SLAUGHTER

by Tessier, Shantel

  “Son.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “I want to show you just what it’s like to have a slave.”

  “I don’t want one,” I say, pulling away from him.

  He looks at me; we’re the same height. I may only be seventeen, but I’m tall for my age. A muscle clenches in his square jaw, and his lips thin for a brief second before he gives me an evil smile. To anyone on the street, he looks like a million dollars in his expensive tailored suit. He’s worth that much, but it’s blood money. It all spends the same, he once told me. “You will change your mind.”

  I go to argue, but he unlocks the white door and then opens it up. He shoves me down the stairs and through the tunnel of hell, and I look around at all the torture devices. Chains hang from the walls and ceiling. There’s a black wire cage over in the right corner that too has chains in it.

  “Sir. Just in time.”

  I turn to see Lance standing over by a black table. A blowtorch in one hand and an iron rod in the other. “Would you like to do the honors?” he asks my father.

  My father walks over to him and takes the iron rod from him and then walks over to the far wall. My chest aches at what I see. A woman. No, a girl. She looks young. Maybe Bunny’s age—fifteen. She stands spread-eagle, her legs out wide and strapped to the padded wall. Her arms raised above her head, making a V. There is a strap around her neck so she can’t move her head either. I can’t see her eyes because she has a black blindfold over them, but I can still see the tears that run down her face. A big red ball gag is in her mouth, and she weeps behind it. Sobs wracking her naked body while drool runs down her chin to coat her chest.

  My father walks over to her and grabs her chin roughly. “You belong to me now, slave. And in case you ever forget that, here is your reminder.”

  He places the iron rod over her ribcage, right below her left breast, and she screams out in agony. Her body thrashes harder against her restraints as he holds it there longer than needed.

  I feel bile rise in my throat, and my knees go weak watching him treat her like she is cattle. Right now, she wishes she was dead. And that’s exactly what will happen. The smell of her burning flesh is too much. I turn, and all but run out of his cellar and down the tunnel with one thought on my mind—I’ve got to get Bunny out of here.

  Bunny gets my attention, looking down at the initials burned into her flesh, and tears form in her eyes. She snaps like a rubber band pulled too tight.

  With a growl, she leans forward and starts clawing at it. “Cut it off. Cut it off. Cut it off. Cut it off,” she screams over and over, digging her nails into it.

  I stand and grab her hands and shove them down. Holding them to her side in the water, fresh blood instantly clouding the tub from her nails breaking the skin. Water splashes both of us as she fights me.

  She looks up at me as tears run down her now clean face. “Please, Avery? Please. Just cut it off. I can’t … I can’t be his slave.” She chokes.

  _______________

  “This is a very bad idea.” Tristan voices his opinion while he paces in front of the fire in my study.

  I don’t disagree with him, just take a drink of my scotch.

  “She may say that, but she will change her mind. Even if you were insane enough to do it, she’s going to fight you.” He stops and turns to face me. “Human instinct is to fight. As soon as she feels that first sting of pain, her fight or flight will kick in.” That just makes me take another drink, knowing how hard she had fought Vaughn from doing it. But he won. He always does. He’s a monster like our father. “You’ll never be able to get it done.”

  “I could drug her,” I say, throwing back what’s left in my glass. Although I don’t want to do that to her. Never again. But if she leaves me no other choice …

  “That could work …”

  “No.”

  We both turn to see Bunny standing in the doorway, her hair now dry and blood free. All she wears is a white towel wrapped around her tucked under her arms. It’s short enough to show the brand on her thigh. My brother stares at it with clouded eyes. I walk over to my couch and grab the black blanket draped over it and put it around her. “You won’t even feel it …”

  “I said no.”

  I grind my teeth in frustration.

  “Tie me down.”

  Tristan lets out a rough laugh as if she’s lost her mind. I’m starting to agree. “I won’t tie you down and cut you,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Why not?” she asks, taking a step in and tilting her head to the side as if her plan isn’t fucked up in more ways than one. “You tied me to the bed and left me there gagged all night for your own sick pleasure. Multiple times actually,” she reminds me, and my jaw tightens. “All because I broke some stupid rule you came up with in the first place.”

