He’d done it. He had Lianna Mercier in the cell, and everything had gone exactly to plan.

Well, not exactly to plan.

Fucking her in the apartment hadn’t been a part of the plan, but as soon as he’d seen the blonde halo of her hair lit by the light from the television — everything had gone red. The cold rage had taken over him, and all he’d wanted to do was make her scream. To hurt her in his house.

It had felt good to ruin the fake perfection of that fucking apartment. Her shattered wine glass on the floor, the coffee table askew. Hell, he’d fucked her so hard against the couch that it had moved across the floor, and he’d left it angled on the tile with the shredded scrap of her underwear and those pale pink pajama pants behind it.

Listening to her beg had been better than all of it though.

Spoiled little cunt, daddy’s little corrupt princess, screaming and crying before she’d come on his cock like the whore he already knew she was. It had been so much better than just drugging her and taking her out of there.

His dick was getting hard again just thinking about everything he’d do to her before this was all over — but from now on he’d stick to the plan.

No more surprises.

He still needed to verify the building security cameras had kept his loop going, and then he had to revert them before some half-assed security guard noticed it. So much to do before the girl woke up and he got to move to the next phase of the plan.

Ruin. Suffering. Destruction.

David smiled as he turned up the audio for the cell. Harry had been wrong, completely and totally wrong. This was exactly what he should be doing. Revenge felt fucking amazing.

* * *

Lianna

Everything came back online slowly.

First her mind, head pounding like she’d had too much to drink, and then her body lit up in sections. Pain pinged reminders across her skin, echoing confused memories of terror through her battered veins, forcing her out of the comforting daze of sleep.

After a few minutes, Lianna knew she was awake, knew her eyes were open, but the room was pitch black. No difference whether they were open or closed. Blinking, she tried to lift her hands and heard metal clatter as cuffs dug into her already aching wrists.

“Shit,” she hissed between her teeth as the twinge spiked and ebbed.

Oh God.

She had been taken. It wasn’t some horrible nightmare fueled by the stupid horror movie.

Her heart started to race, beating too loud in her ears as the panic threatened to take over, but she pushed it down and tried to breathe, to evaluate her surroundings. Think, her mind urged through the haze. Survive.

There was a hard chair under her, her arms run through slats in the back so she couldn’t sit up all the way, and something was holding her legs wide to the outsides of the chair. Not more cuffs, rope? No. It felt smoother than that, sharper on the edges. It didn’t matter.

Worst of all she was completely naked. She could feel the absence of cloth over her breasts and the brush of cool air across her skin. She was naked, tied-up, and trapped with him. The memory of the man sent a chill down her spine, but there was nothing left to do but call out.

You can’t break handcuffs, just get it over with.

Swallowing against the dryness in her throat, Lianna raised her voice into the black, “Hello?”

Instead of light, a huge television suddenly blinked to life in front of her. For a moment it only showed a blank screen behind the plastic shield that surrounded it — then a video started. It was her, in a black and white image from a high angle, sitting on the couch in the apartment. She watched as her mouth moved, but no sound could be heard. She watched as she set the wine down and started to mess with the remote. Then the dark figure of the man walked into the frame from the right, standing just behind her as she flipped through the channels.

No, no, no... he’d recorded it?

It was eerie the way he stood completely still while she leaned over the remote, fidgeting with it before she leaned back, only feet from him. Watching the movie, unaware of the real danger. When the figure on the screen suddenly grabbed her and yanked her over the back of the couch, she clenched her eyes tight.

“STOP! I don’t want to watch this!” Shouting into the emptiness, she tried to forget the sensation of his hands on her skin, of the things he’d done. Even unable to see the video her mind was filling in the blanks, tracing the aches across her body like a transcript. Dropping her chin to her chest, she shook her head, her hair falling like a curtain against her cheeks as if she could shut off the movie inside her own brain. But her eyes snapped open again when the sound of her father’s voice bled through speakers into the room.

Dad?

Snippets of interviews from over the years started to play. Robert Mercier, always smiling and well dressed, dimples punching into his cheeks when he laughed. It flashed through clips of him at public events, recordings of him discussing business on what should have been private virtual stockholder calls, and too many others. Then they grew shorter.

Quick, abbreviated snippets of his voice over, and over, and over.

His smile, his laugh, and just as the videos started to speed up to a dizzying rate — they started to zoom in on her. Always sitting just to his left or right, in a variety of designer clothes, her dad’s voice running over the top of it. It should have been soothing to hear him, but the videos were all of her and too strange. Slowed down clips of her half-smiling during events, her staring down at her hands in her lap, her standing in elegant heels to clap. Just her, over and over, and it only made her panic worse. “STOP!”

The last image of her clapping and smiling in a dress froze. Hands almost touching, she looked like she might have been praying.

Finally, the television went black for a moment, and then a single scene played on the screen at normal speed. It was her father standing outside the Mercier building, speaking to a gathering of reporters. “My inspiration for what I do with Mercier Systems?” He chuckled, all charm and wit, blue eyes sparkling as he nodded at the microphones. “Well, I want a better world for my daughter. She’s my everything. Without her—” He lifted his hands. “I’d have nothing.”

The television clicked off and bright lights instantly flared to life from either side of the television, effectively blinding her. “Dammit!” She flinched, closing her eyes tight as she heard a door open somewhere to her left. It shut again, the sound heavy and metal. Lianna tried to look, but the bright lights were impossible to see through.

