I’m vacillating between the demonic doll’s actions and watching the new lines of blood trickling down the side of Jamie’s thigh.
“Last time I’m asking: are you ready to obey all my commands?”
Out of my peripheral, I see Noah nod. “You’ve made it clear we don’t have a choice.”
All I can do is silently nod one more time, even as I’m torn between watching Jamie and watching Jacques. Clarice returns to her position next to Raoul and resumes her stone-still stance. As I’m watching, Raoul’s head turns in my direction, that white-mask hiding his features.
He remains like that all while looking right at me.
What the fuck? How can he see me? How does he know where I am?
In the back of my mind, I know it’s probably another mind trick, but there’s no making sense of much at this moment. Not with what’s happening on the screen.
Not with that hulking monster Jacques mere feet from me.
I hear movement approaching. When I finally manage to pull my attention away from the screen, I see another guard walking toward us, pushing a silver tray.
My mind flashes back to the tray with all those tools that Jacques had in the room with Anne.
While he maimed her.
Right before he ended her.
My skin breaks out in a cold sweat. They aren’t going to kill you yet, I try to remind myself. They need both of you alive to continue the show. And that may be our only saving grace.
The guard stops next to Jacques and I finally get a good glimpse of what’s on that tray.
Syringes.
Inside them, there’s a pink-tinged liquid.
Has to be the “new” chemical our captor mentioned.
Once the guard leaves, Jacques takes one final step toward me, leaving nothing more than a foot-and-a-half between us. I can’t help but tilt my head back to look into those large, round lenses covering his eyes.
And nothing. I see nothing.
Well, nothing of him, that is. My reflection and my wide, scared eyes stare back at me in the inky darkness of those lenses.
He tilts his head this way and that, analyzing me. As his head moves, the long beak of his mask catches the light, glinting. For some reason, that draws my attention back to the shiny wetness on his apron.
And the blood there isn’t dry. It’s coagulated a bit, but not dry by any means.
This thought rushes endorphins through my body and a slight detached feeling takes hold. Everything slows down around me for a minute.
My eyes end up falling to his hand, and I see that he’s clutching a scalpel in his gloved-fingers.
Looks like the same scalpel he killed Anne with.
Slowly, he raises that scalpel toward me, and I can’t tear my eyes away. Don’t even blink.
I feel movement next to me.
Noah’s moving to protect me again.
The muffled sound of a woman crying out breaks my sick fascination with that scalpel. Immediately, my eyes jump to Jamie, concern for her overriding concern for myself. I come back into the moment and it physically hurts to breathe. Too much is happening at once and I’m feeling overwhelmed, and yet, for once I’m in control of my functions.
Clarice is already in front of her, and with a little, demonic giggle she delivers the fifth cut.
Right down the length of Jamie’s jaw.
“Nine-hundred-and-ninety-five left to go.”
The fucking glee in our captor’s tone can’t be mistaken.
“Noah,” I beg in a needy whisper, turning to him. “Please. No matter what happens, please.”
His tortured eyes focus on me. “Love, you know I can’t. I can’t let him hurt you.”
“There’s nothing you can do to stop it. But you can help Jamie. We can help her. We just have to do as they say.”
“I fucking love you. How am I supposed to sit here while this shite cuts into you?”
The tone of his voice cracks my heart wide open. “Please, baby. We can’t let her get hurt anymore. I love you, too, but we both have to find a way to control ourselves.”
Jaw tight, he gives me a sharp nod.
Trembling, I turn toward Jacques. He’s remained perfectly motionless, arm raised. Once it’s obvious Noah’s no longer going to intervene, he moves again, lowering the scalpel toward me.
I close my eyes and press my lips closed. No matter what happens, I’m going to deal with it. I know he isn’t going to kill me. I can survive any pain, deal with any scar. All that matters is beating these fuckers at their own game.
