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"Yes, yes, very brave. In addition to your own torture, I will personally take care of your friend Clint. You see, whether you push the buttons or not, this man will be punished because of you. Because of what you did. Either you do it, and inflict damage on him, or I do it. I can assure you, Dahlia, I will make it last a very very long time. I will make him beg for death, I will break his mind, and his body. When I am done, he will be nothing but a pile of meat. It will be much worse for him if you allow me to take the reins. So? What do you decide?"
My hands rested on my knees, holding me up, the tears came in hot painful rivulets, snot hung from my face as I sobbed silently. He was right. No matter what I did, Clint would be hurt. I had no doubts Sam would do what he promised. The best thing I could do was follow orders. The realization and heartache sent a throbbing sadness into my chest.
"Fuck you," I screamed. Then I slammed my fist down on the first button.
The speakers kicked into life, and from the dark torture room the screaming sound of a circular saw filled the viewing room. A male voice grunted, muffled by a gag from the sounds of it. Then the sound of the saw grew louder, then quieter as the saw met flesh. The man screamed. The harsh squall of his voice was so high pitched that for a moment he almost sounded like a woman. Tormented by the agony of whatever was happening to him.
I slammed my hands on the glass, pressed my forehead to it, crying, sobbing, and screaming to try and block out the sound of Clint’s misery. Tears and snot smeared the glass. After a few seconds a meaty thud burst through the speakers and the saw stopped. The only sounds were my own sobs and the screams from the torture room.
"I hate you." I banged my forehead on the glass. "I hate you." I hit my head again, harder. I did it over and over again, until Sam shocked me to stop.
"Enough. Self torture is a viable activity, but not today. Next button."
Clenching my eyes shut as tight as I could, I pressed the second button, better to get it over with quickly.
More screams from the room, guttural and almost animalistic. Wet slicing sounds were all I could hear, almost like a metronome. Evenly timed, and each one punctuated by a muffled scream. I imagined a knife swinging back and forth from the ceiling slicing through skin with each pass. I read a story in the library some days ago. The Pit and the Pendulum. I could visualize that same thing happening in the darkened room.
"Do you see what your disobedience has wrought?" Sam asked. "Can you see what happens when my dolls rebel?"
I couldn’t answer, I was too busy trying not to go crazy listening to the screams. Images of Clint being cut to ribbons, his arm or foot or hand lying bloody on the floor. The look of horror and pain in his eyes. It was all I could see.
When I hit the final button, the sounds were blessedly muffled even further, but the sloshing sound of water replaced it. Wet noises, followed by gasping and coughing. Then more splashes, the moist racking gags of drowning. I’d heard of waterboarding, but had never seen it. This had to be what was happening. Eventually I collapsed to the floor, hugging myself as the sounds of depravity crackled through the speakers.
After an eternity of minutes and seconds rolling by, the wet sounds stopped. Eventually the gasping screams did too. All went silent and still. My tears were dried, I didn’t have any left. Unsteady, I managed to rise to my feet.
The door clicked open. "Be gone, Dahlia. Return to your room and enjoy a snack. Remember, this is your fault. Never forget that," Sam said.
Stumbling down the hall, keeping a hand on the wall to keep my balance, I returned to my room. Two granola bars, three apples, and a very small container of peanut butter sat on my nightstand. I could have eaten it all at once and still been hungry, but I forced myself to only eat one apple and a bit of peanut butter. As I ate, shame washed over me. Even after what I’d witnessed, I was still able to put food in my mouth. My hunger overrode my sorrow and made me feel dirty inside. Clint had been murdered. Dead by my own hand, and I still shoved food in my face. I lived in hell.
Chapter 4
DAHLIA
"Oh god," I hissed, the searing pain of the leather strap slapping my shoulders like a lick of fire.
"Are you okay?" Drake murmured.
I winced. "Yeah. Fine."
The pain still reverberated through my body. It had been three days since I’d been forced to kill Clint. The initial agony of my actions had faded as Sam and the activities of the house kept pushing us. Drake and I stood in the music room of all places. We’d been sent here and then told we had to whip each other. Leather straps had lain on the seat of the piano. It was almost like Sam knew this room had been one of the few places I’d found solace and he was perverting it. Not only that, he was making me hurt the one person in the house I really cared for.
"Your turn," Drake said, turning his back to me.
I hefted my own leather strap and stared at his shoulders, already crisscrossed with welts from the strikes I’d given him. For a moment, it almost looked like red ribbons had been tied across his body. A present to be opened. That thought almost made me smile, as awful as what we were doing was, there was something intimate about it. Something that turned me on.
The strap made a snap as it crashed down across Drake’s middle back. His muscles bunched as he flexed his spin from the pain. A moan of agony escaped his lips, a moan that sounded close to the noise he’d made when he came inside me. Hearing it sent another strange twinge through me. Drake turned, and I shook my head, trying to clear the silly and disturbing thoughts that had, for some reason, clawed their way into my mind.
"You ready? If you aren’t I can hold off a few more minutes," Drake said.
He stood before me, shirtless, sweat starting to stand out on his muscled chest. I still wore the thin sports bra Sam supplied. Drake could probably see my nipples through the fabric. A fact I had no problem with, it in fact turned me on even more thinking he could see. What was wrong with me?
"I’m fine. I can take it," I said and turned.
"Ready?"
"Yeah."
Pop. I winced, and sucked in a breath. The pain lanced across my right shoulder, down my middle back. It hurt, yes, but I felt something else too. My brow furrowed as I recognized the moistness between my legs. What the actual fuck?