“Did you hear that, princess? You’re his everything.” The low voice was slowly moving behind her, and then a large hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed just enough to make her heart stumble over itself. “Tell me, how do you think he’s going to feel when he gets that first video?”

“Go to hell,” she spat, and he yanked her head back, tilting her chin up so she could see the mask again.

“You’re the one in hell, princess, you just don’t know it yet.”

Fear squirmed in her belly and she tried to struggle, but only rewarded herself with pain as the cuffs tore at her skin and his grip tightened further around her throat. “What do you want from me?” she croaked through the strain.

“What do I want? I want your father to suffer. I want to see him ruined like he’s ruined the lives of so many others.” He grabbed her chin and forced her head back further, making her back arch painfully as her arms pressed into the chair. “And you’re going to help me destroy him, princess.”

“My name is Lianna,” she hissed.

“Oh, but daddy dearest always calls you princess, doesn’t he?” It sent a shudder through her that he knew that fact. How long had he been watching them? Watching her?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know everything, slut. Remember that. Now, you have a task to perform.” He let her go and she rolled her neck to ease the ache as tiny red dots sprang to life in the ceiling. One directly in front of her, two in the corners, and as she turned her head she saw they went around the room.

The man stepped behind her again, leaning down to speak directly into her ear, “Go on, talk to him. Tell Daddy how much you want to come home. Beg.”

She pressed her lips together, clenching her jaw tight, and he sighed.

“Now,” he hissed, a large hand gripping the back of her neck.

“No.” She pushed the word through gritted teeth, and he dug his fingers into her skin for a moment before he released her with a shove. His footsteps were heavy across the floor, still in boots, but she wasn’t playing into the kidnapping game. Uncle Mike had taught her better than that.

The door creaked open, and then slammed hard.

Swallowing, her eyes blurring against the fiercely bright lights, she tried her best to twist and see the rest of the room. Concrete, empty concrete everywhere, and corners cast into dark shadows. Pulling in a deep breath, she grabbed onto one cuff and tried to force her hand through it, but as she strained the pain became too much and she stopped with a whine.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The man returned too quickly, anger radiating off him even as he stayed silent. Her eyes had adjusted enough to identify his outline as he moved closer — still wearing dark clothes, still masked. Smooth leather caressed her bare shoulder, sliding forward until she could see the dull black loop of a belt. She swallowed hard as he slowly slid it between her breasts, inching it down her body, leaving shivers in its wake.

Forcing herself to stillness, she committed to not moving, refusing to reward him with a reaction, but then he leaned forward to tap the belt between her spread thighs and she jerked against the bindings.

“Last chance, princess. Tell him to save you.” The words were quiet, meant only for her.

A curt shake of her head was her only response, and then he brought the belt down hard on her thigh. She couldn’t bite back the yelp of pain just as he delivered a matching line of fire to the other side. The burning marks made her whine under her breath as the heat spread, but she steeled herself.

“Do it,” he hissed against her ear.

“No.”

He stepped to her side, a looming shape in the light, and brought the belt down hard across the tops of her thighs — once, twice, three times and the bright red lines showed up fast even on her tanned skin. When she bit back the scream, he landed the next lash across her breasts. There was no stifling the cry then, and she found herself whimpering and yanking on the cuffs as he forced her head back so she couldn’t lean forward to protect herself. He snapped the belt across each breast in fast succession. Back and forth, each new blow making her scream incomprehensible pleas, begging him to stop.

Finally, he pulled away and she slumped, desperately trying to halt her tears as the sharp ache bloomed over her skin. His fist wound into her hair, jerking her head up so she was facing the camera again, blinded by the lights. “Speak.”

“Please, just let me go.” Her whine was answered with a vicious slap of the belt directly between her thighs, the bright lightning strike of agony making her hips buck. “God, please!”

“Beg him.” The command was rough, and she kept her eyes low, trying to be brave, but then the whistle of the leather lifting in the air forced pleas past her lips.

“Stop! Please, I want to go home. Just let me go home.” Lianna whimpered, hating herself for caving to the pain, hating that she was so exposed to the cameras. “I don’t want him to see me like this, please, just—”

The masked man stepped around her and slapped her hard, pain exploding in her cheek, her head snapping to the side as she gasped. He leaned down, his words hissed through a filter of rage, “Do you think I care what you want?”

“Please… let me go. You can still just let me go, I don’t know who you are, I don’t—” Another sharp slap silenced her, making the hot pain bloom across her jaw, and then he moved behind her once more. She was crying hard now, the ache in her cheeks temporarily overwhelming the other parts of her body.

His breath brushed over her hair before he spoke, “Good girl, cry for him. Tell him to do whatever it takes to bring you home.” The belt snapped across her thighs again and she sobbed. “Say it,” he hissed directly into her ear.

She was weak. Tired, in pain, and terrified. So, she gave in, lifting her eyes to the red dot in the ceiling. “Dad, I’m so sorry. I’m s-so sorry… Please just do what he says. I just want to come home. Please, Dad, help me. I just—”

A gloved hand covered her nose and mouth, pinching off her air so that she panicked and jerked against the bindings. “Perfect,” he cooed against her ear as she struggled. “Now we get to see if he really loves you, princess.”

Lianna waited for him to release her, but instead he simply dropped the belt and wrapped his other arm across her throat. Terror took hold, tearing the skin at her wrists as she struggled against the cuffs, making pathetic, muffled sounds.

“Shhh…” His voice whispered against her cheek, and then she felt a prick of pain and the black closing in again, fear warring against the inevitable. Desperate, she tried to stay conscious, to fight — but there was no fighting this.