  “Bunny…”

  “Then you cuffed my hands behind my back to take me to a fucking business dinner.” Her voice rises. “Where you whipped me because, once again, I disobeyed some stupid fucking rule,” she shouts. “Why can’t you do it now?”

  “This is different,” my brother tells her. “He’s not going to—”

  “He will!” she shouts, interrupting him. Then she turns to face me. “If you don’t do this Avery, I will. What’s it gonna be?” she asks, arching a brow.

  “Goddammit,” my bother snaps, knowing she has backed me into a corner. She’ll do it.

  A part of me is proud of her. To know she is this brave. The other thinks she is fucking crazy and needs psychological help. A padded room. Possible straitjacket. She just admitted she would cause bodily harm to herself. There’s no telling what my brother told her. Or what he made her feel. I’ve seen girls not able to live in their own skin after Vaughn touched them. It was always terrible to watch.

  After I witnessed my father brand that young girl, I never saw him do it again. I tried to free her two weeks later and found her dead. She had hung herself from her own chains. She would rather die than be someone’s slave, and that’s exactly how I see Bunny. She would destroy herself before she would let someone else do it.

  And I refuse to lose her. Not again. Not this way.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Jesus.” Tristan hisses under his breath and turns to me. “You can’t possibly …”

  “I’ll do it, Bunny,” I tell her again.

  She nods once, letting out a long breath, trying to calm her anger. “I’ll go get ready.” Then she walks out.

  “What the fuck, man?” My brother turns on me.

  “Why do you fucking care?” I ask, pouring another glass. “You wanted me to kill her, remember?”

  “Yes,” he snaps. “I wanted you to snap her neck and throw her body into the ocean. I never wanted you to torture the poor thing.”

  “She’s already been tortured,” I shout. “By our sick brother.”

  I hang my head and run a hand through my hair. “You watched the tape with me when she ripped open her wrist with a letter opener to remove her tracker. But you didn’t see the way she looked at the brand when she was in the bathtub a minute ago. The way she clawed at it as if it was eating her alive from the inside. There’s no telling what she will do to get that off her.” I can’t find her bleeding to death one more time. My mind and heart won’t be able to take it.

  PRESLEIGH

  I want to cry. I want to run away and hide, but I know that’s not an option. Victor told me. I’ve been watching you all this time. And I’ll continue to watch. You will never be free of me.

  There’s nowhere for me to run. All I can do is hope that the fucker dies before he can get me again. I can’t tell Avery. Some things a woman has to take to her grave. This is one of them.

  I remember how much he took from me last time, and I refuse to give that bastard this much of my life again.

  “Wake up, Pres.”

  I hear a male’s voice, but it seems far away. Distant. “Come on, Pres.” I feel a hand slap my face. Then the sting comes again.

  I o
pen my heavy eyes and moan out in pain. My thigh throbs and so does my head. But at least it’s dark.

  Vaughn stands there above me a smile on his face. “I hope Avery kills you,” I mumble sitting up.

  He frowns. “Why would he do that? You never were anything of importance to him.”

  “Fuck you …” He slaps me so hard it knocks me back down face first onto the cold concrete floor. The chain connected to my collar rattles from the movement.

  “If you can’t be nice, then you don’t get fed,” he says simply and then turns to walk out of the room, closing the heavy door behind him and locking it.

  I pound my fist into the cold concrete floor as tears of anger spill from my eyes. I scream out in frustration. In pain. My entire body hurts, and I’m fucking tired. So tired. It’s the drugs they give me. They put something in my water. So it’s either eat and drink and pass out, allowing them to do whatever they want to me. Or starve and try to fight them off while I die a slow death.

  I roll on to my back, and the steel collar digs into my skin. It’s rubbed me raw and pinched my skin. I dig at it, screaming out again, trying to yank it off. Thinking I can be stronger.

