The walls of the garage had been painted black and a long table containing plastic bins next to a large utility sink dominated the space. Beneath the table were metal storage cabinets. The whole place smelled of chemicals. Had to be the darkroom.
He located a panel with two light switches, one labeled white, the other red. In the enclosed, cleared space there would be no danger in turning on a light so he hit the white switch, confirming his suspicions.
There were clotheslines strung above the table with photos hanging from clothespins. Mason’s breath caught and he nearly swallowed his tongue when his gaze shot from one image to the next, all candid shots of Claire. At least two dozen in all.
“Fucking hell.”
Obviously the bastard had been watching her for some time.
Rage tensed his muscles as fear for her safety spiked his blood pressure to a dangerous high. The combination had him rocking on the balls of his feet, anxious to wrap his fingers around the sick fucker’s throat and choke the life out of him.
Mason stared into her eyes in one of the photos. “Hang on, honey. I’m coming,” he promised. “Won’t stop ’til I find you.”
Dragging his gaze from the pictures, he found a door opening into the other half of the garage and discovered Claire’s subcompact car.
Where the hell had he stashed her?
He closed the door and turned out the light in the darkroom, leaving everything as he’d found it. Back through the laundry room, past the bathroom and into the entryway where he found Cam descending the stairs.
“Upstairs is clear.”
Mason ground his teeth and spat out, “Downstairs too.”
Cam squeezed his shoulder, the look of sympathy in his eyes increasing the rage building in Mason’s body. “She’s not here.”
“Bullshit.” He turned and headed back the way he’d come. “Come check out the darkroom.”
He showed Cam the photos and Claire’s car. “She’s been here at some point.”
“Or he stole her car,” Cam interjected.
“No way. I don’t buy that for a second.”
“Well, if she was here earlier, she’s gone now.” Cam sighed. “Come on, man. Let’s get out of here before he comes home.”
“We’ve got to be missing something.”
“Fuck, Mase. I wish we were but she’s just not here. We checked the whole place. No one’s here.”
“What about a basement?” Desperate to find her, he was grasping at any possibility, no matter how remote.
“Did you find a basement?”
His fists and jaw clenched and Mason longed to punch something. For a brief moment he considered taking out the pent-up anger on Cam. “No I didn’t find a fucking basement. Maybe I missed it. Let’s look again.”
He had to do something. This place was their only lead. Walking away empty-handed wasn’t an option.
Half an hour later, he sat in the entryway, leaning back against the front door, shotgun resting across his legs, staring at the ceiling. Where the hell could Claire be? And the homeowner, how far could he have gone with his car still sitting in the damn driveway? None of it made any sense. The pictures, Claire’s car—she had to be here. But where?
Closing his eyes, Mason ran through the floor plan in his head. Garage on his right, three doors—one for cars, one between the divided halves and one into the laundry room. Laundry room had two doors—one from the garage and one into the hallway. Bathroom had one door going in and no window since it shared a wall with the garage.
Down the short hall, at the back of the house were an open kitchen and dining room—one external door leading to the backyard. The way they’d come in to the house.
His eyes popped open and he stared at the stairs. No, there was another door in the kitchen. The pantry that comprised a space beneath the stairs landing on the floor above. He hadn’t given the pantry more than a cursory glance.
Rising to his feet, Mason held the shotgun at his side and walked next to the staircase. This time, when he opened the pantry door, he stepped inside and pulled a string hanging from a bare blub on the ceiling.
Rectangular shaped, the pantry had twice the space between the two sides as it did from front to back. Floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves lined the walls. Rows of canned and dry goods covered the shelves, all arranged with anal attention to detail, labels facing forward and neatly organized.
The dimensions of the pantry seemed off. He’d thought it would be deeper considering the width of the staircase.
“Should be bigger,” he mumbled to Cam, who had come up behind him. “It’s too small.”
His breathing became shallow and his heart rate speed up. He knew he was on to something and yet was afraid to hope.
Reaching above the contents on a shelf to his right, Mason tapped his fist along the wall, listening to the solid thunk each place his knuckles hit. Cam did the same thing on the left side, each solid tap reverberating in Mason’s ears. Holding his breath, he moved to the back wall, his knuckles hitting the surface resulting in a hollow echo. Hope swelled in his chest as fear of what he’d find had his heart bottoming out in his abdomen.
Would they find Claire? And if they did, what kind of shape would she be in? Had she gone through hell or was she unscathed?
Together, Cam and he got a solid grip on the shelves and pulled. Something clicked, then the hinged wall swung inward and to the right, revealing a dark space and a solid steel door.
Getting out his picks, Cam dropped to one knee and studied the lock. “Fuck, that’s one serious bitch.”
Without further comment, he got to work. The lock proved to be a challenge for Cam’s skills, taking fifteen agonizingly long minutes and nearly driving Mason out of his mind. He paced around the kitchen and down the hallway to the front door and back, losing count of how many times he’d silently made the trek.
“Hurry!”
Mason whipped around on his heel, scanning the hallway for the woman who had whispered. He was alone.
“What the fuck?” He rubbed the back of his neck and resumed pacing.
