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I left the office building, not bothering to relock the door, and hurried to my car. The sun still wasn’t up quite yet, but dawn was coming soon, just like Owen’s death.
Chapter 20
Dahlia
Payton’s body shook beneath Bri as she climbed off of him. His dead and shrinking cock slid out of her as she did. My knuckles were white as I gripped my knees. I still couldn’t believe what I’d seen. Payton’s dead, sightless eyes stared at the ceiling. Was I next? Maybe that was what this was. Bri and Owen would get rid of Payton, then me. After that, they could focus on finding Drake.
Bri, breasts and face still smeared with blood grinned at me. “Time to go, little girl.”
Bong. The door to the torture room clicked and swung open. I didn’t pause, didn’t think, only moved. All I could think of was getting away from Bri, out of that room, and forgetting the sight of Payton’s dead body.
My device buzzed as I ran, nearly making me scream. I stopped, glancing at the message on the tiny screen.
Go to the library
At least he wasn’t making me go to the gym. I could imagine him trying to kill me with burpees or something.
The library was exactly where it had been in the last house. Standing in the doorway, I gaped at the room. It looked like a carbon copy of the previous one, all the way down to the fireplace and carpeting. So strange. Stepping into the room was like stepping back in time. Part of me, a frazzled and hopeful part, wondered if Drake was sitting in one of the wingback chairs. That hope vanished as I found it empty. A pit of sadness and hopelessness settled in my stomach. Where was he? Again, I wondered if Owen and Bri had killed him before they took me. I’d been unconscious. For all I knew he was rotting somewhere while I struggled here. That image, no matter how hard I tried, kept shoving its way into my mind.
With no other instructions, I perused the bookshelves. Most of the books were the same as what had been in the other playhouse library. My fingers slid across the covers until I came to a red leather book with golden inlay lettering. The Count of Monte Cristo. A sad smile played at my lips, and I spent a few moments thinking back to that first day with Drake. The way he’d used this book to warn me about the dangers of the playhouse. At this late date, none of his lies mattered. We’d become more than we’d been back then. Two dark souls entwined and inseparable. I refused to believe he was gone. He was too strong, too powerful to let someone like Owen win. He was a force of nature, and he would come for me. All I had to do was survive until then.
One thing that wasn’t like the old playhouse that also caught my eye was the windows. The last had had all the windows either absent, or they’d had pictures of the outdoors inset in the glass rather than the actual exterior. This was a real window. I stepped forward and placed my hand on it, cool yet resilient. Pressing, there was no give, and the glass itself felt incredibly thick and dense. Probably bullet proof. Knowing Owen, it was more than likely double layered and bulletproof.
Nothing outside gave away my location. It was dark out, but I could see trees beyond. The same stupid plastic trees. Owen hadn’t had time to source high quality fakes either. These were all strangely colored. The leaves were too green. It appeared that Owen had been able to do a ton of work, he’d even been able to encase this new house in a larger warehouse style building like the last playhouse. I’d have to escape from not only the house, but the surrounding barrier just like last time.
Behind me, the door to the library clicked open, I turned, and froze. My eyes widened in shock and horror. Rage flickered like a flame in my mind and boiling hot bile surged to the back of my throat.
The woman stood there, eyes confused and panicked. Her hair, brown but heavily streaked with gray, was askew as though she’d only just woken up. When she saw me, she too froze in surprise.
“Dahlia? What is this? Why are you here?”
“Hello, Mom,” I growled through clenched teeth.
“Well, what the fuck is going on?”
My breathing came in ragged and sharp hisses through my nose. An image flashed through my mind, one of many that haunted my dreams.
Mom, grabbing my arm, yanking my seven-year-old body up, and dragging me down the hall to the bedroom. A man, fat and sweaty, sat on the bed naked, his cock hard and erect. The look of hunger in his eyes as I was hauled in.
“You’ll suck his cock, goddamn it,” Mom screamed. “You’ll suck it and make the white stuff come out. Understand? You’ve done this enough to know how to do it right. He’s already paid for you, you little cunt. And if he wants to shove that thing between your legs, then you let him. If I have to come back in here, you’ll be sorry. I swear to god you’ll be sorry.”
“But, Momma, I don’t wanna,” I cried, tears pouring down my cheeks.
My head snapped around as her palm cracked into my cheek, searing hot pain lancing through my jaw.
“You’ll do what you’re fucking told, you little bitch. I didn’t want a little brat like you, and look what happened. Sometimes we get what we get. If I’ve got to feed your ass, then you can help earn some money.”
She shoved me forward, and I fell to my knees before the larger man. I looked up and saw that look in his eyes. An excited and monstrous desire.
“You suck that fucking dick, you little shit.”
She was gone in an instant, the door slamming behind her, crashing shut with the sound of a gunshot.
“It’s all right, little one,” the man said, stroking my hair. “I’ll be gentle. When I’m done, we’ll be good friends. If you make me feel really good and do what you’re supposed to, then maybe we can even cuddle a bit after. How’s that sound? Now come here. That’s right. Open that pretty little mouth.”
Beside me, a small metal bust sat on a shelf. A replica of William Shakespeare’s head and shoulders. His skull was roughly the size of a baseball, the bottom of the bust a rectangular brass base. I snatched it off the shelf and ran toward my mother. My device was already buzzing and shocking me, but the pain was nothing but background noise.
Mom’s eyes widened in horror; she raised her hands as I rushed forward, and she backed against the locked door.
