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It’s a nightmare and something even my mind, adept at finding pathways where there aren’t any, is unable to comprehend. Operation Albatross…
Instead of cleaning me up, Blake lets me sit in my own urine until finally, I accept the help and the water, whatever he might have doused it with. Anything is better than the slow torture. Of hours spent in one horrible position, weakening, losing blood, only to have him shift the ropes to something equally bad.
And worse.
Spread eagle in my own bedroom doorway, hung from hooks he’s installed, which are too high for me to hope of reaching. My ankles are hooked fast to the doorjamb as well, with the soles of my feet barely grazing the planks below.
The bleeding has slowed from the slices across my breasts. Those are the newest ones. He likes to switch it up, back to front, waiting until I least expect it before he swoops in and delivers what he callsmy punishment.
Maybe I do deserve it.
Maybe all those years of trying to survive led me to this moment where I pay for what I’ve done. And to think I tried to find his favorite donut flavor.
Sociopaths don’t eat donuts.
Isn’t it a fact of life?
From this position, I’m able to see the sun rise from the window at the end of the hallway. I’m able to mark the passage of time and see Blake whenever he decides to grace me with his attention.
It’s always been him. I’d never even been considered to lead the Syndicate. He’s been going in behind me for far too long, adding his programming to mine, undermining me in ways I’ve never considered before, and the entire time, Operation Albatross ran in the background.
I’m too tortured to care.
My thoughts do, however, play on a loop:Broderick Stevens. Not a man, per se, but a title.
An inherited title and the man I’d called Master wasn’t the first of his name, nor the one who coined it, but the second. He’d earned the position from his mentor and planned, for who knows how long, to bestow the title to Blake upon his death.
I’m too dehydrated to cry anymore, but it doesn’t stop my eyes from burning. I’ve long since lost feeling in my arms and legs.
“How is my precious pet doing today? Is the kitten comfortable? Ready to play some more?”
Blake’s voice comes from the direction of the kitchen, and I realize the sun has shifted angles from the last time I opened my eyes.
I’m out of it. Too out of it to stay ahead of him in his mind games.
“I’m not your pet,” I reply, exhausted, my head drooping.
He’s got a piece of chocolate in hand. He approaches without a care in the world and holds the chocolate out to me before he tosses it back and catches it between his teeth. “Guess I should have told you. I’m not a donut fan. All those months of trying, but it doesn’t matter. Chocolate. The darker, the better.”
“Do you really think I give a shit at this point? Let’s be honest.”
He chews the chocolate slowly, thoughtfully, while staring at me from top to bottom and every space in between. Drenched in my own urine, sweat, and blood, with my clothes shredded from his knife. I found out Blake is a fan of fire, too. The second day, he switched out the blade for a lighter and went to town on the bottoms of my feet and my pinky fingers.
The circular marks are the worst of it, though, surrounding my nipples and areolas. The ones red and raw from his teeth.
“I think there hasn’t been a lot of honesty between us. That’s what I’m trying to change, you know,” he says once he swallows. No glasses today, and I wonder if it’s a personal choice. To not see anything except the blurry outline of me.
“I’m trying to get us to a point where we’re broken down to our basic core, and there is nowhere to go but up from there,” he explains. “You understand.”
I exhale slowly, waiting for the familiar dull ache that accompanies each rise and fall of my chest. It’s there. Always. “There’s no point to this conversation or what you’re trying to do. Which I suspect is more than just breaking me down.” I finally lift my eyes to meet his. “I think you’re retaliating for what I did to your uncle.”
“Why would I want to do that?” he asks. “What makes you think you know anything about me?”
“Because you’ve got the look.”
I’ve been studying him since he brought me here. Two days of torture, and I’ve figured out his secret. I’ve been holding it inside of me, waiting for the right time to let it drop, to let it detonate, and hope it’s strong enough to destroy us both in the process.
Blake stares at me before barking out a laugh and reaching behind him. I stiffen and go cold on impulse. Instead of his toy, he brings out a bottle of water he must have stuffed into the waistband of his pants. Another ploy to keep me on the edge. To make me question everything.
