Syrena

By the time I’ve stumbled off the bed and opened the door, he’s already left the house.

Alone again, this time with a collar and chain bound to my neck.

I can’t believe this really happened.

That he actually left. Where is he going now? It can’t be work because he just came home from there. Every time something happens between us, he leaves. It’s as though the friction makes him want to do something.

But what?

I sigh, but then I realize I’m still naked. I almost forgot.

I open the closet and rummage through it until I find a suitable shirt and pair of sweatpants to wear. They’re a bit large, but I can make it work.

The only thing I can’t make work is that metal thing around my neck. Did he forget to take it off, or is he making me wear it for his pleasure?

It’s all kinds of wrong. I should’ve known going in that he’d do this.

It should’ve dawned on me that he had a few kinks. It was obvious from his obsession with knives alone. And now this … the collar.

This man is unlike any other man I’ve ever met. So much so that I’m still shaking on my feet when I think about the way he touched me … and how good it felt when he made me come.

Fuck.

I shouldn’t even be thinking about this, but I am. I thought I knew what I was doing, that I could seduce him into having sex so he’d fall for me and then release me, but nothing is going according to plan.

I actually fucking liked what he did.

And worse, I didn’t want him to stop.

The only part I don’t like is being left here on my own with this goddamn chain around my neck.

I grab a few tissues from the nightstand and clean myself up. Then I open the door and enter the kitchen, searching through the drawers to find something, anything, to pry open this metal with. It doesn’t have to be a knife … anything sharp will do.

But no matter how many drawers I pull open, or how hard I search under the couches and on top of the cabinets, there’s nothing to be found.

It’s as if he knew I would do this.

“Fuck!” I scream, smashing my hand on one of the cabinets.

Why does he have to outsmart me so much?

I sit on the couch and mull it over, stewing in my own juice for a while. I don’t know why I’m so pissed off. Maybe it’s because I’m left to his every whim, or maybe it’s because he isn’t here to make it better.

But I don’t want to think that way. I don’t want to feel that way.

I don’t want to even be here … right?

I shouldn’t want to because it’s his house and not mine. And he is the fucking devil.

At least, that’s what I tell myself because my heart certainly isn’t getting the right picture.

Every time I think of him, it keeps beating faster, to the point where I just turn on the television to take my mind off him.

The weather lady is talking about what day it is, and it makes me think. How long have I been here? How much time did I spend at the compound? Keeping time was so difficult back then, and now I feel as if I’m doing nothing when I’m supposed to do something.

Ella and Cage are waiting for me. They’re rooting for me, hoping I can find a way to free them. They’re still stuck there while I’m here, dreaming the day away, fucking the man who got me out.

How dare I do that to them?

I chuck the remote control at the window. It doesn’t shatter.

Goddammit.

There must be something I can do to get to them.

Something to get out of this house. Out of this loop. Something … like opening the door. But how?

The only way I know is with a card, like a credit card or something. I’ve done it once before, way back when I was still living at the club and tried to sneak up to my room late at night without Roy noticing.

But it only worked because he had an old, shoddy back door.

This house is state of the art. Probably monitored too. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s watching me right this very moment.

Still, that isn’t a reason to stop myself from sniffing around.

Maybe if I look hard enough, I’ll find a card I can use. Or a key. Who knows.

It’s better than sitting around and doing nothing, so I get up and comb through the house again. Too bad he’s locked the door to his bedroom, so I can’t search there. But what he hadn’t thought of was cleaning the insides of the pockets of his old coats.

And one of them contains a thin card…

Perfect.

* * *

Chase

My eyes glance over the drawn image of one of the men inside the auction. Now we have a name to go with it.

“You’re sure he lives here?” I ask as Brandon drives the car.

“Yep. Checked it twice.”

I raise my brow.

“My contacts at the bureau can be trusted,” he adds.

“If you say so.”

“Hey, you were the one who asked me to expedite this.”

“Yes. I needed something to do today.”

He gazes my way. “That’s the only reason?”

“No. I want to save the boy too. If he’s still there …” My hands ball into fists.

“And then what? Keep him in your house too?” he muses.

“No, of course not. We’re going to free him.”

“Right. Because boys aren’t your thing,” he taunts.

“Oh, fuck you,” I say, sighing.

He laughs. “It’s so easy to piss you off.”

He drives slowly, too slow, making my temper worse. “Can we go a bit quicker?”

“Why?” He frowns. “Got somewhere else to be?”