  I sit up and pull on it, making myself bend downward, and my eyes catch sight of my brand, which just makes me madder.

  Tears run down my face along with snot and slobber as I fight with the unforgiving steel. My nails dig into my skin, and I feel the sting when it slices the skin open. Then I feel blood run down my naked chest and stomach.

  I let go and cover my face with my hands, sobbing. I can’t die like this. I can’t.

  My entire body shakes, and I slam my hand over the brand. I scream at the pain, and I scrape my nails over it. No! I will not be his slave! Either way, he will inflict pain on me. I either allow him to do it, or I do it to myself. I choose me any day.

  The door opens again, and I see Vaughn’s back, but this time, he doesn’t have any food. Instead, a pair of handcuffs dangle from his right hand. I sit my back against the cold wall, the chain clanking from my sudden movement.

  He walks in and leaves the door open behind him. If I could just get this thing from around my neck, I could run. To where? I don’t know. I could be in another country, for all I know. Or back in New York.

  “I’ve always wondered what you would look like chained to a wall,” he says when his brown eyes drop to my bare breasts—my nipples hard from the coldness. “You didn’t disappoint, Pres.”

  I sniff as fresh tears fall. “You’re one sick bastard …”

  He grabs my ankle and yanks me off the wall, cutting off my words. My back and ass slide against the cold concrete floor, and I cry out when it tears my skin. But it’s cut off by the collar around my neck when he pulls it to the point it chokes me, the chain now pulled tight.

  I cough and try to breathe when he flips me onto my stomach. The action making it pull my skin and pinch me once again.

  I kick my legs against the concrete floor while I dig my nails between the collar and my skin, trying to get enough space to breathe. But he grabs my hands, pulling them behind my back. My heart pounds in my chest and my hips buck, but he sits on them. Then I feel the unforgiving steel wrap around my wrists, and my heart breaks. I flop around like a fish out of water trying to survive.

  He leans over, pinning my stomach and chest to the floor. He grips my hair tightly and rips my head back, and my skin splits from the collar as dots dance before my eyes.

  Don’t pass out. As long as I’m awake, I can fight him. Even if I don’t have a chance. “Your father was a sick bastard,” he hisses by my ear, and I dig my cuffed hands into his shirt, trying to grip his skin. “I’m a sick bastard.” He chuckles “And Avery is a sick bastard.”

  My jaw clenches at the mention of Avery. “He’s … nothing … like …” Those dots get bigger. I blink. “You …”

  “He is, Pres. He kidnapped you. He fucked you. And he whipped you. Just not enough.”

  I try to shake my head, but it’s impossible with the chain of the shackle pulled tight and his hand gripping my hair.

  “The only difference is you liked being his slave.” He sneers. “Don’t worry, you’ll learn to like being mine.” He shoves my head into the concrete, and I instantly taste blood as pain explodes.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  He lets go of me, and I roll once to get closer to the wall, giving the chain some slack. I suck in a long and painful breath once I have the option.

  “You said she was for me,” he tells Victor. “I did all the work for her. Now I want my payment.”

  Victor slaps him across the face, and I wish I could enjoy it, but I’m too busy trying not to puke from the pain in my head. “You’ll get what I give you.”

  “That’s not what we agreed …”

  “Leave us,” he orders, and Vaughn storms out, slamming the door shut behind him.

  I cower against the wall, my hands still cuffed behind my back. I want to beg him to let me go. Beg him not to do this to me. But this man took everything I had. He would never show mercy. No matter how much you beg for it.

  He crouches in front of me, and I hate that I whimper. He reaches out to cup my face, and when I flinch, he laughs. He runs his hand over my busted lip, smearing the blood. Then sucks on his finger.

  Don’t puke!

  This time when he reaches out his hand, he places it in my hair and plays with a few strands. “Vaughn never did know how to treat a lady.”

  I say nothing, still trying to catch my breath.

  “Good thing you’re not a lady.” And then he tightens his hand in my hair and yanks me to the ground. Before I can even cry out, he’s straddling me, his hand over my mouth and nose, and I have déjà vu.

