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If I offended her, she didn’t show it, instead she grabbed another roll and smeared bright yellow butter on it.
“Dahlia, dear,” she said in a pompous voice. “Aren’t you the one who skinned a woman live? Shoved a steel rod up a guy’s ass until he died? Castrated a fucker with a rubber band? Are you really the one who should be calling someone sick?”
I slammed a fist onto the table. “That was different. Those people were guilty. They’d done fucked up shit.”
Bri leaned forward, peeling her lips back, revealing her teeth like an angry animal. “And who the fuck determines what guilt is? Inside everyone’s head some awful shit happens. What about the guy who looks at his little niece and wonders what it would be like to bend her over and slam a dick into her? What if he never does anything but only thinks it? Does that make him any less sick than the prick who actually does rape her? I don’t think so.” Bri grabbed a knife and slammed its blade down in the table. “No one is innocent. Everyone is guilty. Therefore, everyone deserves punishment.”
Bong. “Dinner is done. Dahlia, return to your room until you are called. Payton and Bri, your instructions will be sent to your devices,” Owen said. I refused to think of him as Sam any longer.
Bri stood and tossed her knife down with a clatter. “See you soon, Dahlia.”
Without another word, she walked out of the dining room.
Payton stood as well, head still down, and went to follow Bri. I reached out, trying to grab his wrist. Before I could make contact, the familiar and painful jolt of electricity snapped through my arm. It had been months since I’d felt it, but the moment it struck, it was like I’d never left. I gasped, crying out in pain and cradling my arm to my chest.
“It’s fine,” Payton said. “Just go with it. It’s better if you don’t fight. I’m sorry I helped them find you. It was the cameras, by the way. Security cameras. Ahh.” Payton hissed in pain, as Owen shocked him too.
Payton rushed from the room, nearly running to get away, to follow orders. Not wanting to be shocked again myself, I stood and walked down the corridors back to my room. The door clicking shut behind me.
For the next hour, I sat waiting. My anxiety building with every second. I hid my two rolls in the nightstand drawers, and then lay on the bed, trying not to imagine what horrors awaited me. When the chime finally came, I nearly screamed in fright.
Bong. “Dahlia, I’ve done away with Drake’s archaic terminology. I want you to proceed to the torture room. That’s what it is, why call it anything else? You have two minutes.”
The door to my room clicked open. Owen wasn’t lying. He’d shock me in a second if I gave him the chance. Standing, I gave the room one final look and headed out the door.
The layout of this playhouse was an exact replica of the previous one, and I found the room easily. Two-way glass greeted me in the viewing room. What I saw inside the torture room nearly made me vomit. Payton lay naked and spread eagle on a padded table. His wrists and ankles held by padded leather straps. He wasn’t even struggling. Instead, he lay there crying, tears running down his puckered and ruined face.
Bong. “You had nine seconds left, Dahlia. I suggest you step inside.”
“Fucker,” I hissed under my breath but did as he commanded.
Once in the room, the door swung shut and locked behind me. Payton didn’t even bother to look my way. Instead, he simply let out a single, gut-wrenching sob.
Bong. “Our friend Payton, while somewhat helpful in finding and tracking you and Drake, has become rather moody in the last few weeks. I no longer think his heart is in this. Even after all the medical help I gave him with those nasty burns on his face, arms and chest, he still seems ungrateful. You will teach him a lesson on what is required. On the table, you will find enough tools to do the job. I trust in your creativity, Dahlia.”
The table he mentioned was covered in multiple items. A couple of knives, a scalpel, a car battery with jumper cables, a pair of heavy-duty tin snips, a small trigger activated blow torch, and more. Bile rose up in the back of my throat.
“No,” I said. “I won’t do it. Fuck you, Owen.”
“You refuse?” Owen asked, his voice echoing out of the speaker and bouncing around the room. “We’ll see.”
An instant later, I let out a scream as a burst of electricity flashed into my wrist, hot and agonizing. It went on for a long time, long enough that I fell to my knees.
“Punish him,” Owen commanded.
“No.”
Another jolt, this one more powerful. Unable to stay upright, I tipped over, landing on the grated floor, my body shuddering under the current. When it at last ended, a thin sheen of sweat coated my whole body.
“Punish him,” Owen said, his calm Sam voice gone now. Instead, he sounded psychotic.
“No!”
The next pulse from the device made my vision blurry. Vomit, hot and acrid, burst up out of my stomach and sprayed across the floor, dripping through the grates below. Blessedly, the pain stopped a moment before I passed out.
“It seems my new assistant’s wishes will come true after all,” Owen said, and it sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth.
Wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I rolled over, gasping for breath. When the door clicked open, I sat up fast. What walked in caused my jaw to fall open. Bri, naked, holding a gun, sashayed in with that pissy grin on her face, tits swinging as she did.
