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They didn't need to tell her that. The only way Hannah could even consider stepping foot in the warehouse was knowing that four hulking men were listening in, ready to pounce as soon as they could gather the much-needed evidence. They'd returned to her apartment with another intimidating man named Z who, on the surface, looked even more menacing than Jake Davenport.
She took comfort in knowing he was on her side.
Hannah parked in the first empty slot she came to. The parking lot was surprisingly full for late afternoon. Stepping out into the sunny heat, she walked tentatively towards a solid steel door marked simply with 'ENTRANCE' in block letters. Each step she took came slower... shorter... it grew harder to voluntarily put one foot in front of the other. Too soon she was at the last barrier protecting her from Jake, not sure whether she was brave enough to ring the bell for entry.
She didn't have a chance to find out. A fierce-looking man sporting a goatee, with a tattooed neck, and wearing an expensive suit opened the door. He looked of middle-eastern descent, his hair and eyes black—matching his soul if he willingly worked for Jake Davenport. He yanked her forward into the dimly lit foyer, closing the heavy door behind them with a loud thunk.
I'm committed now.
A matronly woman in her forties sat at a desk behind the small sliding window that reminded Hannah of being in the foyer of a doctor's office. Instead of being asked to put her name on a clipboard, as she might in a real doctor's office, the hard man clamped her right elbow tightly in his grip as he stepped up to a retina scanner at the steel security door to the right of the window. A quick beep sounded before he leaned back, placing his right thumb on a pad under the scanner. The steel door popped open a crack, allowing him to push forward, pulling Hannah along behind.
The thick door slammed closed behind them with an ominous, automatic locking sound. As she was dragged along, Hannah noticed his leather holster containing a fierce looking handgun. She'd known she was going into danger, but the fact that he wore his weapon so visibly alarmed her.
They were in a narrow hallway, lined with six-panel doors. Cheap wood paneling covered the walls, giving the space a 1980's feel. There was a musty smell in the air, as if the threadbare carpet was in need of a good scrubbing.
The hall was quiet enough that the muffled sound of people having sex in one of the rooms they passed could clearly be heard. There was no mistaking the steady pounding rhythm of a headboard banging against the wall, accompanied by masculine grunts and female groans.
They passed several more doors on each side of the corridor before coming to a double door at the end of the hall. Another retina scan and another thumbprint had to be given before the door popped open just as the first had.
Hannah tried to watch as closely as possible, hoping she was giving the men watching from afar the information they needed to get to her when they needed to. She pushed down the panic that threatened to rise when she wondered just how they would get past the intense security measures.
This time, a cacophony of sound barraged her senses as the heavy door opened. It started as a loud din, but within seconds, the noises began to separate, reaching her ears in frightening snippets. Her heart had already been thumping with fear, but the screams, moans, and cracks filling the air kicked her pulse even higher.
Hannah stopped dead in her tracks, refusing to proceed further into the large open space. Her escort's hand pinched her arm harder in an attempt to get her feet moving again as she scanned the expanse.
The huge, two-story space was sectioned-off into a half-dozen recording stages that ran down the entire length of the room to her left. The stages, each with a different theme, consisted of three walls, leaving one side open for camera equipment. Sound system equipment hung from the tall warehouse ceiling, while cameras on tripods blocked the view into some of the spaces from her vantage point. The two sets closest to the entrance had active scenes in progress; the other four stages were dimmed and empty.
A redheaded woman tied to a St. Andrew's cross drew Hannah's attention first. Her bare arms and legs were splayed wide, strapped immobile. Her protruding artificial breasts made the perfect target for the bare-chested Dom who was in the process of cropping her nipples. Heavy weights swayed between her legs, held there by vicious clamps attached to her swollen labia. Only the oversized ring gag prying her painted lips wide kept her screams from overpowering the space. The strands of spittle dripping down her chin to her chest indicated she'd been restrained there for more than a few minutes.
The screech of another submissive jarred Hannah's attention away. She briefly recognized that the man holding her arm like a vice was allowing her to watch and wondered why. She suspected he wanted to scare the shit out of her by letting her take in the sight of the staged torture in progress directly in front of them.
It was working.
The second scene was in a replica of a medieval dungeon, the temporary walls covered in fake stones. A stained glass window at the back of the set was backlit, giving the space an unholy flare.
The focal point of the area was the severe punishment in progress. A naked woman was kneeling, center stage, on the uncomfortable stone floor. Her body was contorted, her knees spread and held wide by barbaric chains. Her arms were tucked behind her back. Thick ropes wrapped around her overlapping forearms ensured she wouldn't break free until her tormenter allowed it.
It was the vicious metal hook protruding from between her bottom cheeks that stole the scene. A too-short length of rope was tied to the end of the anal hook, connecting it to her bleached-blonde hair. Her head was yanked back, forcing her back to arch in an uncomfortable bend, serving up the entirety of her front for a palette of pain. It was clear she would topple over if it weren't for another rope looping up to the menacing irons hanging from the ceiling.
As if the position weren't bad enough, the Dom in the scene was dressed like a medieval guard borrowed from the set ofGame of Thrones. The twin strips of the tawse in his hand struck the woman's striped breasts and dragged blood-curdling screams from the captive. The pain of each stroke was enhanced by the chaser of agony caused by each flinch, which yanked the anal hook deep in her bowels. Tears streaked mascara down her face as the leather marked lower, catching the undersides of her breasts and leaving raised welts.
Hannah shuddered in fear, unable to believe she was so close to the horror show in progress. What the hell had she got herself into? She pulled hard against the man at her side, trying to go back out the way they'd come in.
He leaned down to talk against her ear with menace. "Come on. We're late." They were the first words the tall, olive-skinned man had spoken to her. The accent supported her assumption he was from the Middle East.
She didn't have time to dwell on it as she was pulled through a door at the far end of the room, gratefully leaving the sounds of pain and torture behind.
"You're doing great, Hannah. Stay calm." Dylan's voice in her ear made her jump. She'd been so distracted by the nightmarish scenes that she'd almost forgotten the men were seeing the same visions through her small camera feed. She knew she couldn't answer, but his voice did help slow her pulse with relief.
They passed another security check, this time with an added keypad requiring a six-digit entry code. She wished she'd asked more questions about what the men had known she would be encountering. Maybe it would have been easier to have known what to expect.
Maybe not.
The décor in the foyer they passed through next was like the difference between riding in a Hyundai and a Cadillac. Her heels clicked along the upscale marble floor as goatee-guy pulled her past walls of expensive looking art. Her escort knocked briskly on a mahogany door, which was an obvious upgrade from the cheap paneling of the previous space. His fingers dug into her arm painfully just before he opened the door, shoving her inside ahead of him.
Jake Davenport stood in front of a mammoth desk, half sitting, half leaning against the surface. He looked smug, his ankles and arms were crossed leisurely.
She stopped dead in her tracks, hoping to keep as much distance as possible between them, but the clamp on her arm only got worse as she was pressed farther into the room.