The coldness of the steel kisses my shoulder. It takes all of my self-control not to jump at the sensation. I brace myself, awaiting the sharp pain of the cut.
It never comes.
Instead, he leaves the scalpel pressed to my shoulder, and it doesn’t take me long to notice that it’s the smooth, back end that’s touching me.
He doesn’t intend to cut me.
Struggling to maintain a calm expression, I open my eyes.
He’s looking right at me. I can’t see his eyes, but that masked, wigged-head is tilted down in my direction. Once again, I’m forced to stare into my own reflection in those large, black lenses.
Just as slowly as before, he moves the smooth edge of the scalpel down my arm in a cold, almost-sensual caress.
A rough sound leaves Noah, but I don’t look at him. I refuse to back down. Controlling my breathing, I face off with this monster before him, letting him know I don’t fear him.
I should. I once did.
No longer.
The touch of the scalpel is a blatant sign—he wants to do to me what he did to Anne. He wants to maim me. Break me. Cut me up and abuse my entire body for his sadistic pleasure.
Due to his orders, I know he can’t, therefore I refuse to cower before him.
Jacques nods at me, a silent acknowledgement of my bravery, and turns to the tray. Picking up one of the syringes, he faces me and reaches out with his other hand.
I mimic his previous statue-like posture, following the movement of that hand with my eyes only.
He cups my chin and the rubber of his glove is cool. His touch is gentle. Reverent.
Again, almost sexual.
I can literally feel the waves of aggression coming off Noah.
Softly, Jacques tilts my head to the side, exposing my neck. His hand tightens around my chin just enough to keep me in position. Then, he releases me long enough to uncap the needle before grabbing my chin again.
He runs the needle up the side of my neck in another perverted caress.
“Fucking hell, I can’t do this,” Noah growls.
“Stop,” is all I say, keeping my voice calm.
Jacques nods at me again and I can’t shake the feeling that whatever he looks like under that mask, he’s smiling down at me.
Positioning the needle, he gives me a split second to anticipate the jab.
I inhale sharply as he pierces my artery and injects the liquid. It’s hot, and within seconds it feels like it’s spread to my entire body.
Removing the needle from my neck, Jacques deposits it on the tray and grabs the second one.
The heat is still spreading through my veins quicker than I can keep up. My vision momentarily blurs. Struggling to control myself, I watch as Jacques approaches Noah.
That old saying “if looks could kill” has never been more true. Noah doesn’t cower away from him either, but he doesn’t face off with him calmly. He glares up at him with the seething hatred of a thousand wronged men.
Jacques pauses before him and jerks his head to the side.
Noah doesn’t move.
“I think he’s being obvious enough, Noah. Obey him.”
Still no movement.
I clench my fists on my lap, eyes traveling all over Noah. For some reason, despite the insanity of the situation, I can’t help but eat him up with my eyes. The cut of his jaw, covered by that dark shade of scruff. His thick, messy black hair.
That thick
neck, now devoid of that leather strap that had adorned it for years.
A hollowness settles low in my gut before falling down to my pussy.
God, he looks so fucking good sitting there in his silent mutiny.
“Noah, I won’t ask again. Tilt your head for him.”
Asking my powerful, alpha-male to willingly subject to Jacques like that is beyond cruel.
And that’s exactly why that cunt is doing it. To fuck with him.
Possessiveness and protectiveness rise to mix with the drugged hunger pounding through me.
Noah exhales slowly in an obvious attempt to calm himself and tilts his head to the side.
Quick as can be, Jacques injects him. I see the change in Noah almost immediately as the drug starts to hit him like it’s hitting me.
The guard behind Jacques removes the trays with the syringes once he’s done. Jacques himself lingers, walking back toward me.
That huge, gloved hand rises again. Watching me behind that mask, he runs the backs of his fingers softly down my cheek, before finally turning to leave.
Even as the haze in my mind expands, that message isn’t lost on me.
