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I feel as if I’m in a torture chamber, the manacles on my wrists attesting to that, and when I press my knees on the floor, I’m pulled in different directions, confined to the same position in this room, or rather basement, that promises nothing good.
In fact, I think it was created specifically to drive someone insane in the most vicious way possible, as even my subconscious does its best to wake me up and snap me out of this nightmare, filling me with fear so strong I can taste it on my tongue.
“It’s not real,” I whisper, shaking my head and welcoming the hurt this time, for it temporarily shuts up the terrified voice screaming in my head to run away from here because just breathing in this space coats you in dirt and vices. “Just a nightmare.”
“I’m afraid the nightmare has become a reality, kitten.”
My thoughts come to a halt as a gasp slips past my lips along with a horrified whimper because memories flash through my head.
The Church Killer sending me a message.
A video of the Four Dark Horsemen committing a crime.
They are murderers!
And Octavius choking me so hard I lost consciousness.
“Rise and shine, kitten.”
Oh my God.
This is my reality!
Scrunching my eyes, I glance again at the man finally stepping out of the shadows, and my heart beats wildly at the sight of Octavius wearing jeans and the shirt from earlier with his sleeves rolled up, his muscles standing out, but while in the past I was attracted to that, my whole body lighting up with desire…
Now I’m afraid because his strength can kill me.
“Ah, Octavius. Be nice to your guest. After all, it’s her first time in your dungeon.” I hear footsteps and Remi comes into view, flicking open a whiskey bottle. “Poor little thing. Would you like a drink?”
Dungeon? As in a serial killer dungeon where he drags his victims and does vile things to them?
Is this what this is?
I barely hold back the need to barf all over the floor because with this sentence alone, he lets me know that they hadn’t just stopped at one murder and continued killing people over the years. All the rumors floating around them finally make sense.
“Where are your manners, Remi? You don’t offer whiskey to a lady from a bottle.” Florian joins them, tapping on an empty glass. “How about some wine, Isla? It’s from my grandpa’s vineyard in France.”
“I think she’s still shocked. Tequila is the answer.” My head swings to the left, noticing Santiago leaning on the couch as he props his legs on the table in front of him and shakes the bottle. “Always answers all my questions.” Despite the antiseptic twitching my nose as if I’m in some kind of hospital and with the complete sterility of the place, it still has a comfortable viewing lounge on the left side with two couches giving the perfect view of what goes on in here.
The sick fuckers enjoy watching murders too?
“What do you want?” I croak, clenching my fists, and maybe if I had been anyone else, I’d lose my shit now, either cry or scream hysterically around these men who hover over me, talking nonsense when it’s a psychological tactic to drive me mad.
Or rather establish control.
However, I’m a police officer and a serial killer survivor, so I made it my mission to study everything about them over the years.
Their psyche, methods, weapons, and I’ve even watched countless of documentaries and university sessions to delve deep into the thoughts of those we all hate. So I could understand them better and know how to act around them to catch them and save myself should the situation call for it.
Right now, I don’t have the privilege to be difficult or brave because any sign of defiance would be met with some harsh blows, and besides, they should feel their power because, deep down, they are all narcissists getting off on their actions.
“To enjoy my honeymoon in peace, but unfortunately, your big mouth ruined my plans,” Remi says, going to Santiago and dropping down next to him on the couch. He sighs heavily. “Pity.”
Straightening up, I lock my hands, the chain dangling loudly and again, emphasizing my dire state. “Don’t know how I’m going to live carrying that guilt with me,” I tell him sarcastically, and the men chuckle. Florian pours wine into the glass and gulps it, resting his shoulder against a wall while all their gazes shoot to Octavius, who probably stares at me.
I wouldn’t know since I refuse to look at him or allow my heart to think about a man who touched me so intimately and promised me so much earlier, only to tarnish it all when his true nature came to light.
A murderer I allowed to claim me, and now I’m forever bonded to him because even if I manage to escape their clutches, I’ll never be able to escape what we’d done or how it affected me.