The way he looks at me is enough to know what he’s thinking.

He’s trying to steer this conversation back to the girl again, but I’m not having it.

“No, I’m just excited.” I tuck the drawing back into my pocket. “How much farther?”

“A couple of minutes.”

“How convenient that one of them lives so close.”

“You sure that’s convenient? We don’t want the cops to track it back to us.”

“They won’t,” I say with a smirk. “I always come prepared.” I gaze his way. “What about you? Figured out if you’re going to help me or not?”

He shrugs. “That depends.”

“On what?” I ask.

Now it’s his turn to smile wickedly. “If you let me do my thing.” He winks.

I grin and shake my head. “Great. It’s settled then.”

When we arrive, he parks the car somewhere far from the building, and I immediately jump out to grab the bag of gear from the back seat. I throw it over my shoulder while Brandon puts on his mask and helps me put on mine.

“Ready?” I ask, sliding on my gloves.

He nods as he slips on his gloves. “Let’s do this.”

With our weapons by our side, we march out of the alley and into the streets, crossing several blocks before we reach his home. Going in through the main lobby, we find one security guard and a single camera hanging from the top left corner. Child’s play.

While I walk up to the guard, Brandon disables the camera with spray paint. The moment the guard raises his voice, I sucker punch him in the face. He falls to the floor, knocked out instantly.

Brandon quickly ropes him to his chair and binds a piece of cloth around his face so he won’t scream. Then we close the window blinds and barricade the door with a chair. No one can come in now. No one will interrupt our game.

We move through the corridor quickly, hopping into the elevator and pushing the correct number. The ride up seems eternal, and the dinging sound that plays through the microphones only makes it seem more depraved.

It feels like my blood is curdling. That’s how excited I am as we approach his penthouse. The rich motherfucker thinks he’s safe up there in his perfect shrine. He has no idea we’re coming. No idea what’s going to happen to him in just a few seconds.

As we stand in front of the door, Brandon and I throw each other a quick glance before he works to open the door with a small explosive that barely makes any noise.

When I kick open the door, he goes inside first.

Time seems to slow down as the man in front of the television turns around and the popcorn drops from his wide-open mouth. In his bathrobe, he gets up from the couch and screams.

I rush toward him and jab him in the throat, which stops the sounds from coming out.

We don’t want to alert the neighbors.

With another punch to the gut, he’s buckled over, heaving heavily.

I grasp him by the hair and say calmly, “Where is the boy?”

“Boy? What boy?” he huffs and puffs.

I narrow my eyes as Brandon approaches him from behind with a sturdy rope he took out of the bag. “Tie him down.”

“What? No! Get off me!” he says, but his squeaky voice sounds more like an annoying mosquito, making me wanna lash out.

So I take my knife from my pocket and hold it in front of his face. Then I put my finger in front of my lips and whisper, “Shh …”

His eyes widen, and Brandon grabs his hands and ties them behind his back. Then he drags him off the couch and puts him in a chair, positioning it in the middle of the room.

“Now …” I muse, bending over in front of him to show him the knife. “Let’s try this again. Are you going to tell me where the boy is?”

He shakes his head, but the sweat glistening on his forehead gives him away.

“Wrong answer,” I say, and I kick the chair over, making his head bounce on the carpet. He groans as I tower over him and hold the knife to his throat, pushing deep enough to let out a trickle of blood.

“I know you have him,” I say. “How long are you going to deny it?” I grin. “I can play this game all day. I’ve got time.”

He glances at the doorway and then back at the windows, probably looking for a way out. Does he think the guard from downstairs will come? Tough luck.

I nod at Brandon, who immediately barricades the door with a cabinet.

“There, now we have all the time in the world to play …” I muse, sliding the knife down his throat. “Where should we start?” I ask, pointing it at his heart. “Here?”

He shakes his head. “P-please …”

“Shh,” I whisper, placing a finger on his lips. “No talking unless you’re going to tell us where he is.”

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

“Of course, you don’t,” I say, smiling again. “That’s why we’re here.”

I move down to his feet and spot an opportunity. “Oh … I know,” I say as a devious grin spreads on my lips. “How about here?”

I hold up his toe for him to see, and he begins to squeal. “No, please, don’t!”

“Are you attached to your toes? Or do you think you could lose a few for the boy?”

“Please! Have mercy!” he begs.

I cock my head. “Now why would I do that?” I stick my knife into the sole of his foot.

