Page 3 of Shai

right. It was all my fault. I’d asked to be continually beaten. I’d asked for my food intake to be cut down to the bare minimum. I’d asked to spend the majority of my time locked in the basement. Except, maybe I had asked for it. I’d known the risks of coming to Deadwood after all, and I’d still come.

McIntyre heaved himself out of the chair, swaying dangerously for a

second before righting himself. His step forward had him looming over me. “I’m a generous man, so I’m going to give you one last chance to beg for forgiveness for encroaching on my territory, to kneel before me and pledge your allegiance. If you still choose not to”—he paused for effect, shrugging his shoulders as he played to the crowd—“then I’m afraid that your entertainment value will have waned, and there will be no point in keeping you around any longer. Make your choice, Elijah. This is a one-time offer.”

There was a certain twisted amusement to McIntyre asking me to kneel

to him, given that I was already kneeling, but I knew that for him the action went beyond the physical and into the symbolic. As for what pledging my allegiance actually meant, I had no idea. I wasn’t sure McIntyre himself really knew, beyond it being an action of complete submission, an admittance that I had given my whole life over to him. In short, it made me his bitch. It was the request of an absolute megalomaniac, which at the end of the day was exactly what he was.

It wasn’t the first time he’d requested it. We were probably heading into double digits, but it was the first time it had been accompanied by an ultimatum. Did he mean it? The hard, flinty look in his eyes said he did. Beating someone day after day had to get boring eventually, and it seemed he’d reached that point. To be honest, I was surprised it had taken this long.

I considered my options, knowing I wouldn’t be given long to think about it. Even on a good day, McIntyre wasn’t ever going to be described as patient. I could kneel, but then what? He wasn’t going to let me go. My status within his little kingdom wasn’t going to change. He wouldn’t start clapping me on the back and sharing jokes with me.

All it would mean was that he’d won. He would have ground me down to the point where I’d given up.

The thought sat like a lead weight in my chest. Was I really going to choose death? My heart hammered against my ribs, the expectant silence around the room telling me better than any words could that McIntyre wasn’t making an empty threat.

I raised my head, taking a deep breath as I did so, and meeting McIntyre’s gaze without flinching, a strange sense of calm washing over me. “I will never kneel to someone like you.”

Fury sparked in his eyes, his face turning red and his mouth going slack. Spittle flew from his lips as he spoke. “Strip him. You know where to take him. And make it quick. I need you back here. There’s more important business to take care of than this ungrateful little fucker.”

The next few minutes were a flurry of motion, pain my new best friend as Harris and Jones stripped me with zero regard for the bruised and swollen flesh they were forcing the fabric over. A gag was forced into my mouth and my arms were wrenched behind my back and bound tightly. Then I was hustled back through the dark corridors, my feet barely touching the ground.

There were a few delicious seconds of fresh air for the first time in months before I was thrust into the back of a car with no more ceremony than if I’d been a sack of potatoes. I lay with my bruised cheek pressed against the rough fabric of a car seat, doing my best to breathe through the gag.

The engine purred to life, the car setting off with a screech of tires that

said Jones had McIntyre’s order about being quick still ringing in his ears. Either that, or he always drove like a maniac. There was a third man in the car, the heat of his thigh against my head the only indication of his presence, but I didn’t bother to turn my head to find out who it was. It hardly mattered in the great scheme of things.

With every bend we took at great speed, my body was thrown against

the front seat, the constant shocks of pain not enough to stop me from searching for regret at the decision I’d made. Except, I couldn’t find any. I might have signed my own death warrant, but there was nothing but a sense of peace that it would all be over soon. Death would mean no more pain, no more having to deal with McIntyre’s mood swings, no more beating myself up for having put myself in this situation in the first place. It would bring relief and it wasn’t like anyone would miss me, apart from possibly my sister.

She was the only family I had, and up until the point where I’d been

snatched off the street, I’d been sending her money. She had a three-year-old to bring up on her own, the dad having cleared off at the first sign of her being pregnant. I did regret that she’d never know what had happened to me. Hopefully, she’d assume I was dead. She might even think that already, given she’d heard nothing from me for three months. I would rather that, than have her believe I’d dumped her without a word.

The car slowed to a stop and the back door was pulled open. I was

dragged out in much the same way as I’d been stuffed in there. The inky black waters of the River Dent lay in front of me, a small motor boat moored at the side of the river. It was to this that I was led, Jones shoving me into it. I fell awkwardly, my bound hands meaning I had no way of breaking my fall, my brow glancing off the side of the boat as a result.

The nausea from earlier returned with a rush as I rolled over onto my

back to stare up at the stars. The pleasure was fleeting as the men joined me on the boat and pulled something over my head. The rough, scratchy material told me that it was in all likelihood a sack. Great! I was going to be drowned like an unwanted puppy, simply thrown into the Dent to sink to the bottom until such a time as my bloated and distended body would bob to the surface, the police in McIntyre’s pockets no doubt making sure that should attention turn his way, it would be quickly diverted.

Movement at my feet signaled that the sack was being fastened securely as the boat’s engine roared to life. Something heavy scraped across the bottom of the boat, my head automatically turning in that direction, even though I had no chance of seeing what it was. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t speak. All I could do was lie there and wait for the end to come.

It felt like slow motion and fast forward were happening simultaneously.

I wanted a moment to think, but I also wanted it to be over, and the contradiction was not lost on me.

A cough echoed in the silence. Harris’s cough, I recognized it. “This should be far enough. We don’t want to get too close to his side.”

“Fuck him!” There was a great deal of scorn in Jones’s voice. “It’s not like we’re doing business on his side. We’re just dropping off something the boss doesn’t want anymore.”

“Yeah, but still. It pays to be careful. McIntyre will be pissed if we draw attention when we don’t need to.”

Harris was obviously a damn sight wiser than Jones was. Funny how I’d never noticed that before, but then I’d never exactly been on the lookout for positive attributes from either man while they’d been kicking and punching me.