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FOUR
It seems like hours go by while I'm in this classical elevator music hell alone. Finally, the door slides open, and he drags Seven back inside. I gasp at the sight of him, shirtless but still in jeans. Our captor tosses Seven on the mattress, lying on his stomach, revealing horrifying whip lashes across his back, several of them bleeding.
He's very still, and at first I'm terrified he's dead, but then I see his breath slowly moving in and out of him in a ragged labored way. I'm not sure if he passed out from pain or if he was drugged again. Then my captor's eyes move to me.
“Your turn, Pretty Toy.”
I shake my head, the panic and tears back. “No, no please... Master, please... I'll do whatever you want... please... don't...” I look at the disaster that is Seven's back again.
My captor doesn't reply; he just walks slowly and calmly over to me.
“Please,” I whimper. “I'm not as strong as him... I can't take... please...” I'm babbling. I can't think straight enough to make a clear sentence come out of my mouth. I'm just so scared. And I know none of what I say matters anyway. You can't reason with the devil.
I don't understand why. WHY? We did what he asked. And in this short time... he's already escalated his plans to torture. I'm sure I'll hyperventilate or faint when he reaches me.
“Stand up and come with me, Kate,” he says.
I don't know why it should surprise me that he knows my name. I had my driver's license on me when he took me. If he undressed me and put me in this cell, of course he's gone through all my things.
I choke back another sob and use the wall to steady myself and stand. I know if I resist him, whatever he has planned can only be worse. I grip the bath towel around me, but he tugs it out of my grasp and off me until I'm standing inches from him, naked.
He grips my upper arm and leads me out of the cell. When we get out into the main house, I realize the finality of my fate. Even phrases likeridiculous grandiose wealthdo not fully capture this situation. There’s a level of resources where you know there’s basically no limit to a person's power.
This guy has those kinds of resources. That kind of power. No one will ever find us. No one will ever free us. We’re at the mercy of this monster for as long as he lets us live. And I'm not sure if a short time or a long time is better or worse under the circumstances.
The door to our cell is hidden behind a giant painting. The hallway alone in this place is breathtaking. High vaulted ceilings. Chandeliers that each probably cost about the same as a normal-sized house in the suburbs. We pass by windows, and outside the windows I see endless rolling hills. It's as though I've been transported to a whole other planet that only the three of us inhabit. Maybe it's a private island. I don't see any palm trees, but I really just have no idea at this point.
He has to have staff. A cleaning service. Something. There’s no way he manages this on his own. So have there been others here while we've been here then? There must have been. If he isn't worried about us screaming and getting found out, the cell must be soundproof.
I could ask myself why someone with this much money would even do something like this. But why not? If you obviously have no conscience, after you get bored with all conventional accumulation of power, surely something like this is next.
At the end of this hallway, there’s another door with a security panel. It's not hidden like our cell. I wonder if people ask what’s behind this door. I'm sure others are curious, but I don't want to know. I don't want to go in there.
I struggle to get away from him, but his impossible grip only gets tighter. “Careful, now. Probably best not to irritate the psycho,” he says.
At least he knows he's crazy. I'm not sure if that helps or only makes it worse.
Behind this new high-security steel door is a set of stairs that spiral down. The walls are white, and the stairs look like stairs in an office building. There are guide lights in the floor which offer the only illumination. The stairs seem to go down forever, and the further we go into this pit, the more claustrophobic I become.
It's some kind of sex dungeon. There are whips and paddles and floggers and canes. Clamps of various types and sizes. A box full of sex toys and blindfolds. Bondage equipment is scattered around the room. There’s a large cage on one end of this endless underground space. And there’s a bed, built with the explicit understanding that someone should be bound to it.
A part of me wishes I didn't know what all of this stuff was for. But I know. I'm crying again. It started before I even realized—traitorous tears making escape attempts down my cheeks.
I flinch when he wipes away a stray tear with his thumb. “Don't cry yet, Pretty Toy. I haven't even gotten started. Save your tears for the good part.”
This only makes me cry harder, and the sinister smirk that inches up his cheek only confirms this was the reaction he was hoping for.
“You're here because you disobeyed me. Youbothdisobeyed me.”
Is he talking about the fact that we didn't immediately rush to fuck for his viewing pleasure when he first told us this was the price for food? Before I can ask this question, he continues.
“I told you, no names, Kate. But the first opportunity you got, the two of you huddled in your private shower and started whispering secrets. I may not have cameras in the bathroom, but I do have listening devices, one embedded in the shower in fact. Seven thought he could outsmart me. You have to be punished, Pretty Toy. I can't have this defiance.”
“Master, please.” I want to say it was Seven's idea, but my captor knows that already, and I can't stand the idea of betraying Seven, so I don't say anything more.
I jerk away when he strokes my hair.
“Don't worry. He took a greater punishment to protect you, and I always keep my word. You can handle what I'm about to do. I won't break your skin. I don't want to break my Pretty Toy after all, now do I?”