  Tears roll down my cheeks as I try to fight him off, but once again, I have nothing. I’m going to die in this basement, chained to a wall with my hands cuffed behind my back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  AVERY

  WHEN MY BROTHER AND I walk into her room, she’s sitting on her bed. Her back against the headboard, her knees pulled up to her chest. She looks so young. So frail. And my chest tightens at how much we’ve missed. If only she hadn’t ruined me, things would be so much different.

  “I’m not changing my mind, Tristan,” she says to him, lifting her chin. I don’t know if I should be proud of her or sick to my stomach. Maybe a little bit of both.

  “I’m only here to help,” he assures her.

  She looks away from him and back at me, waiting for an order.

  “Lie down, Bunny.”

  She unfolds her legs and scoots to where she is on her back. She lifts her arms above her and it pulls up the T-shirt of mine she has dressed in. The only other thing she wears is a black thong.

  I go to the head of the bed and restrain both her wrists. Then I go to the foot of the bed and do the same with her ankles—spreading them wider than usual. She has to be pulled tight in order for this to work. I don’t want her to have slack and jerk her leg, causing me to slice a major artery.

  Fuck, my brother was right. This is a horrible idea.

  I reach out my right hand, and my brother places the filet knife in it. I sit down on the bed and look up at her. She stares up at the ceiling as if she’s cool as a cucumber, but I can see her chest heaving beneath my shirt. Her breathing has picked up.

  “I don’t have to—”

  “Do it,” she says flatly, interrupting me.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My brother comes to stand beside me. He leans over and places his hands on her upper thigh, pushing her farther into the bed.

  “Those ropes aren’t gonna be enough,” he says simply.

  I nod and place my hand on her leg. Grabbing the skin, I can feeling her leg already shaking. She sniffs. “Bunny—”

  “Do it,” she snaps.

  I look up at my brother, and he lifts a brow as if to question if I can do it. Do I have the balls to hurt the woman I once loved? And still do.
>
  I stand and tell him, “Give us a minute.”

  “Avery,” she growls when he walks out. She starts pulling on the restraints, and I go to the bed. Tears run down her face. “Please,” she begs, and I hate how my chest tightens. “I need it off,” she chokes out.

  “Bunny, I can’t …” She starts to sob. “I can’t hurt you. Not like this.”

  She closes her eyes tightly. “You’ve already hurt me,” she whispers. “Why is this so different?’

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  She opens her eyes and looks up at me. “I know, Avery. I know why I’m here.” I shake my head. She has no way of knowing. “I know Damon wants me.” My heart stops. “I know that a madman wanted to make me his slave. But you got jealous.” Her eyes narrow on me. “I know you didn’t want anyone else to have me, so you took me instead,” she yells, lifting her head off the bed. “You’ve been hurting me this entire time. I told you in New York I never wanted to see you again, but you didn’t fucking listen! You should have walked away, Avery. You should have never brought me here,” she yells, her face slick from tears and red from anger.

  “Bunny …”

  “You’ve beat me. You’ve fucked me! All for your own sick pleasure! Now I’m asking you to do something for me, and you don’t have the fucking balls to do it!” she shouts.

  My hand tightens on the knife, and my jaw clenches. How does she know all this? Darrell must have told her. He must have spoken to her before she was taken. Because I know it wasn’t afterward. We had eyes on him all the time, hoping he would take us to her. And Vaughn wouldn’t know all that.

  Her head falls down onto the pillow, and she closes her eyes. “I’m tired,” she whispers. “Either cut off the mark or untie me.”

  She’s right. If I was being honest with myself, I’ve been hurting her every day since the moment I took her. This will cause her a lot of pain, but in the end, it removes a piece of pain. Because it will always be a reminder. Even covered up by a tattoo. But I think she is missing the point. It will still be a reminder. Even if I cut off the skin, we will both have to look at it until we die and see that I cut her. Maybe that’s how she will see it. She will see it as a time I was able to take away something so terrible. Maybe she’ll see me as her hero and not her villain.