The cell door slams shut and the noise of the heavy lock sliding into place haunts me. The familiar callous laugh echoes down the long hallway, and somehow I know that it’s Marcus. I guess being taunted and stalked is something I’ll have to get used to if I’m going to survive this, but I already know I’m not cut out for these conditions.
This is where I’ll die, haunted and stalked by the grim reapers.
I break.
Heavy sobs tear from my chest as tears sail down my face at the speed of light, relentless as they fall and stain the black silk gown of my captors’ dead mother. My head falls to my knees as I wrap my arms around my body, desperate to find even the smallest bit of comfort.
And just when the exhaustion of the past few days creeps up to claim me, the soft drip, drip, drip begins to sail through my small torture chamber, getting louder and louder with every drip.
White noise joins the incessant drips and I press my hands against my ears to block it out, only with every passing minute, the relentless sound gets louder and more infuriating. Doors begin slamming as strange white lights flash through the dungeon, blinding me like a bolt of lightning through the dark night.
The sound drills against my head as my eyes burn with the blinding lights, and I finally get a true understanding of the term ‘play’ that Marcus had alluded to. The boys don’t intend to play with my body, they want to play with my mind, and fuck, they’re not holding back.
I tear the silk gown off my body and wrap the material around my head, pulling it tight over my ears and eyes and doing my best to block all of my senses. This is only the beginning. My gut tells me that it’s just going to get worse from here.
I crash down onto the hard bed and pull the blanket right up over me, cocooning myself under it and riding out the storm the only way I know how.
6
The heavy metal door drags along the old stone flooring of my torture chamber, breaking through the haunting silence of the night. My head shoots up off my pillow, my eyes wide as my heart races with fear.
It’s the middle of the night and I can’t see a damn thing. It’s pitch-black, not even the dull glow of moonlight shines through my stupid little window. I’m on my own with absolutely no advantages in my corner.
The door keeps dragging, inch by inch, the sound getting louder by the second. I scurry around on my hard bed, ignoring the searing pain from my fall down the stairs and pressing my back right up against the brick wall. My arms pull around my legs and I feel the soft silk from that ridiculous dress laying across my small bed. It would have only been a few hours ago that I’d wrapped it tightly around my head to block out the white noise and infuriating dripping, but that seems so far away now, so insignificant and trivial compared to the thought of one of these psychos slipping into my room in the dead of night.
I keep as far away from the door as possible, willing myself to become a small ball at the end of my bed, hoping that whoever is walking into my little dungeon is just as blind as I am in here. If he tries to grab me, I’ll at least be in a position to dart away, but the brothers are too fast, too skilled. I’ll never get away, no matter how hard I try.
The loud, rapid thumping of my pulse sounds in my ears and I strain to hear over it. My senses are dulled. My vision is gone, and all I have is my hearing to keep myself alive, and right now, apart from the sound of the door dragging on the stone and the thumping inside my ears, I hear nothing. Not a single footfall, not the familiar rustling of clothes as someone moves throughout the room, not even the sound of their discreet breathing.
It’s not possible. No one is that quiet, not even when they’re trying to be. Every time I pace the room, stones shift beneath my feet. The grinding sound of loose concrete is unmistakable, yet my cell is strangely quiet despite the open door.
There has to be someone in here.
I can feel it. Their bullshit grace period is over. No more leniency, no more getting away with shit. Their rules have been set and explained and now their fucked-up, twisted little games have begun. Hell, the night of torturous white noise and relentless dripping is proof of that.
But which one is it? My chest sinks at the thought of it being Marcus. He’s sick in the fucking head. From what I’ve learned of him so far, he’ll brutally take whatever the fuck he wants from me without a second thought. I knew he was bad, but seeing him at the dinner table so void of humanity only proves just how far gone he truly is. If it’s him walking through this door, I don’t stand a fucking chance.
Levi or Roman is the most I could hope for. If their plans are to kill me, I feel that Levi would at least do it quickly. He’d probably love it and it’d be ruthless, but it’d be simple. A slit throat or a bullet to the head maybe, unlike Marcus who would likely take his sweet ass time.
Roman on the other hand, he strikes me as the type to torture me mentally and have me begging for sweet death before he’s even laid a finger on me. He would be the worst yet somehow inflict the least pain. He’d be savage and twisted in his own fucked-up way and it’s absolutely terrifying. Both he and Levi come off as calculated, whereas Marcus is unpredictable.
Though, I can only imagine what the three of them would be like if they were working together.
My chest constricts, squeezing with fear and tormenting me like never before. What the hell am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to save myself? I’m at a disadvantage. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. I’m theirs to do whatever they please and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop them.
I’m like the piñata at a kid’s birthday party, hanging from a tree with a massive target on my back, just begging to be beaten and broken.
Shivers spread over my clammy skin. How could my father submit me to this? I know we don’t speak and haven’t for years, but surely I mean more to him than this?
Fuck him. I hope he rots in the deepest pits of hell.
The silence in the room weighs heavily on my shoulders, just as the lack of sight does. I let out a shaky breath and keep my stare focused on the door despite not being able to see a damn thing, and just as I try to convince myself that it’s all in my head, a feral growl rumbles through my torture chamber.
My back straightens as my eyes widen in fear. There really is something in here with me, but fuck, that growl was anything but human. It was almost … animal, but that couldn’t be right. No animal is stalking this twisted old castle and pushing open heavy dungeon doors, right? Because that shit would be insane.
The growl sounds again, this time just a little bit closer and a thick lump forms in my throat.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
I’m going to get mauled. I can just imagine the sharp talon-like claws slicing through my skin like butter. At least this shit show can finally be over. Whatever the fuck this thing is can kill me, and hopefully, it’ll make it fast. If it really is an animal, then at least I’d die humanely, rather than being tortured by one of the brothers. There won’t be any twisted mind games, no calculated slicing, no tormenting and making me watch, just an animal tearing me to shreds.
Fuck.
I close my eyes and breathe as I wait for the inevitable. Slowly in. Slowly out. And repeat.
The animal moves in a little closer and I feel its hot breath against my legs before that same ferocious growl rocks through me again. Whatever the fuck this is, it’s angry, and my presence here has clearly pissed it off.