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That was the only thing it said. My heart sank. The thought of doing another workout made me want to vomit, but I couldn’t exactly refuse. I heaved a weary sigh and rose, then made my way to the gym. On the way, Liam, Jeffery, and Drake all headed the same way. We made eye contact but didn’t say anything.
In the gym, Sam spoke over the speakers. “Good morning. Today my dolls will put on a show. Miss Belrose is to spectate. The three men will fight. They are not to stop until I instruct them to, or until two of the three have been knocked unconscious. Proceed when you hear the chime.”
Drake, Jeffery, and Liam’s eyes widened, and they glanced at each other in surprise.
I sat. My legs were shaky and weak, and all I could do was be thankful that it wasn’t me out there with the other girls. I’d had my ass beat by a few of the other kids in my foster home. It’d been an every week occurrence. When I’d told my foster parents they’d only gotten mad that the other kids had given me black eyes and bloody lips that wouldn’t look good at school. After that they’d only given me cuts and bruises where they wouldn’t show. The entire experience had made me gun-shy when it came to fights.
Bong. The chime made us all jump in surprise. Liam shrugged, pulled his sweatshirt off, and tossed it to the ground.
“We better get to it,” he said.
Drake and Jeffery both did the same. They walked out to a big padded mat on the center of the gym floor. That hadn’t been there the last time I’d been in this room. Jeffery, not waiting for any more instruction or a warning buzz shot his foot out and tripped Drake. As he fell, he cradled his stabbed hand to his chest, not wanting to hurt it worse than it already was. Liam, still limping from his injured leg, leaped forward, spearing his shoulder into Jeffery’s midsection and tackling him to the floor. I gasped as the fight devolved into chaos in seconds.
Drake rolled to his feet and kicked Liam in the side, drawing a grunt from the other man. Jeffery lashed a fist out and punched Drake in the stomach. He doubled over, trying to breathe as Liam grabbed Drake’s arm and pulled him to the ground. Recovering, Drake rolled over, and wrapped his arms around Jeffery’s throat, putting him in a headlock. Liam kicked Drake, breaking his hold on Jeffery. Then all three men grasped and wrestled on the mat.
All I could do was sit and watch as they struggled and fought against one another. It was surreal. Sort of like watching a movie. Part of me was a little horrified at myself that I enjoyed watching it. It served as a distraction. I was able to forget about everything I’d gone through so far. It was the closest thing I’d had to a television since being here. It was kind of nice in a super twisted sort of way.
Plus, watching them fight and writhe against each other was a little hot. All three had well-muscled bodies, and the sweat was already streaming down their chests and abs. They were grunting, flexing, and straining. It wasn’t sexual, but the sheer amount of masculine energy being put on display was impressive. Watching Drake alone sent a warm little shiver through me all the way to my pussy. What the fuck was wrong with me?
The fight went on for a while until my device buzzed. I glanced down and frowned at the message: Dahlia, proceed to the viewing room.
The men were still struggling. Liam lay to the side, unconscious. He’d been either knocked out or choked to sleep by one of the others while I wasn’t looking. Their devices hadn’t warned them to stop or go somewhere else. Frowning, I slowly stood and walked to the door. Casting a glance over my shoulder, I saw Drake trying to put Jeffery in a wrist lock, but his hands were slipping in the fresh blood that was seeping from his stab wound. He saw me going and furrowed his brow in confusion, but a second later, Jeffery punched him in the side of the face.
I got to the viewing room to find what Sam had waiting for me. Branson was there. Still naked. The other man, the one Drake knew, was gone. It was only my rapist sitting there, naked, with red welts all over his body from the hot oil we’d poured on him and a dark purple mass of flesh between his legs. It wasn’t shriveled yet, but from the looks of it, even if a doctor got to him right then, there would be no hope for his cock and balls. I grinned at the thought and hoped he was suffering.