Eventually, if everything goes according to their plan, I’m going to be the first one of the two to die.
And when that day comes, it’s going to be by Jacques’ hand.
A fact that clearly excites him.
I’m going to kill him first. This thought runs through my mind and I’m not upset at the prospect. An eye for an eye, and in this case, they’ve shut two pairs permanently that will never get the chance to see the light of day again. He can’t get his hands on Jamie either.
He will ruin her if he does. That sick aristocrat won’t prolong her torture, giving us time to save her. Jacques will break her beyond salvation and then end her.
Turning his back on us, he exits the room along with the guard, and we can do nothing but watch as the wall once again slides closed, leaving us trapped in here with this new drug taking over our bodies.
CHAPTER 26
My fingers twitch.
Legs bounce.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins and endorphins begin to cloud my judgement.
In hindsight, I should be afraid. Deathly afraid for Jamie, Noah, and myself.
But I’m not.
Instead, I’m inching just a bit closer to the object of my desire. Time stands still and all around me I feel his dominating presence. That animalistic pheromone he oozes from every toned limb.
“I didn’t say you could move, Ivy. Sit still or Jamie will receive another cut. Use that pea-sized brain of yours for once and behave.” At her insult, Noah let’s out a string of curses almost too low for me to hear. But I pick up on the fucking cunt quite clear and I’m afraid she will too. That they’ll punish Jamie.
“Something to say, Noah? Speak up. Don’t be a pussy.” She’s taunting him, but I clap my hands once to garner his attention.
Heavy-lidded eyes meet mine, filled with hunger and fury. “What, love?” His tone is angry. The thin thread of patience has run out and his barely controlled emotions are mounting.
And fuck me if a rush of wetness doesn’t coat my inner thighs at this.
I can’t talk. A desperate moan sits heavy on my tongue, so I shake my head instead and pray he picks up on my silent demand.
He blinks twice and I reciprocate. We’re okay. In this together.
“Answer me when I speak to you, Noah.”
“I’m fine.” His chest expands with a deep inhale and I bite my lip. Right now isn’t the right time to want him like this.
But I do, and I’m not foolish enough to believe that this manic desire stems from the drugs alone. They only serve to heighten the fervor.
“Just bloody high as fuck,” he adds.
Heat curls inside me.
My pussy clenches almost violently at his use of the word fuck. The deep timbre of his voice violates my senses—desecrates my rational thought.
“Oh, God,” I whimper out and my limbs contract. This is worse than before. The dosage more potent and I breathe in deep—try to focus on anything other than this urge to have Noah take me.
Claim me.
Break me into a million and one pieces only to put me back together again.
“Don’t move. Don’t breath. Don’t force my hand.” Her obnoxious giggles flow through the speakers and I fidget in place. The sound might be a bit doctored—synthesized to throw me off—but I recall the braying laugh of this donkey.
“Please stop, Ivy. Baby, just sit still,” Noah spits from between clenched teeth and I stop the subtle shifts of my hips, but it’s not quick enough and the pained groan that comes next pulls me from my train of thought.
“So entertaining to watch, pets.”
“Could care less at the moment.” His filter is gone, she knows this, and yet the shrill cry of pain that follows doesn’t surprise me.
No matter what we do, we can’t win with this bitch.
I force my eyes toward Jamie and see another cut, this one at the top of her foot. From ankle to her middle toe.
“. . . the audience won’t like the outcome.” I miss what she says before that, my brain still trying to process what’s in front of me. My options. That satanic lullaby our captor likes to play on and off is turned up. The heavy guitar riffs flow through me and the bass caresses my senses. It’s louder than it’s ever been. “Is it hard for you, Ivy? Having something you want so close and yet out of reach. No one here to hand over your every whim?”
Movement beside me catches my attention and I stupidly look over. Big mistake. Monu-fucking-mental mistake.
