Page 69 of Locked in Wonderland

Locked.

I hadn’t heard it happen, but it didn’t come as a surprise. A sudden wave of dizziness hit me as I crossed back toward the chair.

What the fuck!

I was still trying to work out what was happening to me when a second door opened and a large, bald man emerged.

Or rather, two of them.

No.

One.

I was seeing double.

I blinked, trying to force the two images to merge back into one.

His mouth opened, and he said something, but I couldn’t make out what it was over the ringing in my ears. I leaned forward to catch the words and nearly toppled off the chair.

A hand caught my elbow and steadied me. “Quite susceptible, aren’t you?”

“Susc…Suspeptable―” I knew I’d mangled the word, but couldn’t seem to fix it. “To what? And whoooo are you?” I sounded drunk.

The man rolled his eyes. “I only just introduced myself.” He extended a hand. “Carter Pillard. This is my establishment.”

Three hands floated before my eyes. I reached for the middle one, feeling absurdly triumphant when I chose correctly. “Lyssssander.”

Christ! I couldn’t even say my name without slurring. Was I having a stroke? The past few days might have been stressful, but I was only in my late twenties.

“I know who you are.”

Nausea rolled through me. I slumped sideways in the chair, focusing all my energy on not throwing up. “Don’t feeeeel well,” I muttered. “Think I need ssssome air.”

Carter laughed. “That’ll be the drugs.”

“Didn’t take drugsssss.” I wiped what felt like another bucketful of sweat off my forehead. “Didn’t want any. Not after the tea. Don’t trussssst anything here.”

Carter grabbed a handful of hair and forced my head back. “Do you see that?”

I squinted upward. My vision had deteriorated so badly that everything looked blurred. “Holesssss,” I managed.

“Holes,” Carter agreed. “Just like the ones in the ceiling out in the main room. Only those release a very mild dose. Just enough to give everyone a pleasant buzz.” He released my head and crouched in front of me. “Whereas the dose you’ve been breathing in for the last few minutes is considerably stronger.”

Each sentence took several attempts to process. The meaning eventually sank in. There was no winning in Wonderland. Only an endless parade of people finding increasingly creative ways to fuck me over. “Why?” I croaked.

The slight tilt of Carter’s head suggested he found the question amusing. “Why not?”

His hand settled on my knee. Even through my jeans, his palm felt unnervingly warm. I tried to shake him off, but my limbs had become dead weight and refused to cooperate. Helpless, I watched his hand travel higher until his fingers cupped my groin. “You’re a plaything, Lysander,” he said. “That’s your purpose here.” His thumb stroked lazily over the zipper. “What’s the point of a plaything if nobody plays with it?”

I shook my head. The motion only made the room spin faster. “Nnnnot a plaaaaything.”

His other hand shot out and seized my jaw, fingers digging in. “The sooner you accept it, the better. Playthings who fight back end up getting badly hurt.” His tone remained chillingly conversational. “It’s much easier if you play nice. No bruises. No broken bones.” A pause. “Unless you enjoy that sort of thing.”

“Notaplaything.” The words barely made it out.

He already had the button on my jeans undone, his fingers moving to my zipper.

I made one last attempt to stop him. “Nico won’t like it.”