His hood was back on, and his head hung down like he was asleep. My device buzzed and told me to go into the playroom. Sighing, I opened the door. The faint smell of pine failed to cover the odor of shit and piss. Once inside, I saw the table to the side had a box cutter sitting on it. At seeing it, a shiver of gooseflesh ran up my arms and back. Branson’s head lifted as the door clicked shut behind me.
Bong. “Good morning, Dahlia. Today you will give Mister Lander something he gave you many years ago. On your hip, you have scars. The initials ‘BL.’ These are his initials, that he carved into you after raping you for the first time.”
The breath of air I sucked into my lungs felt icy cold even with how warm the room was. Terror and confusion filled my mind. My fingers drifted to the hipbone on my right side. Faint and white, the two letters were there. They’d faded over the years, and the only time anyone could see them was if they were really looking for them. The tips of my fingers drifted across them, barely able to feel the outline of the letters. How could he have known? Almost no one knew about them. The social worker who took me from Mom and Dad, a few police, and the doctors who’d examined me. Did my therapist even know? I couldn’t remember if I’d even mentioned it to her yet. Who the fuck was Sam? How could he possibly know so much?
“You are to take the box cutter,” Sam went on. “And cut your name into his chest as deep as you like.”
I barely registered the words. My head spun trying to think of how he could know about the scars. Christ, how did he even know about Branson to begin with? He’d gotten away with it. Had never been sent to prison or anything.
My gaze darted around the room in panic. This man, whoever he was, knew way more than he should. More than anyone should.
My cuff buzzed a warning, but it didn’t even register. My fingers went to my mouth, and I chewed at my nails absently as I stared at Branson. There was no pity for him, nothing like that. I simply couldn’t get my mind around the fact that Sam knew so much.
The memory was still as fresh as the day it happened. I’d been lying there crying, everything between my legs throbbing in pain. He’d knelt down and pulled out a pocket knife. Said he was going to mark me as his. The icy hot pain as the blade had sliced my skin. He’d held me down, and despite myself, I’d shrieked for my mother. She’d called back that I needed to shut my mouth and do as Branson said. The memory sent tears trickling down my cheeks.
Another jolt from the cuff came. I gasped in pain and clutched my wrist to my chest.
I shook my head. “No. Not until you tell me who you are,” I said. “How do you know this stuff?”
A third shock came. This one the worst I’d ever had. My body went rigid for a second as the pain of a lightning bolt surged through my arm and into my shoulder. My teeth clamped together and the tendons in my neck stood out. It only lasted two seconds, but in my mind, it went on forever. My legs almost gave out and sent me to the floor, but I kept my shit together.
After it was over, I gritted my teeth and prepared to tell Sam to go fuck himself. Before I could, the door clicked open. I breathed a sigh of relief. He was going to let me go. I could retreat to my room and think things over.
That was what I thought was happening. Instead, Elise stepped through the door into the playroom. The door swung closed and locked shut behind her.
Bong. “Elise, please help Miss Belrose with her task. Her name is to be carved into this despicable soul’s chest. If she doesn’t complete her task, you will be punished alongside her. As the gentle shocks aren’t enough to persuade her, the next punishment will be considerably more painful.” He paused for effect, then added, “More painful and bloodier.”
My gaze locked on Elise’s. Any goodwill I’d seen there during breakfast was gone. Apparently, revealing our life’s traumas wasn’t enough to get her to pity me or feel kindness. Judging by the look on her face, all of that had been scrubbed away. Her lips pressed tightly together, her brown eyes glared hot and angry. Zero echoes of generosity or good nature from earlier. Whether she’d become this way because of her bitterness in the real world, or it’d been washed away from the violence in The Dollhouse, I didn’t know. It didn’t matter. All she cared about was her own safety.
Elise stepped forward and grabbed the box cutter, moving the thumb slide up. The triangular blade slipped out of the tip. The oiled gray metal looked so innocuous in the fluorescent light. Nothing about the way it looked revealed how dangerous it was.
She smirked. “Scared?”
