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The Collector sighed as he took in the scene in that room where rental contracts played out. He could see that he’d been right about the spindly man with the beak nose. Hehadwanted to beat those boys who’d pushed him into lockers and called him names. But he’d also very much wanted to fuck them. There he was again, having obviously made the trip once more, his head between the boy’s legs as the boy gritted his teeth and covered his own eyes, in essence blindfolding himself, shutting out what was happening to him in the one way he could. He wondered if Evan was picturing Noelle. If such a bet could have been made, the Collector would have made it, and he believed he’d have won. Evan would experience emotional consequences for that later. If there was a later.
The Collector clicked off that screen, zooming in on Noelle and steepling his fingers as he assessed what they already had in their possession. The things the others had sent them had been consumed. The Collector had sent them treasures to keep. To use. And he’d send them something more. Each item had to follow the rules of the organization that wrote them. But he had his own criteria. Each item had to serve a purpose. And speak to them, as though he himself were there.
He pulled the drawing she’d done for him forward again, running a finger over the rabbit, stroking it much the way he’d stroked her. He’d planned it. What he’d say, what he’d leave; and she’d understood. She’d risen to the occasion, just as he’d hoped she would. He was still riding the high, and now that the small amount of liquor he’d consumed was taking effect, he couldn’t help closing his eyes as he replayed the scenein his mind. What had she felt the moment she realized what he’d left for her? Hope? Excitement? Fear? Yes, certainly all those.
Her heart had certainly been beating triple time as she’d surreptitiously slipped the small piece of the graphite from its broken casing. She’d hid her fear behind her hatred.Please don’t notice,she must have prayed. The piece of graphite had to have been small, but if whoever cleaned up the room reconstructed the pencil, they’d surely notice a small piece was missing.
But they hadn’t. She’d have lost something if they did. Something vital. Something that would negate that vow to leave whole. The contestants had rules, too, though they didn’t know what they were. He opened his eyes. And there she was, looking completely intact. He watched her for a moment, recalling how angry she’d been when he’d elicited that moan of pleasure. He understood. He’d been angry once too.
He took in a deep breath. He needed tothink.What to send?It might be their last chance before the rules of the game changed. The longer the contestants held out, the longer the devils had to use them and the more money could be made. But eventually, that wouldn’t be enough for them. He sensed their restlessness.
He smiled as the possibility of something specific to send the boy came to him. If he understood how to use it ... what perfect poetry. Beautiful.
Violent. But beautiful.
The door to the room Noelle was in slid open, and the boy was shoved back through it and returned to his cage, the metal door slamming shut.
“Hey, limp dick,” Noelle yelled at the man in the red shoes. The man hesitated, turning, and the Collector leaned closer to the screen as he watched this interesting turn of events. “Why’d you get this job? Do you know what your position is called? Lackey. Because you obviously lack balls. You must lack money, too, or you’d have one of us up there, wouldn’t you, lacking balls?”
The Collector let out a soft chuckle.Smart. Very smart.Make the man angry. Prod him into doing something unwise, and take advantageof it. But how?What do you have up your sleeve, little rabbit?What had she and the boy discussed that he had missed, either because he hadn’t been watching or because he didn’t know the songs they sang well enough to discern their secret language?
The man with the red shoes walked to her cage, then stood in front of it, and Noelle stared defiantly up at him. “Hi, limp dick,” Noelle said, and the Collector saw by the set of his chin, even in profile, that Noelle had already infuriated him. The task was made much easier now that she and the boy had stuck to their guns in regard to sacrificing the other. The man with the red shoes had bid on the position because he expected to carve two people up. He’d expected tousethose electric tools sitting on the counter, and yet there the devices sat, nary a drop of blood or tissue on their sharp, shiny blades. How disappointed he must be that his job had come down to merely escorting the captives to and from their cages for others to enjoy. Forothersto abuse and draw blood from. And Noelle was picking that wound. The Collector made a tsking sound, but he didn’t take his eyes from the screen. He was riveted. “What are you, the local eunuch?” she asked.
