Page 125 of Shattered In Darkness

The drug is doing its job. The world feels dream-thick, my limbs rubbery. But the terror is real; it’s a wolf gnawing my spine.

Marcus leans in, caresses Lola’s cheek. She flinches, and he smiles. “Don’t worry, darling. You’re about to be a star.” He snaps his fingers. The men haul me upright and wrench the gag out of my mouth. The spit runs down my chin. I can barely keep my head up. Marcus faces me, voice low and cold. “Today’s lesson: love is a weapon. If you hesitate, she suffers. If you obey, you suffer. There is no escape. You get to choose.”

Lola is gasping, trying to crawl closer, but the men shove her down, grinding her cheek into the concrete.

“First choice,” Marcus says. “Who gets the prod? You or her?”

He holds up the cattle prod; it crackles, the stink of ozone. I spit blood at his feet. “Me.”

He nods to his men and they jab it into my ribs. Electricity detonates in my chest. I buck, scream, bite my tongue. My teeth feel like they’re breaking. I piss myself, heat flooding my pants. I hear Lola sob. The camera whirs.

Marcus checks his watch. “Good. Next round. Lola, your turn to choose.”

He hauls her up by the hair, forcing her to look at me. “I want you to say the worst thing you can imagine. Or I’ll let these men break every finger on Brody’s hand.”

Lola’s eyes are huge, black with terror. “Don’t—please⁠—”

He nods at his men. One grabs my hand, bends the pinky until it creaks. Lola screams, “Stop! I’ll do it!”

Marcus smiles. “Go on.”

She sobs, voice shredded. “Brody, I wish you were dead. I wish you’d never come back. You ruined everything. I hate you. You’re a monster. You’re disgusting. You make me sick.”

She’s shaking, her voice dissolving. The words are brutal, but I know who’s holding the handle.

Marcus claps, delighted. “Beautiful. Authentic. Richard will love that.”

He turns to the men. “Strip them.”

Gloved hands tear at my shirt, my jeans, rip them down my legs. I don’t bother fighting; the drug has me moving in slow motion. My cock shrivels in the cold, but it’s nothing compared to the humiliation burning my skin.

Lola’s naked too, skin mottled with cold and shame. Her arms try to cover her breasts, her groin. The men force them down, splaying her open for the camera.

Marcus moves between us, holding a new syringe. “Performance enhancer, Brody. For your father’s benefit.”

He drives the needle into my thigh. Liquid fire follows, and I gasp, my blood turning to ice and gasoline. My cock starts to rise against my will.

“Now, for the main event,” Marcus purrs. “You want to protect her? Show me. Fuck her. Or watch me let my men ruin her.”

The room howls. I’m shaking, resisting, but my cock is rigid, the drug turning my arousal into a weapon against both of us.

Lola is crying, shaking her head. “Please, Marcus, please don’t⁠—”

He laughs. “Brody, you have thirty seconds. Or I start carving her up on livestream.”

I crawl over. My body moves without me; it’s like being trapped behind my own eyes, forced to watch as my hands grab her hips, forced to listen as she whimpers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry⁠—”

I press inside her. I want to die. She’s dry at first, then my body’s betrayal makes her wet. The men jeer. The camera’s red eye is a mouth, swallowing us whole.

Marcus narrates, voice smooth and venomous. “Look at the camera, Lola. Let Daddy Richard see what a whore you are.”

She can’t. I can’t. My hips buck, the drug pushing me faster. I want to pull out, to stop, but the men’s boots stomp closer. One grabs my hair, jerks my head up to make me look at Marcus.

“I want you to say it,” Marcus hisses. “Say she’s nothing. Say she’s a whore. Say you love this.”

I spit, but my mouth moves. “She’s nothing. She’s a whore. I love this.”

Lola shudders, sobbing. “Brody, it’s not you, it’s not you⁠—”