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I watched as Drake wiped down the Land Rover with meticulous care, helping where I could, erasing our presence with a thoroughness that spoke of a man well-versed in the art of disappearing. Once satisfied, he turned to me, his smile cruel and beautiful in its promise of things to come. He tossed the keys onto the front seat and left the door open, begging the vehicle to be stolen.
“Let’s go.” There was no fleeing the hunger in his voice.
We boarded the boat, the ship rocking slightly below my feet as I loaded our supplies into the small living compartment below deck. It was a tiny room that held a single queen-sized bed, a two-person table and chairs, along with the smallest kitchenette I’d ever seen in my life. One stove burner, a wall mounted toaster oven, and sink so small I thought it would be hard for Drake to wash his hands in it.
Drake, apparently knowing how to captain a boat, went about unmooring us and getting us out into open water. As the land receded into the distance, I allowed myself a moment to revel in the almost carnal pleasure of the unknown that lay ahead. The fear of Owen and his plans was supplanted only by the excitement of bringing bloody screaming vengeance to him. This journey was a new chapter in our twisted saga. An erotic and dangerous dance with death that left my heart pounding and my body aching for the depravity only Drake could provide. The thoughts of the blood we would tear from Owen’s body made me fight not to beg Drake to fuck me right then and there before he’d even made it to sea.
The hull cleaved through the water with a steady shush, leaving frothy trails of white in its wake. Drake stood at the helm, his figure silhouetted against the vastness of the ocean, eyes fixed on the horizon, a predator in his element. The salt-laden wind tangled my hair as I approached him, the sway of the boat beneath our feet like a lover’s insistent hands.
“Can you tell me the rest of the plan now, please,” I said, my voice barely louder than the roar of the waves and wind.
“We’re going to grab Owen’s Achilles’ heel,” he said. “The only thing in the world I know that he cares about. Fucker didn’t think I knew. I suppose we both knew things about each other that we didn’t realize…” He trailed off and his eyes grew distant, probably visualizing his parents’ dead bodies.
“What is it? Who is it, I should say.”
“His nephew,” Drake said with a sneer.
“A nephew?” I frowned at the word.
It was so strange that Owen could have a family. Since I’d arrived in the playhouse, Owen/Sam had taken on a preternatural almost godlike quality. I don’t know what I’d thought, but a small sliver of my mind had decided he’d sprung, fully formed from the pits of hell, like some satanic Athena climbing out of Zeus’ head.
Drake was relentless, a quality that both terrified and aroused me. He had delved into Owen’s past with a meticulous obsession, unearthing secrets even Owen believed were buried deep enough to never see daylight.
“Owen spent years crafting his facade, but he couldn’t hide everything,” Drake continued, his lips curling into a sinister smile. “He’s got this soft spot—his sister’s kid, practically raised the boy after she died. And now, the little pawn is studying in Savannah.”
I leaned closer, drawn to the cold fire in his eyes. It was a dangerous move, a lethal game of chess, and we were about to make our play. If we did this, whatever had been holding Owen back would be dashed away. He’d had opportunities to kill us and had chosen not to. Possibly for a further plan, but more likely because he enjoyed watching us squirm. Now that restraint would go away.
“I was able to access my personal secure server on the burner phone. That’s still operational, so I have all the info and notes I’ve created over the years. Profiles, court documents and pictures. I’d kept tabs on this nephew in case I ever needed dirt on Owen.” He grinned maliciously into the wind. “Dues need to be paid.”
“Let’s hope your personal server has more on this nephew,” I murmured, watching as Drake set the boat to some kind of autopilot then went below. He fiddled with the satellite Wi-Fi connection that had come installed with the boat.
“Damn right it does. It’s at another safe house I have in the US. If the server is still running that means it’s still safe.” He growled, the frustration evident in his clenched jaw. “I should have gone there. Should have told my parents to leave their house and go there, maybe. I could have lied about why. If I’d only thought about things, I might have saved them. I should have known he’d go after them. This is all my fucking fault.”
“Stop that,” I said, kneeling down and touching his back. “You never could have known.” I pointed out. “To what he did to your parents. You hid them as best you could. If they still lived back home, then Owen would have probably killed them even sooner. Drake, don’t torture yourself. Save that for Owen.”
He paused, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. A moment later, his expression shifted from fury to triumph. “Got it. His location. It should still be accurate, though I haven’t updated it since a few weeks before we escaped the Playhouse.” He turned the laptop screen toward me. There, in the dim glow, was the address of the frat house where Owen’s precious nephew resided.
“Perfect.” My pulse quickened in anticipation of the depravity to come, the promise of chaos and violence igniting a dark hunger within me. The nephew was an innocent, but rules had changed. Owen had opened a door that couldn’t be closed so easily. He’d tormented and murdered Drake’s parents. Tit for tat, it seemed. With Drake, every act of terror was an act of love, each drop of blood spilled an offering to our twisted desires.
The morning sun slowly rose until it was high overhead. Drake spent the time guiding the boat at the steering wheel, gazing out into the open ocean like some ancient pirate or Viking king. I sat at the bow of the boat, leaning my chest on the metal rail and hanging my legs over the edge beneath. The horizon stretched out so far that it almost seemed as though we’d found ourselves as the last people on a planet flooded and ruined.
The boat’s engine hummed, a low growl that vibrated through the deck and into my bones. I leaned against the railing, letting the salty mist kiss my face, tasting like forbidden freedom. The sea was an endless stretch of gray blue, matching the storm swirling in my heart: violent, insatiable.
Drake still stood at the helm, and I eventually got up to join him, looking out at the ocean from his view. We stood like that in silence for several minutes before a question I’d been wanting to ask for months came bubbling up to my lips.
“Where did you find them?” My voice cut through the drone of the wind and waves, hungry for details.
Drake’s eyes, dark as the depths below us, never left the expanse before us. He knew what I meant. Where did he find his dolls for the playhouse? He licked his lips and took a deep breath before speaking.
“Therapy chat rooms, mostly. Broken souls reaching out for any kind of solace. People so broken that traditional therapy was no help. We provided... an alternative.”
I shivered, not from the chill but from excitement. “All over the world?”
“Definitely all over the States,” he confirmed with a half-cocked smirk that promised untold stories of twisted satisfaction. “Every now and then, I or Owen would go abroad and kidnap someone who needed punishment, but that was very risky, and we didn’t do it often. As for the dolls, they all came from within an eight to ten hour drive of Savannah for the most part.”
“Ever let any go?” It was another question that ate at me. Were any of the people in that house ever allowed to leave? Or was it a therapy that only had one ending?
“A couple,” he admitted, steering us with a steady hand. “Sometimes they took to the lifestyle. Our brand of therapy had a way of sticking with people.” He turned and looked at me, an eyebrow raised sardonically. “Like someone I know.”
