CHAPTER 35
Noah
Fury pumps strong through my veins. Adrenaline primes me, heightens my senses. I can feel my pupils expanding to take in the threat before me. All six-feet-and-a-half of overly dressed, scalpel wielding lunatic.
He wants to take her. Hurt her.
The corner of my lip curls upward as a growl rumbles in my chest. My eyes narrow in Jacques’ direction as my body coils around Ivy, every muscle primed and engaged. Prepared to defend what’s mine.
He starts coming at us. I don’t have to see that bugger’s face to know he’s focused on Ivy. That he wants her.
I release Ivy to push her behind me—
“Noah, behind you!”
Her warning registers too late.
A massive arm comes around the front of my neck, slamming me back into an equally large body. I shout out, arms tightening around Ivy, eyes on Jacques as he comes at her.
He fists her hair, tearing my doll away from me with one vicious yank.
“IVY!”
“Noah!” She fights against Jacques’ hold, arms outstretched toward me, little hands grasping.
I throw back an elbow, feeling it connect with plastic.
A mask.
The arm around my throat tightens, cutting off my air way, even as I struggle. My eyes flicker down for a split second and I recognize the pattern of the sleeve. Raoul. Grunting, I throw my weight back, elbows flying.
Ivy screams my name again, Jacques dragging her mercilessly down the hall. Her naked body is covered with dry spots of blood. I don’t even know if all of it is hers.
I never checked if she was hurt. Too lost in my need to have her first.
I try screaming for her but the arm around my throat tightens more. Air begins to fail me. I kick my feet back, using all of my body weight to try and break free.
A flash of white appears in the corner of my vision. Suddenly, a cloth is pressed to my face, right over my nose and mouth. Too late I cut off my breathing. The strong, slightly sweet chemical smell has already invaded my nasal pathways.
No! IVY!!!! My mind shouts for her. My soul. No. No. He’s taking her from me. He’s dying to hurt her. Kill her. A final burst of panic slams into my heart.
If they take her now, I’ll never see her again.
In a rage, I roar behind the cloth, trying to get to her. Trying so hard . . .
The darkness overcomes me, stronger than even my love for her, my need to keep her safe.
The last thing I see is Jacques still dragging a struggling, screaming Ivy down the hall away from me.
Coming back to has become familiar now. They’ve drugged me so many times in the last few days that I’ve come to recognize this feeling.
As awareness slowly reactivates, the first thing I feel is the straps around my legs, arms, and upper chest.
I’m sitting on a chair with armrests and they’ve done a hell of a job of securing me to it.
Trying to swallow past my dry mouth, I lift my lids slowly. I can already see the harsh glare of lights behind closed lids, and when I open my eyes, I’m nearly blinded by it.
Screens. Multiple screens all depicting similar scenes.
Ivy, tied down, being abused, tortured, and killed by a variety of ruthless characters.
Just as a manic scream bubbles up my throat, a smidgen of logic leaks through. There’s no way they can all be Ivy. Those women are secured in strategic positions, hiding their faces from me, but there’s no denying that it’s different women being killed.
All of them with the same hair color and build as my doll.
Innocent women picked simply because of their resemblance. Picked to be raped and killed for my benefit. So I’ll be forced to watch them die, all while wondering if any of them are her.
My eyes bounce from screen to screen. An entire wall of them, too many to count. Oh God, are one of those women her? Struggling against my binds is hopeless, I know this before I even start trying.
There’s no help for it. All I can think is that one of those women is Ivy. One of those women is the love of my life and they’re about to take her from me.
For what must be hours I sit here struggling, screaming, eyes shooting from screen to screen in a frenzied attempt to locate which one is Ivy. The drugs are still in my system, both the uppers and downers, and it’s only a matter of time before I’m too knackered to fight anymore.
Near hysterical, panting, I slouch in this chair, hearing the wheezing sound of my breaths.
“Hmm, look at you. As always, so frantic to get to your doll.”
Valerie.
A thousand curses nearly slam out of my mouth. Direct insults that would make the bitch aware that I know the truth.
I know who she is.
That small voice of logic reminds me not to give it away. Information is power and there’s still a chance I can use this down the line.
“Where’s Ivy?” I snap.
“What? Can’t locate her on the screen? Can’t make out which death is hers?”
I’ve never hated anything the way I hate this bloody cunt. “What the fuck do you want from me now?”
“Your obedience, as always. The one thing you seem to have such a hard time giving me.”
Games. More games. Constant mind-tricks while my body fights back against a chemical cocktail and the terror of not knowing what’s happening to Ivy. “You know I’ll do anything! Just show me that Ivy’s safe.”
One of the screens flashes with static before changing to a different scene.
Ivy. In a room just like mine. Tied to a chair just like me.
Her horrified expression tears at what’s left of my heart. Are they killing a bunch of Noah-lookalikes and forcing her to watch?
More hatred seethes, growing ever more powerful. Ever darker.
