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A memory pushes through to the forefront of my brain; me fighting off the bartender Kal asked to look after me, him shoving his elbow into my face and then stabbing me with a needle.

As I relive that moment, everything else comes rushing back.

I remember running.

Voices.

Kal’s insistence on me coming back to him.

And then... nothing.

“I don’t remember anything past our phone call,” I tell him, blinking away the other memories.

His glare hardens, eyes darkening until they’re pitch black. Almost evil. “You passed out before we could hang up. The GHB dose Vincent gave you wasn’t strong enough for an immediate effect to take, but I could tell it was hitting you the longer we spoke.”

“He roofied me?”

“Yes.” Leaning back in the armchair, Kal grips his knees, squeezing tight; it makes the bandage strapped across his fingers pop off, revealing bloody, broken knuckles.

The color almost matches the shade of the stains on his shirt.

I stare at the mangled flesh, warmth flaring in my stomach and catching in my throat. Pushing to his feet, Kal walks over to the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress, and grips my chin with his good hand.

“Did you kill him?” I ask, leaning into his touch, even though it hurts. With him, pain is a given.

“No,” he says softly, turning my head slowly, eyes roving over every inch, assessing for damage. I frown, opening my mouth to protest, and he shakes his head, turning me forward so I’m forced to meet his gaze. “Don’t you want to watch?”

* * *

I knew it.

Kal breaks the lock on the outbuilding with a pair of bolt cutters, pushing open the barn-style door with one hand, gesturing for me to step inside with the other. My bare feet meet loose dirt, and a harsh chill in the air has me wrapping my arms around myself, despite the thick robe Marcelline gave me when I left the bedroom.

After a quick, slightly invasive exam ensuring I hadn’t been sexually assaulted, we headed downstairs. Marcelline handed me some painkillers, and we left through the back door. The second we rounded the mansion and the little shack came into view, vindication washed over me.

“You know,” I say as we walk inside now, trying to speak over the nerves pounding between my ears. “This place is not at all discreet. I pegged it my first day here.”

Kal glances down at me, switching on a light that illuminates a short hallway. “I’m not trying to keep it a secret.”

“You’re not?”

“From the people on the island? Hardly.”

“Because you own half of it?” We reach the end of the hall, pausing outside a closed door.

“I don’t own half the island,” he says, brushing a piece of lint from my robe. “I’m an investor in a lot of their most profitable businesses, and inherited several commercial properties. On top of that, I’ve logged an unholy amount of volunteer hours at the only clinic around, and am a very consistent donor to their research programs and other things they need funding for.”

“So... you own the people.” Which, I suppose, would explain why no one interfered at the bar earlier. Who wants to get involved with the devil’s business?

“You’d be surprised what people are willing to overlook when their needs are met, and then some.”

With that, he pushes open the door, revealing a large room with cement walls lined with cabinets, and Vincent on display in the middle of the room, stripped and strapped to a gurney, gagged with a dirty rag.

Unease ripples along my skin in the form of goose bumps, as I take in the dime-sized wounds decorating his stomach, and the blood-soaked gauze wrapped around his left hand. A little cart with wheels sits next to the gurney, a variety of tools sitting on top, next to a tray collecting fingernails.

Not just the clippings, either.

Kal walks to a bucket sink across the room, rinsing his hands beneath the spray. He glances at me as he dries off, an unreadable expression on his face.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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