“He’s going to kill her.”
“She’s out of time.”
“Must get to the dungeon.”
Mason spun in a circle. Still alone. No women whispering warnings.
“He has her in the chair.”
“She’s going to come.”
“He’ll punish her.”
Every hair on his body stood on end and the temperature in the hall felt a lot colder than it had a few minutes ago.
When the soft snick of the lock opening finally came, he’d nearly ground his teeth down to stubs and feared for his sanity. Joining Cam in the small pantry, he held his breath as the door opened to a dark staircase leading down.
Mason took the lead, glad to know Cam had his back as they descended into the darkness.
Chapter Eight
As soon as Carl came back, Claire sensed the change in him. He didn’t stand as tall and his confident attitude appeared to have slipped. Stress lines furrowed his brow and he held his jaw clenched tight. Something had clearly shaken him, which created a corresponding tightness in her chest.
Dare she hope it had been the police pounding on the door earlier? That they’d come looking for her? Had someone noticed her absence, reported her missing? But nobody other than Mr. Carmichael should notice her not being around on the weekend. He wouldn’t start to worry until next weekend when his food supply got low. And she didn’t have any appraisals due until the end of the week. So she shouldn’t be missed yet.
The police would have searched the house. Was that why he hadn’t returned for several hours? Although considering the lengths he’d gone to hide the dungeon, she’d never be found here. They could have searched for weeks and not come close to discovering the secret entrance. She really should have listened to her gut and turned around instead of going in. But she’d let her impatience and curiosity land her in one hell of a mess.
And if not the cops then
what had gotten dickhead’s balls into such a twist? Perhaps his membership application to the He-Man Woman Haters club had been denied.
Under normal circumstances, the sarcastic thought would have her laughing. Now, Claire wondered if she’d ever laugh again. Didn’t seem likely.
Compressing herself into a small ball, hoping to go unnoticed, she tucked her legs to her chest and held on tight as he paced and muttered under his breath. The drastic change in him had sweat coating her skin even while her teeth chattered. Her hair bristled, muscles trembled and butterflies took flight in her belly.
Change was not good, no matter what they said.
The latticework of thin metal forming the animal crate bit into her butt. She’d probably have permanent lines in her skin but Claire didn’t dare move. He’d shoved her in the cage before going to answer the door. Being alone with the whispers, locked up for hours on end, had been scary. This new development, however, terrified her.
She’d thought him crazy before. This was worse. Way worse. He’d crossed over into padded room and jacket with extra-long sleeves territory, which didn’t bode well for her.
With dramatic classical music blaring, he walked off some of the restlessness then turned to inspect the implements of torture hung on the wall above his workbench. One at a time, he removed each item from the pegboard and meticulously cleaned it, returning each to its place with tender care. Some of the whips he went back to over and over, almost as if performing a ritual.
She kept a close eye on his activities as he pulled a rolling cart over and placed a large rectangular box on top that reminded her of something in her doctor’s office. The box had dials on the front and an electrical plug dangling from the back. A bunch of wires with various metal ends were added to the supplies, along with some of those patches with the little metal nipple they put on patients in the ER to monitor their hearts.
No, God, please. Don’t let that be what I think it is. I checked no for electrical play, damn it.
Yeah, checked no for anal play too but did that stop him from shoving a huge dildo up my ass?
Performing the tasks appeared to restore his calm. When finished, he stood back and surveyed his tools with a satisfied sigh. “Discipline and Order.”
Observing his manic, paranoid behavior gave her a serious case of the willies but at least it appeared to have brought him back from the edge.
Carl clapped his hands then rubbed his palms together and turned toward her.
“Our time together has become limited, love. I cannot risk them finding a solid connection between us, which means, regrettably, this will be our last night together.”
Oh crap, she didn’t like the sound of that. And she’d absolutely grown to despise his accent. She hated the anticipatory gleam in his dark eyes even more.
He couldn’t simply let her go. She was evidence, after all. No, he’d have to kill her. And whoever had been upstairs earlier had cut her remaining time short.
Thanks a lot, asshole.
Not that she wanted to spend more quality time with Norman Bates over there, whose eyes grew darker by the second. But she would prefer a nice long lifespan. Say another forty or fifty years. There were so many things she still wanted to see and do. So many experiences she wanted to try.
Tears stung the corners of her eyes. Claire blinked several times, fighting them back. To hell if she’d give him such a visceral sign of her inner turmoil.
Carl unlocked the cage, reached inside and grabbed her ankle, dragging her abused bottom across the thin metal bars. She refused to cry out and share her pain with him because he craved her agony. The bastard lived for the sick thrill of a woman’s tears and screams. She couldn’t prevent all his pleasure but would limit it as much as possible.
She didn’t fight as he picked her up. The lack of sustenance had sapped her energy. When had she last eaten? Lunch Friday, however long ago that had been. But then there was really no point in feeding someone he intended to kill.
According to the whisperers, one way or another he’d propel her body to orgasm. Force her disobedience. She had no means to stop him. And her brief moment of pleasure would be a death sentence. Her punishment for coming without permission would be forfeiture of life. Then she too would be trapped in this hell, whispering warnings to other submissive women who fell prey to his devastating charm.
