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All the others had their eyes down, mechanically eating their food, even Drake. They didn’t risk looking at Payton, much less going to help him, for fear of what Sam would do. My mood sank even further than it already had. My grand plans for an insurgency or uprising all but collapsed in flames in my head. It was obvious they would back down when it mattered most.
My thoughts spiraled that night as I lay in bed. I barely slept. Instead, I dozed, coming in and out of consciousness while thoughts of escape plagued me. Sleep was pointless, but I continued to toss and turn, trying desperately to get some rest.
After hours of trying, I finally got up and got dressed. The lights were still off, but I couldn’t stand being in bed any longer. I paced the room, anxious and scared. As I walked back and forth, I became aware of how small the room was. The house itself, as big as it was, was starting to feel more and more like a prison. Things in my mind had been unraveling since my plan fell apart. What could I do? Living in this place forever sounded like hell, and there was no way Sam could keep me here until I was some decrepit old hag, shuffling around on a walker five decades from now. No, he’d kill me or have one of the others kill me long before then. I had to get out, but my options were so limited they might as well have been nonexistent.
By the time the lights turned on and the door opened for breakfast, I was beyond pissed off. Sullen, angry, and belligerent from lack of sleep and hopelessness, I didn’t go to the door. I continued pacing back and forth.
I received a buzz first, to remind me it was time. As a response, I sat on the bed and crossed my arms, glaring at the open door. The next warning was a painful shock and a message on the cuff telling me it was my last chance.
“Fuck off,” I spat.
A moment later, the door closed and locked. It remained locked for twenty-four hours. It took about three hours for me to realize how stupid and childish I’d been. My stomach growled not long after, and the whole rest of the day I was left to rot in starvation. The only release was when I managed to take a three-hour nap in the middle of the day. Blessed sleep helped clear my mind, but when I woke, I understood the mistake I’d made in refusing to leave the room. I’d given Sam reason to think I might not be the good little girl I’d been. He’d be watching me closer now.
By the next morning, I was ravenous, and almost let out a moan of relief when the door opened. Basically running to the dining room, I ignored all questions about my absence until I’d eaten enough to quell the hunger pains in my gut.
“Dahlia?” Drake asked. “Are you okay?”
I took a swig of orange juice to wash down the scrambled eggs I’d eaten and then wiped my mouth. “I was dumb, okay? I was stubborn and pissed off and missed breakfast. I got punished for it. That’s all you need to know. All right?”
Drake looked at me with hooded eyes, and his lips twitched like he was going to say or ask something else, but he stopped before he could. Instead, he only nodded and went back to his food. The others did the same. Payton, looking more cowed than ever, nibbled small bites from his plate. His desire to rebel looked like it’d been fully quenched.
After lunch that day, I got the surprise of my life. I was sent to the viewing room again. So soon? On the way there, I wondered who I was going to watch. Sam had managed to bring pretty much everyone to me who’d helped ruin my life. It had to be a task for me to watch. Maybe Bri would be skinning someone alive, or Drake would be beating a man to mush with a sledgehammer.
Please let it not be a stranger for me to hurt and kill.
Instead, I stepped into the room, and froze when I looked through the viewing window and saw who was tied to a chair in the playroom. Carlos, my ex-boyfriend, sat in the chair, looking around the room like a rat caught in a cage.
“Oh, holy shit,” I whispered.
After all the awful people that I’d had to deal with, I didn’t think an abusive boyfriend would warrant the punishment Sam had us dole out. On numb feet, I walked into the playroom and flinched as the door swung shut and locked behind me. Hearing the door close, Carlos swung his head around, and his eyes widened in recognition and shock. A tingle of worry and irritation rushed through my mind as our gazes met. I’d really hoped to never have to see him again.
“Dee? What the hell’s going on? Where have you been?”
Dee. He always called me that. I’d told him from the first moment he used the nickname that I didn’t like it. The last time we’d had sex, he’d choked me and whispered the name in my ear over and over while he fucked me harder than I wanted him to. He’d been mad that night that I mentioned another guy’s name. One of the delivery men that came to the diner a lot. The story hadn’t even been about him, it’d been about Marie, but it still pissed him off. After he finished with me, he told me he wouldn’t have been so rough if I hadn’t been flirting with another man.
Gritting my teeth, I stepped toward him. Any hesitations I would’ve had before had been washed away in gallons of blood and thousands of screams. If Carlos knew what I’d done in this place, he’d be pissing his pants. Instead, he looked at me indignantly.
“Dee, untie me. I don’t know what the fuck this is, but it’s time it ends.”
“Don’t call me Dee, goddamn it,” I hissed. My hand lashed out and slapped him across the face.
His head snapped around when I struck him. His eyes went misty with tears of pain, but the look of shock only lasted an instant before his cheeks went red with anger. He jerked forward, tugging at the bond that held him tight.
“What the fuck? You’re gonna regret that, Dahlia.” He said my name in an exaggerated whiny way that set my teeth on edge. “Untie me, or you’re really gonna get it. Do you understand me, bitch?”
Bong. “Dahlia Belrose, this is your ex-boyfriend Carlos Nelson. He’s abused you, both mentally and physically. Now is your time to show him what comes of being a person of ill temper. On the table, you will find a few items to assist you along the way. His punishment is up to you. Proceed, but don’t kill him. You will punish him tomorrow as well.”
A quick glance at the table showed me what looked like a riding crop-style whip, a lighter, and a wire coat hanger. Pretty harmless items compared to what I’d seen in the past. Ignoring Carlos’ questions, I walked over and picked up the whip. It was about eighteen inches and tipped with a one-inch square leather paddle at the end. I’d seen something similar in the window of a sex shop in the city once. It was like a BDSM whip. Well, Carlos wouldn’t get any pleasure out of this encounter.
“What are you doing?” Carlos asked as I walked up to him. “Put that shit down. Do you hear me? Do as I say, right now.”
The whip struck him at the edge of his right eye. A sound like a wet slap cracked through the room. His breath taken for a moment, he writhed and tried to slide down the chair in pain, but the zip ties held him in place.
Finally getting his breath back, he let out a gasp and looked at me; the side of his eye was already swollen and red. “Jesus fucking Christ, Dahlia!”
I actually enjoyed the way he sounded like he was on the verge of tears.
Without a word, I swung the whip backhanded and struck him in almost the same spot but on the other side of his face. He tucked his face toward his collarbone and lifted his feet off the floor, twisting and doing all he could to try and get out of the chair. Now, tears were trickling down his cheeks.
