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The man in the Lord’s mask laughs, and I know he can hear me. Haidyn said that they could hear me just not see me when he found me in here.
“How do you not know that man doesn’t deserve his punishment?” she asks me, reminding me I’m not alone.
I didn’t answer her. The Lords never ask questions. They decide you don’t deserve what they give you and they take it away. You’re never innocent until proven guilty.
The Lord slaps the man hanging on the back, and it causes him to spin around in the chains. I see there are more of those white sticky pads on his back as well, but that’s not all. There are also red marks that cover his tan skin. He’s been whipped.
“Why?” I face her once more and demand. “Why are you making me watch this? Why did you want to even see me?”
She gives me a soft smile. “This is a reminder, Ashtyn, from the Spade brothers.” She means the fathers. “That you are a guest here, and it will be best to remember that.”
I look at the glass, and the guy in the Lords mask turns off the white patches, and the shirtless man hangs in the cuffs connected to the chains. “Until next session,” he states before walking over to the door. He shuts off the light, bathing the room in darkness before he exits.
* * *
I returnto Saint’s room, get undressed, and crawl into bed, whimpering at the sting of my brand. The last pain pill Saint gave me has officially worn off. Or maybe it’s because of what I just saw. I hate knowing the man still hangs in the dark, probably terrified.
How long will they play with him before they kill him?
It makes me think of my brother. What he’s seen or had to do to people here. Is that why he ran? Was he really set up by the Lords? Or did he do what he was accused of?
I’m not saying that Saint, Haidyn, or Kashton are innocent. I’ve seen what they do here, and it’s terrifying. But they have no choice, right?
Their fathers wanted to give me a message today. One that I can’t ignore. I get it. I’m only safe because of Saint, Haidyn and Kashton. They think I have something with all three of them. Don’t I? I love all three of them but in different ways.
The sound of the door opening has me sitting up. I flinch at the sudden movement, the bandage pulling on the edges of my branding.
“Hey, you okay?”
I look up to see it was Saint who entered. I’m on edge. Afraid now that his father will come and get me for another “session.” “Where have you been?” I ask, tears starting to sting my eyes.
“House of Lords. We had a meeting this morning.” He comes to sit down next to me. “I’m sorry, you were sound asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“It’s fine.” I wave him off. A part of me thought he was hanging in the basement. The man looked familiar even though I couldn’t see his face, and the mind likes to play tricks on you.
“Here.” He gets up and walks over to his nightstand. Opening up the top drawer, he pulls out the pills and pops the top. “Take one of these and get some rest.”
I greedily take them when he offers me the bottle of water that sits on my breakfast cart. I hope it makes me pass out.
“Good girl.” He leans in and gently kisses my forehead. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”
“Then you’ll lie down with me?” I ask, needing him right now. Even after everything he’s done to me, I feel safe with him.
“Of course,” he assures me.
I lie down and snuggle into his pillow when his cell rings. “Hey, man…yeah, I’ve tried calling him twice. He hasn’t called me back yet…yeah, probably.”
“What was that about?” I ask.
Saint plugs his cell phone on his nightstand and looks at me while pulling his shirt up and over his head, exposing his chiseled abs. “That was Kashton. He wanted to know if I’ve heard from Haidyn.”
I yawn. “Why?”
“He was the only one who missed the meeting this morning.” With that, he turns and walks into the bathroom.
I yawn again and close my eyes. But they spring open the moment what he said registers in my brain. I sit back up, my heart racing, when I hear his shower start. Was that Haidyn hanging in the room? Surely not? Why would they torture Haidyn? Why would his father allow that?
Snorting, I remind myself that it’s common for fathers not to care about their children. “Saint?” I call out. “Saint?” I do it again.
