander.
Finishing his call, Patrick walked back over, retaking his seat. When he opened his mouth to speak again, he was interrupted by the cries of one of the caged women. Annoyance flashed in his expression before he ordered the guard to silence her. Xander watched as the guard approached her cage, smiling at her before kneeling down to speak. “What’s wrong, whore?”
Xander couldn’t hear her response. Eventually, the guard stood again. “She says she’s thirsty.”
Patrick’s responsive laugh was sickening. “Well, then give her something to drink.”
The guard smiled and moved to retrieve a hose. Her scream bounced against the ceiling and walls when he directed the violence of its blast at her cage. The other captives cried with her, each of their bodies shaking against the bars.
“Shut the fuck up!” Patrick screamed. Standing up from his seat, he pulled a gun from the back of his pants and shot the woman who’d asked for water. The guard turned the hose off, laughing. Xander closed his eyes for a brief second, his head dizzy from the depth of cruelty of these men.
Sitting again, Patrick motioned towards the now dead woman with his hand. “Like I said: There are accidents.” Looking back toward to guards at the back of the room, he commanded, “Clean the bitch up before she starts to smell.”
Two guards approached the cage to carry out his order, removing the body and dragging it to a side door on the other side of the room, a trail of water and blood remaining from their path.
“So, tell me, what information can you offer us that will be useful in our mutual objective.” Patrick poured a third glass while he questioned Xander.
Taking another sip, Xander answered, “It depends on your intentions. If it is to solely kill Aaron, that’s simple. However, if you intend on taking over The Estate when he falls, that is a much more delicate and involved task.” He gave just enough information to sound useful, but not enough to come close to betraying his friend.
“It seemed simple enough after Joseph was killed. In this network, it’s every man for himself, they’ll align with me just as easily as they did Aaron as long as I give them what they need.”
“You’ll need the business. If Aaron dies, there will be no one left to manage the daily operation of the company that launders our funds.”
“Do we?” Patrick grinned. “Who is watching us anymore that will give a damn? The authorities have been on The Estate payroll for years. Even if the business falls, nobody will care about dirty money. This town has been overrun by us for years and there is nobody that can stop us.”
“Even Joseph was not arrogant enough to believe that.” Sweat beaded down the skin of Xander’s neck, the room becoming uncomfortably hot.
“Joseph was drugged the last several years of his life. Everybody knew it was Emory who led the network — and that bastard couldn’t care less about the business. It’s a shame he was killed. He would have been quite useful to us.” His words echoed even though they were spoken quietly and Xander attempted to shake himself of the odd sensations creeping along his spine.
“You look tired all of a sudden. Perhaps you’d like another drink.” A knowing grin stretched across Patrick’s face, making it apparent he knew that Xander was feeling unwell.
Xander looked behind him, down at Hope laid out in her cage. Sweat ran down her skin, dripping to the metal base from her forehead. Her eyes rolled behind their lids and she panted as she breathed. She looked like he felt and he knew instantly that he’d been drugged.
“You must have built up a tolerance. You drank from the same bottle, yet you appear unaffected.” His words started to slur when he returned his gaze to Patrick’s arrogant expression.
Patrick’s smile grew wider. “It was not the liquor that was laced. It was your glass.” He swirled his
own drink before musing, “I’m surprised you drank at all. I could have sworn you were more intelligent than to do something as stupid as that.”
“We are on the same side.”
Patrick looked up from his glass. “Are we now?” Chuckling, he admitted, “Our reach is farther than you think. I happen to know you are not as hated by Aaron as you claim. However, you are still useful, so you’ll have to excuse me for lying to get you back here.” He smiled. “You might be just the thing we need to trap Aaron finally. I assume he’ll be looking for you at the warehouse. It’s a shame he won’t be able to find you.”
“Fuck you.” It was all he could say. The drugs were rushing through his veins, poisoning his body and mind, his comprehension slipping when he crashed into a deeper void of confusion and lethargy.