He screams so loudly that Brandon immediately smacks him in the face to make him stop, knocking him out for a few seconds. Either that or it was the pain.

“Really, Brandon? I’m trying to work here,” I say, raising a brow.

“Don’t want the rest of the block to call the cops, do ya?” He crosses his arms. “He was screaming like a pig, so I took care of it.”

I roll my eyes. Of course, he did, but I like the screaming. I enjoy the sounds my victims make when they know their end is near … and that they were their own undoing.

Because I don’t just go after anyone.

I only go after the guilty.

I slap the guy to wake him up. “Stay with us now.”

When he coughs, I know he’s back. “Wh-who are you?” he asks, his voice shaky and unsteady. “What do you want from me?”

“You know damn well who we are,” I muse, tapping the mask. “Recognize this?”

His eyes narrow and then widen, and his lips begin to quiver. “You …”

“Yes, it’s me,” I reply, a wicked delight filling my soul.

I love it when they know why I’ve come.

“Now you know you can’t lie to me,” I say, swinging the knife dangerously close to his eyes. “I know you have him, so where are you keeping him?”

He shivers from top to bottom as I draw a line of blood along his thick cheeks.

“We can make this quick or make it last an entire night,” I muse, licking my lips. “Your choice.”

As I lower the knife and hover above his crotch, he breaks.

“All right, all right! He’s in the room, there.” He gazes at a door behind him.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I muse.

But before I get up, I stick the knife into his big toe. Just to hear him squirm.

“Really?” Brandon says. “Was that necessary?”

A devilish grin spreads across my lips. “Fuck, yes.”

I try to pry open the door, but Brandon has enough after a while and knocks it down with his feet. “That’ll work,” I muse.

“Are you in here?” Brandon calls out to the boy. “Speak up.”

We look around but don’t see anything.

“You’d better not be lying, old man,” I say, gazing at the dude still screaming in the chair.

“You can come out,” Brandon says, looking around. “We won’t hurt you. I promise.”

“We came to punish the man who hurt you,” I add, and I sink to my knees.

That’s when I spot him … hiding under the bed with a dead stare in his eyes. He looks almost feral.

“C’mon,” I say, holding out my hand. “You’re safe now.”

But he refuses to come out from underneath.

So I bring my hands behind my head and start untying the mask.

“What are you doing?” Brandon hisses.

“He needs to see we aren’t the biggest monsters in here.”

When I take off the mask, the look on the boy’s face softens. Tears stain his face as he sticks out his neck while I hold out my hand. “I promise we won’t hurt you. We came to help you. You’re free now.”

After a while, he takes my hand and lets me pull him out from underneath.

I smile and ask, “What’s your name?”

“Kid,” he says.

“Really?” I ask.

“That’s what Master called me.”

“He is not your master,” I say sternly. “Not anymore.”

“But who then? Is it you?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “You are your own master now.”

He frowns. “My own master …” Repeating my words doesn’t seem to make him understand.

How far gone are these kids? How badly were they treated that they cling to whatever security they have, even if it destroys them?

My fist balls. “Graham …”

Just uttering his name makes me want to punch a hole in the wall. But I have to compose myself for the boy. Looking at him doesn’t make it any better, though, because bruises cover his skin. He’s dirty and malnourished … and I can only guess as to how this man used him.

“Did he hurt you?” I ask, a fire blazing inside me.

The boy nods.

“How many times? Where?”

The boy points at every spot on his body. Literally … every piece of skin.

Everything goes dark inside me.

I can’t look at him.

Not when I’m like this.

“Take him,” I say.

Brandon immediately grabs him from my arms and gets up, cradling him. “Back to the car?”

I nod.

“What about you?” he asks as I get up too.

I can’t even look him in the eye.

I don’t want either of them to see my unending rage.

“Go,” I say, putting my mask back on. “Pick me up later.”

“But we agreed that I could—”

“Next time.”

He frowns.

“I promise. You can do whatever you want with them. Just let me have this one,” I say, almost unable to properly form the words without wanting to scream.

“What are you going to do?” he asks as he puts the boy down on the floor and pushes away the barricade.

“Just go!” I yell, and I leave the room we were just in and come face to face with the man who took everything away from this boy.

Brandon picks up the boy and hurries outside without glancing over his shoulder.

Good.

He shouldn’t want to watch this.

Even though I know he likes to stick it out till the end. He’s always enjoyed the fireworks.

Not this time, however.

This one’s mine.

All mine.