Fist clenching on his thighs, Noah’s cock stands hard and painful. A beautiful drop of pre-cum pools at the tip. Glistens over his pierced head.
My mouth waters and I swallow hard.
“Stop looking, love.” Agony colors his groan and I scoot away. It’s the sole way to prevent Clarice from placing another cut on Jamie’s skin.
“Stay in your place, whore. I’ll let you two play soon enough.”
All I can do is nod.
My eyes stray toward Noah again and land on his hooded ones. Same ones that are fucking me without touch.
It’s sensorial.
Emotional.
All-consuming and my thighs flex tight, trying like hell to find an inch of relief.
“To hell with this,” he all but snarls, but before he can touch me, the ceiling parts and something I quite can’t make out lowers.
At first, all I see is a contraption of some sort come down. Then straps. It’s made of leather and some other type of material I can’t make out quite yet.
Reminds me of the hanging chairs I had in my room as a child.
The kind you sit and . . . oh fuck, it’s a swing. Not just any kind.
A sex swing.
“Baby,” Noah’s voice breaks through my mini freak out. His hands cup my face and turn me away from the contraption. “Keep your attention on me. Focus on me.”
My shaking hands cover his. “Promise, I’m okay.”
Part of me is embarrassed to admit that my nerves come from perverse curiosity. That while a large part of my brain is shooting off code red sensors throughout my body, that small section that controls pleasure is choking me into submission.
“Stand and face the wall. You should know by now which one holds the key to our little games.”
Noah drops his hands from my face and extends one out to help me stand. I take it and rise, all the while fighting like hell to not look over.
Side by side we wait, his hand in mine. Together.
Neither says or asks questions.
“Clarice?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“Remove Jamie’s gag. I’d like to hear her if needed.” The devilish doll follows her master’s orders and cuts the cover from my friend’s mouth. She nips her lips with the knife in the process and this time Jamie doesn’t hold back.
“You fucking bitch!” She
thrashes, body almost convulsing in her binds. “The moment I escape, I’m killing you. Cut you up and feed you to my dog.”
“Feisty. Isn’t she, Raoul?”
His reply is an unintelligible grunt that makes his companion in the room giggle. Clarice tosses her rusty knife at him and he catches the blade and closes his fist around it. Cuts his wrist, right where his glove ends, and they both watch the blood drip.
It splatters at his feet.
And then on the next breath, he is moving. Two steps forward and he is beside Jamie, knife and hand extended out. With care, Raoul lays the dagger at the juncture of her neck and then caresses her face with his bleeding hand.
Smears his blood across her cheek.
Tilting his head to the side, he admires his work. “Pretty.”
Jamie’s expression is of horror struck fear. Her chest heaves. Her mouth parts on a silent scream.
The room explodes in applause and my euphoric high threatens to make me sick.
“Breath, love. I need you here with me.” Noah’s warm breath fans the side of my neck and whiplash settles in. From fear to want. I’m confused, horny . . . scared all in one breath. “At the very least he didn’t cut her.”
Which is true. Raoul marked her, but not with the knife.
“Seems someone has taken a liking to your old friend, Ivy. How interesting.” As she says this, the wall slides open and I close my eyes.
I know what is behind it.
Jamie bound and bleeding.
“You’ve got to be kidding me with this shite.”
At the surprise in his tone, I peek and wish I hadn’t. “No. No . . . fuck and no.”
“You should not be hostile toward those that are responsible for your precious Ivy being alive. Thank them.”
It’s a theater. Opulent with deep red curtains, velvet couches and a few arm chairs strategically placed to watch the show. People—about fifty of them make up the audience.
And they’re naked.
Bare, except for the black masks that adorn the upper portion of their faces.
Drinks in hand, they watch us. Touch each other. Silently ask for more of us.
“Thank you,” I whisper past the lump in my throat and she laughs again. Those seated inside the room hold up their glasses in acknowledgement.
Broken (Voyeur Book 3) Page 5