Then, just as quick as they showed her to me, the image is gone.
“Ready to behave now? I see you are. It’s finally time for your final act.”
That comment has the expected effect. The realization that this is it, that they’re gearing up to kill us, is pure ice in my veins.
“Would you like to see your precious Ivy one last time before we kill you both?” The glee in her tone is unbelievable.
“Yes!” I shout, survival instinct overcoming every ounce of logic. If I can get to Ivy, if I can just see her, maybe we can still find a way out of this. Maybe we can still escape.
Or maybe they’ll allow us the kindness of dying together, in each other’s arms.
My fucking heart cracks.
“It’s time for a little soiree. Our patrons have been dying to get to know you both up close. If you want to see Ivy before we set you loose with the guests, you’ll have to sit there and be a good boy while they prepare you.”
In a crystal clear moment, my mind rushes to the most twisted conclusion yet.
The “patrons” want to get their hands on us. They want to have us before they kill us.
We’ll be gang-raped and tortured before the lights go out.
Need to get out. Need to get out. I swallow each wave of dread and struggle to maintain some level of calm. “Fine. Whatever you want. I just want to see Ivy.”
“Good boy.”
Behind me, I hear a door open. It doesn’t take long for a group of men to walk in, two wheeling trays and another what looks like a portable closet. The men are all suited up like the guards from before. Black fatigues. Black helmets that cover their faces.
No way to even guess their identities.
None of that will matter soon if you can’t bloody escape.
More urgency. More panic.
Another round of black, tar-like loathing.
I can feel it changing me. Mutating me. I’ve never felt this kind of rage before. This need to cause pain. To see others suffer.
They all leave the items near me and exit, only one man staying behind. Silent and quick, he gets right to work, grabbing a jar of white cream off the tray.
No. Not cream. Make-up.
He begins quickly and efficiently applying it all over my face. No clue what these barmy fuckers are up to, but I remain perfectly still, letting him do whatever he wants. I don’t even look at him, just stare straight ahead, lost in the vivid, blood-stained images in my mind.
No idea how I’ll get a weapon, but I will. Before they release me into the hungry crowd, I’ll make sure to find something, anything, I can use.
And if I can’t find anything, I’ll use my bare hands.
If I can’t get Ivy and I out of here, I’ll make sure to take down as many of these soulless monsters as I can before I go.
An interminable amount of time goes by. White body paint is applied. Then he goes to work with black paint. I barely register any of it in the murderous, drug-induced rage I’m in. Eventually, he finishes, and he doesn’t take the time to look over his handiwork.
The door opens behind me and the men come back in, rolling out the trays. The one that applied my makeup stays behind to open the portable closet. A pair of dark jeans and a black hoodie are removed from inside.
He leaves them folded at my feet. Then, he’s also gone, wheeling out the portable closet with him as goes.
Silence surrounds me.
Emptiness.
The snap of my bindings releasing startles me. I jump in my seat, watching them fall away all on their own.
Remote controlled.
More proof of the sheer size, scope, and expense of this operation.
No one comes over the speakers to give me any instructions. They aren’t needed. The clothes at my feet are clearly intended for me to wear.
Standing on shaky legs, I take a few moments to let some form of strength return to my extremities. The ache in my limbs is more proof of how long they kept me strapped to that chair. Hours since Ivy was literally ripped from my arms by that bastard Jacques.
Kneeling, I pick up the jeans first and make quick work of slipping into them. Of course, they fit perfectly. Why wouldn’t they? After all, Valerie made sure to thoroughly invade the privacy of our lives before having us taken.
I button the jeans and pick up the hoodie next. The already dimly lit room darkens even more as the few lights that remained on begin to turn off.
Go on. Continue with your mind-fuckery, arseholes. I’m coming for you. My entire life, I was a peaceful man. Sure, I had a temper, but I never entertained fantasies of truly taking a life.
Now, I’m practically salivating at the thought of killing everyone here except Ivy. Of violently ending the existences of anyone sick enough to be a part of this shite, or the even sicker ones. The ones evil enough to pay for this sadistic, murderous form of entertainment.
The ones that created the demand for this in the first place.
Ignoring the spreading darkness around me, I zip the hoodie and then slowly raise the hood over my head. By the time it’s in place, I’m immersed in inky blackness all over again.
Not for long.
In front of me, a row of lightbulbs comes to life. Four small bulbs placed strategically on top of a mirror.
The face of the reaper stares back at me. All white. Eyes surrounded by black.
That man turned my face into the face of a living, breathing skeleton.
My light blue eyes seem to glow with malice from the dark depths surrounding them. The artistry is remarkable, down to the skeletal teeth and grin he drew on my face.
In essence, they’ve brought out the perfect representation of my new soul. The bloodthirsty one they helped bring about.
They just finished creating their own death.
Slowly, a smile breaks free, and the evil, sinister creature in the mirror, the one with pure bloodlust in his eyes, smiles back at me cruelly.