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“How long can we live like this, Drake?” I hissed.
He shrugged. “I’ve been here a long time. I’m still alive. That’s because, for the most part, I follow the rules to the letter.”
“This isn’t a life, Drake. Maybe you’ve been institutionalized by all this, but I know that no one can stay here for long without, I don’t know, losing their minds.”
“It’s not that I’m institutionalized, it’s that I’m a realist. I know there’s no way out. I’ve come to accept that, and you should too.”
That made me mad. He was stronger than that, but he wouldn’t admit it. “That’s not true. I don’t think it is.” I didn’t give a shit if Sam heard us or not. “I think we can get out. We only have to plan it the right way.”
Drake leaned so close to me that his lips were brushing mine. “You can’t start a rebellion. If you do, I might lose you, and that is something I most definitely won’t survive,” he whispered, and his voice was trembling with emotion as he said it.
My breath caught in my throat hearing that. The earnestness of his words pulled me up short. I didn’t mention it anymore that day, because I couldn’t stand to hear him so close to breaking. I never wanted to hear that sound in his voice again. But the thoughts didn’t leave me.
I had to find a way before Sam put a stranger in front of me.
Keeping my mouth shut the rest of the afternoon and evening, I tried to think of things that would work to free us. As I lay in bed that night, trying to fall asleep, I wondered if the best plan wasn’t a well-thought-out and perfectly done escape. Maybe, what we needed was something that Sam couldn’t account for. Something so crazy that he wouldn’t be able to make decisions and act fast enough. Maybe we needed chaos.
Chapter 22
Payton and I were paired up to cook lunch the next day. Of all of us, this new guy acted like he wanted to get out of here more than anyone. Maybe even more than me. As I went about kneading bread dough, my mind latched onto a decision. It would be dangerous, but I had to know if he was going to agree with me, and possibly help with a plan.
Before I could broach the subject, Payton spoke first. “I saw my ex-boyfriend today,” he said.
My fingers, knuckle deep in dough, froze. There were only three ways he could’ve seen his ex. In a dream, he was a new resident of the house, or…
Payton sighed and put his hands on the counter where we worked. “I broke up with him after we had a fight.” He swallowed and gritted his teeth. “He got pissed off and threw me down and raped me. It was because he thought I’d been flirting with another guy at work. I told him he was being a sensitive little bitch, so he damn near choked me out. While I was half passed out, he yanked my pants and underwear down, and I guess you get the idea. It fucked me up terribly. The physical damage wasn’t terrible, there was pain, yeah, but the emotional damage was way worse. I was too scared to tell the cops. You aren’t a gay man, so you’ve never dealt with the stigma. Domestic violence and rape aren’t taken as seriously as with hetero couples. It was pointless. I’ve had to go to therapy for it, and I haven’t been able to date anyone since.”
“What a piece of shit,” I muttered.
Payton nodded. “Yeah. Pretty much. Whoever runs this place kidnapped him. I— “ Payton shook his head and stared into space as he continued, “I was made to rip all his fingernails out. Sam, or whatever you call him, told me to. Said he needed to pay for what he did.” Tears leaked out of Payton’s eyes and his voice got heavy and wet as he cried. “I did it. I took the damn pliers and did it. Brian squealed so much. There was all this blood everywhere.
“When Sam first told me, I got kind of excited. Finally some closure. Punishment at last, right, but once I was done?” He sobbed and shook his head again. “I threw up all over the place and ran back to my room as soon as I was allowed.”
He was devastated by what he’d done. Payton was still figuring things out and was thrust into something he wasn’t ready for. There was probably a ton of guilt built up inside him. Maybe I could help take some of that away if he knew what I’d done. Me and the others.
“The last time I tortured someone,” I said, “There was a sense of power that came with it. My, er, the person deserved it, but that didn’t make it any easier. Still, there’s a sense of peace now. Peace and maybe strength comes from it.”
Payton looked at me like I was crazy. “I didn’t feel that way. All I felt was dirty and awful. He was a rapist, but that doesn’t make what I did right. Two wrongs never make a right.”
Nodding, I said, “You’ll get over that. More than likely. Besides,” I said, remembering Kaden. “If you don’t do it, the person is still going to be punished. The only difference is, you’ll get punished too.” I glanced around furtively. “I’m honestly surprised we haven’t been shocked yet. Usually quiet conversations like this aren’t allowed.”
Payton threw a stainless steel mixing bowl across the kitchen where it banged against the floor and rattled around until it came to rest.
“This is so fucked up,” he hissed. “If there’s a way out of here, I want to find it.”
The words sank deep into my subconscious. Payton, whether he knew it or not yet, was on my side. If I could get the others to think like him, maybe we really could get out.
Lunch was quiet, and my afternoon activity was spent in the library with Liam. We kept to ourselves, and thankfully, Sam didn’t force us to have some lame conversation about what we were reading. It was my evening activity that showed Sam still had more in store for me.
When my cuff sent me to the playroom, I tried to mask my fear. I didn’t realize how bad it was going to be, though. I stepped through the doors and looked across the room at the form lying on a table. I wasn’t sure if I knew them. It was a man, that much was obvious. His head was turned away from me, and I took a few hesitant steps toward him. I wrinkled my nose. He was naked and tied down with what looked like ratchet straps on his ankles, wrists, shoulders, and thighs. His legs were spread wide.
Hearing me, the guy turned his head and locked his eyes on me. My lips curled back from my teeth and I glared back at him, recognizing him immediately. How had Sam gotten him out of prison? Had he gotten out on probation? It didn’t matter. He was here now, and at my mercy.
This was no stranger.
He looked like how you’d imagine an accountant or businessman. Average face, brown hair and light brown eyes, clean shaven and in good shape. Didn’t look like the kind of scum who raped little girls and shot them up with heroin, but hey, can’t judge a book by its cover, right?
The reason I knew him by sight was that I’d been staring daggers at him in the courtroom the day he was convicted of killing Lillian. Manslaughter. He’d injected her with heroin so she’d relax, go with the flow, and not fight him. He’d given her too much. He didn’t care when she’d gone limp and foamed at the mouth, he continued to use her small body to get off. Quinten Bouchard, the piece of shit that had murdered and raped my baby sister, was now staring at me with a million pleas in his pathetic gaze.
