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The sedative would be running out soon, so I had to work quickly to strip him down to his underwear, fitting the heavy shackles around his ankles and wrists. Long chains sent clanking through the space and into the decadent room beyond. Harriet had installed the cage in her entertaining space the previous year, but Alfie was its first inhabitant. A sliver of jealousy snaked through me at the intense obsession she had with the dickhead.
Perhaps when he was finally dead, she’d be able to move on. We both could.
Seeing him tortured would hopefully bring her the answers and peace that I couldn’t.
With a grunt, I threw Alfie’s shoes and trousers out of the cage area before stopping to look down at him.
Dark tattoos whorled across his chest, arms and back, a mixture of patterns and mandalas. His chest rose steadily enough that he didn’t seem to be in any danger of dying from the knock to the head nor the heavy sedative.
Unfortunately.
I’d sooner have seen him die.
Swallowing down the jealous anger that bubbled into my throat, I shook my head. Harriet needed the closure only he could bring. I’d seen what she’d suffered at the hands of men like Alfie and his father. Whatever she needed, I’d help her achieve it.
The cage door closed with a loud bang, making Alfie stir briefly before his body resumed its limp state on the floor. Satisfaction flooded me as I locked the door, sealing him inside. We’d disposed of his phone after switching it off at the hotel. His friends could probably track him there, but after that, they’d be screwed.
We didn’t exist.
I’d been stolen and smuggled into the UK as a child. Harriet was presumed dead.
Even as her alter ego, her existence was in question. A rumour discounted by anyone who was anyone.
But she was real.
And soon enough, she’d leave a bloody path that would make her existence impossible to deny.
They’d whisper her name in fear instead of jest.
And I’d be behind her every step of the way.
Making my way through the rust-worn tunnels that connected our warren, I sought Harriet out. Being away from her pained me. If I was with her, I could make sure she was safe. Make up for all the times when I had to stand idly by as they hurt her. Had to listen to her begging for help while standing by, my soul dying with every tear.
Never again.
She may not feel for me with the intensity that I adored her, but I could be there to protect her for the rest of my days.
Women loitered in the tunnels, some moving from one area to another, others chatting or sitting alone. Harriet and I had taken over the disused bunkers when we had to flee, slowly working to make it a safe haven for women like her. A place where they could come to start again or receive help to return to the lives they were ripped from. Men being there was far rarer. There were a few trusted souls other than I who aided us in our endeavours. All knew that one wrong move would prove fatal. Harriet was unrelenting in her goal to eradicate abusers. None would survive under her roof.
Soft humming met me as I opened the door to our private space. We’d been roommates for years, and returning to her filled me with as much joy as it did torture me.
Her blonde hair fell in waves around her face, skimming her shoulders while she stirred something in an old mixing bowl. Flour dusted one cheekbone, and when she looked up at me, her small smile swept me away. No matter how restrained Harriet was, she held me captive with nothing but a look.
‘Is our guest all settled in?’ she asked, tipping the bowl so the batter slid down into a baking tray.
‘I guess you could say that. He’s still out cold.’
‘Good.’
She placed the mixing bowl on the counter, and I leaned forward, swiping a finger through the batter.
‘No!’ she shouted, making me jump. Darting forward, she slapped my hand away from my mouth before I could taste it.
I paused, staring down at the sticky brown batter still clinging to my finger as realisation set in. ‘Who are the cakes for?’
Harriet passed me a cloth and grinned. ‘They’re muffins.’
‘Mhm. Laced with poison?’