“I’m not into men, however, I’m sure some of my men won’t mind taking you up on your offer.”
Two guards approached Xander from behind, grabbing his arms, one placing a gun to his head and the other immediately chaining him to the chair. Once he was secured, Patrick stood up and walked over to take the key to Hope’s cage from Xander’s pocket.
Holding it up, he said, “Now the real fun begins. If you are nice, I’ll even let you stay long enough to watch.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Red with rust, or blood — or both. Her eyes opened just enough so she could see the stain. It was everywhere: in her hair, on her skin, on the bars and floors. She sat back; tired, her body barely moving when she became uncomfortable or cramped.
Like animals, they were caged and they cried silently; the sounds of their bodies softly beating against the bars from their sobs. Hope fought the euphoria, the numbness and blanket of confusion, her blood still polluted with the drug they’d forced. Waves of intoxication crashed against her stealing her breath and it felt like, in those instances, she would drown. She pushed through, breathing slowly … in and out. Her heart rate would slow and her blood would stop speeding through her body.
She could barely comprehend what the two men said, but when she saw them grab Xander, lock him down to his chair, something bloomed in her, an emotion that removed the tunnel over her vision, that cleared the haze just enough that she knew to be scared — on edge — alert. She pushed past the next wave, breathing steady, willing her heart to slow back to a normal pace.
Footsteps, slow and rhythmic, she opened her eyes to see them approach. The guard walked through the rows, laughing, kicking at the metal. Keys hung from his hand and he swung them, mocking the women trapped inside the small cells.
“Who will it be?”
Despite the fact that they could easily be seen between the bars, they backed up, cornering themselves, shrinking so as not to be chosen.
“This one.”
He knelt down in front of a cage, and the woman scrambled away, pressing herself against the back. Another woman screamed, an agonizing wail that made Hope’s ears feel like they would bleed — made it feel like her heart was being ripped from her chest.
“Crystal! No!” The second woman reached out, desperate to stop the guard from removing her friend.
He kicked at her hand, her arm bending back until a sickening crunch punctured the air and the woman screamed again while pulling her arm back to cradle it against her naked chest.
He laughed when he dragged her out by her hair, the air ringing as her hands slid from one bar to another. She fought and Hope’s heart beat faster to watch it, her own instincts kicking in — adrenaline pushing it’s way through her. But even that small loss of control brought the wave rushing back, overtaking her, leaving her lost in blissful ignorance of the nightmare of her surroundings.
She didn’t push back again until they’d taken the girl to the front of the room. She could barely see, it was too far for her hazed vision and Xander’s body blocked parts of the scene. The table, she recognized the table and her body shivered to remember how cold it had been — it felt like razors scratching the skin, pins and needles everywhere.
The woman was laid across, strapped in, and she fought — bucking against the men while they taunted her. They walked around, one in front, one in back. Violated, abused, mistreated — the woman was being used. The men moved, forcing themselves inside, but then one of the guards screamed, the sound flooding the room. Hope forced herself to look, noticing the blood that ran from the guard’s hands. He pulled away from the girl and Hope saw the blood on her mouth.
Hope smiled to realize that even strapped down and shackled, that woman still fought.
“Fucking bitch bit me!”
The other guard turned suddenly, grabbing something from the table and moving to stand in front of the woman. “You like to bite?”
Pliers — he held pliers and Hope closed her eyes again fearing what was to come.
She opened her eyes again when the blood curling scream sounded. Holding her hands over her ears, she fought to mute the sound, but it was invasive and all consuming.
Teeth fell to the ground and the horrendous scream would never end. Balling over herself she attempted to hide from the horror that played out in front of her. In her life, she’d seen pain, she’d seen death and she’d seen heartache — but never had she’d seen the face of the beast itself — a thing so vile and depraved that just by looking at it, your soul was charred, a pattern burnt and scored into the deepest part of yourself. It was an inescapable prison, created and molded to fit within the body of the witness. It was repulsive and addicting at the same time.