The Collector chuckled again asthe eunuchremoved the Taser from his jacket pocket. Noelle’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the bars to the cage, not cowering, not moving back an inch. “I’m surprised you can even shoot that straight,” she said. “Are you sure you can? Maybe hitting Evan was a one-off, eunuch.”
She wanted him to tase her. Why? What was she hoping to achieve? It only took her spitting at him and calling him a eunuch again for him to take the bait. He shot the barb, and Noelle dodged, going in the other direction. The man let out an enraged grunt and shot the barb again, and Noelle went down, the side of her face slamming against the bars and then the floor. “Eunuch,” she slurred, even as her muscles twitched, her body rigid with what must be indescribable pain. And yet ... she seemed to be trying so hard to keep her head lifted ... focused on the man’s chest.
The man with the red shoes punched in the code to her cage and opened the door, grabbing a still-immobile Noelle by the hair and punching her square in the face. The boy yelled and rattled the bars in his cage, looking like a wild animal. A nice show. The players must be enjoying it. He knew he was.The eunuchtossed Noelle back inside as though she were a rag doll and slammed the door. “A new phase starts in the morning,” he growled. “The choices getbloodier.” The Collector could have turned on the camera behind Noelle’s cage so as to see the man’s face, but there was no need. Even from behind, he could tellthe eunuchwas sneering, eyes shining with malice. Ah, yes, the stakes would rise in the morning. He supposed the man wasn’t supposed to let the boy and the girl in on that little secret. But he was clearly too excited to stop himself. After all, finally, they’d be given a choice that would lead to him slicing off a piece of them either way.
The man turned to exit the room. It was then that the Collector noticed the silver pin on his tie. He hadn’t paid that any mind before. He was getting far too comfortable from this chair in his office far away. He’d have to do better at channeling the girl and the boy. Comfort had slackened him. The tie pin flashed once more asthe eunuchturned out of the room. The Collector rocked once in his chair, letting out a surprised chuckle. Well.
Well, well, well.His little rabbit was even smarter than he’d thought she was. His gaze moved to the boy. He appeared concerned about her condition, but also ... hopeful. He knew very well what she’d been doing. The boy had surprised the Collector too.
And the Collector was very rarely surprised. His gaze moved to Evan. Good breeding, indeed. The Collector grinned, standing and heading to his home gym, where he’d push himself until his muscles burned. He’d think about exactly what to send them as he worked his body to the point of exhaustion. Things that would arrive in the next few hours while they still had time to use them. Something special for each of them. Either they’d understand, or they would not.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“How’s your face?” Evan asked.
“The least of my problems.” Noelle sucked in a breath as her fingertips found the open cut on her cheek. She lifted the hem of her sweatshirt and dabbed it lightly, but it had mostly stopped bleeding. Yes, her body hurt like hell, but there was also a current of victory running through her.
Mixed with frustration. 330?
She’d only gotten three out of four numbers. She’d have to bait the man with the red shoes again and hope for the best. But her chances got slimmer and slimmer. Perhaps he’d be counseled about his lack of discipline in allowing them to rile him the way she had. Perhaps someone watching would catch on to what they were actually doing and quickly put an end to any delusions they might have about breaking free.
She’d told Evan she’d only seen three of the numbers by tapping at her wounds with three of her fingers. He’d given a quick nod, then turned away, his mouth set.
Three was better than zero. And if they found an appropriate tool that would allow them to input the codes into their locks, they could attempt to find the last one by going through all ten digits if they were given time.
And if the keypad allowed for unlimited tries.
Which it might not.
A new phase starts in the morning. The choices get ...bloodier.
She didn’t want to think about what that meant.
Hopelessness began to swirl, but she forcefully pushed it aside. There was no point to that. Because once you turned down that road, it was very difficult to turn back around. Giving up meant certain defeat.
