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In the corner, there’s a sign pointing to a door resembling a laundry chute. However, it reads, “incinerator,” ruling out any innocent function.
Desmond unbuttons his cuffs and turns to the window, where Matty looks slightly more relaxed, and Lyric is pouring drinks in the kitchen. The room is a stage, and I’m the captive audience waiting for the horror show to begin, or rather, they are the audience, and I am the show.
I’m glad my torture is amusement for them. It’s also early morning. Why the hell are they drinking this early in the morning?
“What do you think, Lyric?” Desmond addresses the man walking back to the couch with a twisted smirk on his face. “Where should I begin?”
The room closes on me, the shadows dancing like mocking demons as I stand at the center of this macabre stage. My defiance is a thin veil covering the storm of fear and uncertainty brewing within. My eyes dart around, searching for any glimmer of hope or any avenue of escape. All I find are the cold, unyielding walls that have witnessed countless horrors.
Lyric lifts the remote, and my dread intensifies as he presses a button, causing his voice to echo all around me. “Hunting knife.”
Desmond’s laughter reverberates through the room. He glances at me as he walks by, reaching for a drawer and pulling it open. My heart races, and I swallow hard as he pulls out a familiar knife.
The same knife Lyric used on me in the woods. “What the hell?” I whisper to myself as Desmond walks over to me, the blade in his hand. He deftly twirls it around as he stands in front of me.
“Do you have any idea what you’re attached to?” he questions.
All I can do is shake my head, unable to form words.
“I didn’t think so,” he remarks, a sinister edge to his voice. He takes the blade and lifts the hem of my tank, slowly tugging it up until it rips. The fabric splits in two, and my breasts spill free. Desmond drags the tip of the blade over my nipple, sending shivers of terror and a strange kind of anticipation through me. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs.
The cold metal against my skin feels like a cruel reminder of my vulnerability. I try to steel myself against the fear and summon some inner strength, but it’s a losing battle. The torment in this room is both physical and psychological, a cocktail of pain and humiliation.
Desmond’s eyes bore into mine, a predatory hunger dancing within them. My chest heaves with every breath, my body aching with tension and fear. I hate how my body responds to his touch, the conflicting sensations tearing at my sanity. I am trapped and stripped of my defenses, and he revels in it.
“Such a shame,” he continues, his voice dripping with malice. “All these secrets, these layers of deceit, yet here you are, bare and exposed.”
I despise how his words worm their way into my mind, igniting a twisted dance of emotions. The darkness in this room feeds off our collective agony, and I’m ensnared in its clutches.
My heart races as the blade hovers dangerously close, and I try to brace myself for what’s to come, but deep down, I know there’s no preparation for the horrors that await in this dungeon of secrets and pain.
I lick my lips, fighting the surge of arousal that threatens to betray me. “What is this?” I manage to choke out.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet, kitten?”
“No.”
“Then why should I spoil the fun?” he taunts, dragging the blade down my body until he slips it under the waist of my shorts and cuts through them too. The fabric hangs on my hips, which annoys Desmond. He kneels before me.
I look up to find Lyric and Matty watching us intently. The air in the room is thick with anticipation and a darkness that clouds everything.
A tear slips down my cheek as my shorts flutter to the floor. I hadn’t worn any panties, a decision that now feels both reckless and deliberate. My heart beats wildly in my throat as I take in the bizarre and unsettling situation. The man they tortured earlier had been wearing clothing, so there’s no way this can be considered normal.
“Desmond?” I question, my voice trembling.
“Charlotte, were you going to run from me?” he asks, kneeling at my feet.
I glance at the others and then back to him. Finally, I muster up the courage for honesty. “I don’t know,” I admit, my gaze falling back to the chains hanging above. It’s easier to look at them than at Desmond. “I wanted to run, to escape, but my dad…” I choke on that word, unable to say it without pain lancing through me. “Cameron. I can’t. What if… What if…” I can’t bring myself to finish the thought.
I feel Desmond rise, and he pinches my chin, forcing me to look at him. “What if he found you?” he asks softly.
The tears well up, blurring my vision, and I nod, the truth too painful to deny. The torment in this room isn’t just physical. It’s a battlefield of emotions, twisted loyalties, and shattered trust, and as I stand here, vulnerable and exposed, I realize that the battle is far from over.
“Do you know how many men I’ve had to kill to ensure that he doesn’t get to you?” Desmond whispers, his tone heavy with the weight of his actions. “How many men I had Lyric torture in this very room?”
My eyes widen at the revelation. “In here?” I exclaim. “That’s fucked up,” I say, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.
“What? That he tortured them here or that I plan to torture you in a very different way?” Desmond’s voice oozes with disturbed amusement.