He carried her to the piece of equipment she dreaded—a homemade electric chair. Claire had to hand it to him, the chair’s design was rather ingenious. The seatless device had a solid wooden backrest with thick leather belts connected at three points. Instead of armrests, it had leg rests that started out close together near the back and angled outward. These also had leather straps attached at several points.
Getting her into the chair was no easy feat. He set her down on the leg rests but had to hold her torso erect so she didn’t fall over while he fastened her in. One strap went above her breasts, another below, pinning her arms to her sides. The third went across her hips and lower abdomen.
Her legs were held down with four straps between the juncture of each thigh and knee. He bent to buckle her ankles in against the chair legs then stood and stared, wearing the same expression as when he’d cleaned his tools—satisfaction in a job well done.
She attempted to shift her position and found zero wiggle room. Lord, she felt like a butterfly pinned to a display board. And he had her completely on display. Her breasts bulged lewdly between the torso straps and the spread-legged position left her pussy and ass accessible.
The others had told her what would happen but hearing and experiencing were two different prospects. Her heart beat a frantic, erratic rhythm against her ribs and uncontrollable shudders vibrated through her body.
After plugging in the box and pulling the cart over, he moved to stand between her legs, reached out and grasped her flat nipples, pinching and tugging until they hardened.
“Who is your Master? Who owns this body?”
“Me.” With her voice strained from screaming, she sounded as if she had a mouth full of gravel. Shards of pain cut into her throat like cut glass. “I do.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Such a slow learner. You’re lucky I’m a patient man.”
Funny, she didn’t feel lucky. Cursed better fit for the situation.
One hand continued to toy with her nipples as he picked up two of the wires with clamps on the end. Squeezing a clamp between thumb and forefinger revealed a vicious set of sharp teeth. As the clamp closed over her left nipple, Claire’s vision dimmed and a silent scream strangled in her ravaged throat. With the second clamp complete darkness descended.
A pathetic whimper passed her lips as Claire woke with a start and stared down at her body. The clamps made her nipples feel as if they were on fire. And one of the horrible fasteners bit into her clitoris, creating indescribable agony, while another wire appeared at the opening of her vagina. Her muscles clenched, revealing a hard, thin and long presence in her rectum. All five wires led to the infernal box, each one plugged into a slot above one of the dials.
Trussed up like a pig on the spit for roasting. And a madman manned the controls.
Super duper.
A harsh pant drew her attention across the room to where Carl leaned casually against the workbench, stroking his cock.
She could have done without seeing that. Oh sure, he was handsome and well-formed but seeing his hard-on created a new worry for Claire. Would he deviate from his pattern with the other women and rape her? Not that forced sex mattered in the greater scheme of things, considering his plans for her.
Noticing she’d regained consciousness, Carl tucked his cock away and zipped up his pants. “Ah, good, you’re awake. Now we can proceed.”
Oh joy.
“Whether you give me the words or not, Claire, I am the Master in control of this body. I’ve proven this by teaching you the pleasures of pain, impact and anal play, all of which were hard nos on your checklist. For our final session, I have chos
en another of your nos—electrical play—my personal favorite.”
As he spoke, Carl moved close enough to tug on one of the wires attached to her nipple. The clamp’s sharp teeth dug into the tender nub and blinding, white-hot rivers of misery flowed outward. In response, every muscle clenched, including those in her jaw. Her teeth slammed together, clipping the edge of her tongue and flooding her mouth with the metallic tang of blood.
The toothy grin Carl sported as he toggled the machine’s power switch exuded pure evil. A throaty, mechanical hum resonated from the contraption and homed in on her, penetrating skin and muscle, infiltrating her body down to the very marrow of her bones.
She fought the restraints, wasting vital energy, straining and tugging. In her head she understood the futility of the effort, her body didn’t care. Soon, exhaustion sapped the burst of energy and she sagged, letting the leather bonds bear the burden of holding her up.
No, no, no, she screamed within her head as he reached for the first dial. Absently she took note of the fact he’d lowered the volume of the music. All the better to appreciate the sounds of my agony.
A tingling jolt of electricity shot into her right nipple, a duplicate sensation pulsed through her clit. Claire gasped as her pectoral muscle contracted, drawing her breast tight and remaining taut until Carl cut off the current.
Pleasure lingered and she understood how Carl would coerce her body to orgasm without her consent.
He played her body as a master conductor directing a fine orchestra, bringing in one instrumental sensation at a time, starting with a soft and slow tempo, taking his time, building the cadence, keeping beat with her escalating pulse. A gentle and steady rise of pleasure and fear, tingles intensifying to white-hot bolts of lightning arcing along nerve endings, driving her ever closer to the inevitable shattering climax.
Muscles flexed and relaxed along with a unique melody of Carl’s creation. Breasts, clit, pussy and ass, writhing at his will. Building higher, each stimulus magnifying the dangerous effects. Claire tried to resist the rapid rise, mind and body at odds in a war she had no hope of winning. Everything else faded away—Carl, the dungeon. There was only the violent rush to completion and the soaring excitement of her overwrought body.
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