Eventually, the screams eased into bitter, heartbreaking sobs, Hope opened her eyes to be met with the pool of crimson gathered beneath the woman — noticed how the guard who’d been bitten had replaced himself in his pants and now marched towards the woman, a long thin pole in his hands, spinning in front of him like the propeller of a plane or the blades of fan that could tear a body apart. He laughed at her pain, smiled proudly at the blood stained hand of the other guard, the pile of bits of white bone weaved within the maroon pool spreading at their feet.
The woman looked up at them as much as she could with her head strapped in place on the table and she did something that surprised Hope — she spit. Pride towards the woman blossoming in Hope’s chest, she nodded her respect to Crystal, recognizing that, despite the hopelessness of the woman’s position, she continued to fight the bastards, refusing to allow them to crush her spirit as easily as they could her body.
Hope noticed how Xander looked away, bracing himself for what the guards would do. Maddy’s words rang louder in her head — feigning weakness in effort to survive — the woman now locked onto the table was doing the exact opposite. Even though she was shown how her life would end, she fought — refusing survival by giving the men who tortured her dominion over her mind — she fought and she lost.
The guard stood behind her, and Hope focused on the side of Xander’s face, tried to keep her eyes locked to something she could love — something that put an emotion in her other than the terror she felt. The drugs stopped fogging Hope’s mind, the hormones produced by her body in reaction to the woman’s terror and pain managing to wipe away the euphoric effects.
The guard approached her, and positioned the pole, intent on burying it in the woman from behind.
Her friend in the cage screamed and Hope covered her ears again, her skull crushed by the force of her own hands.
“Son of a bitch! Stop!” Patrick stood up and looked between the woman in front and her friend. Slowly, he stalked between the cages, his hands tucked casually behind his back. He stopped above the woman.
Kneeling down, he asked, “How the fuck am I supposed to enjoy the show with your annoying FUCKING SCREAMING!!” Once again, pulling the gun from the waistband of his pants, he aimed and fired.
Her body fell to the ground, blood splattered from the cage to land on Hope’s skin. Hope opened her eyes, not able to keep from looking at what Patrick had done. She collapsed when she noticed the woman’s face was gone.
Pat
rick stood up, brushing at the crimson splotches on his shirt. “Fuck!”
He walked back to his seat and looked over at Xander, “I apologize for the distraction. People have no fucking manners around here anymore.” He smiled — the look unnerving in its insanity.
He turned his attention back to the front of the room. “Proceed.”
The guard shoved his hands forward, the pole he held impaling the woman vertically until she choked on her own blood; her body jerking in Hope’s peripheral vision from the stabbing, the tearing apart of her body from the inside. When it was forced fully through her body, her body went limp, a woman skewered like an animal on a spit.
The woman died on that table a whore, but Hope realized that she walked into the next life a warrior. She’d never stopped fighting, never given the bastard’s the submission they sought. Hope laid her head against the bars of her cage imagining she could see the woman’s spirit leave the room, finally freed from the madness and insanity of the house in which she’d been trapped.
The room grew quiet except for the heart wrenching sobs of the two women left alive in their cages.
“Well, that was — pleasant. Guess it takes practice to learn that you never force your dick into a bitch’s mouth without removing the teeth first.” Patrick stood from his seat, glancing at Xander before turning to glare in Hope’s direction. “Remove her body and clean up the area.” The tip of his tongue ran along his bottom lip, the look in his eyes cruel and calculating. When his lip curled at the side and a lewd grin stretched menacingly across his face, he continued, “It’s time for me to take something that I’ve been wanting for the past week.”
Hope’s eyes widened. Locked to the blue and green of Patrick’s, she attempted to move back in response to his stare — his words. Her body was lethargic and the cage in which she’d been trapped offered her no place to hide. The bastard stared down at her and grinned when he recognized that she knew she was next.