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“Dahlia, stop!” Owen screamed through the speakers.
My arm blazed in pain as I crossed the room in ten quick paces, the electric shock nothing compared to the rage I felt inside.
I raised the bust over my head, and swung it down.
“Noooooo—” Mom screamed, and then her words were cut off by the thunk of the bust hitting her.
She’d moved aside at the last second, and instead of crashing into her temple as I’d intended, it smashed into her collarbone and shoulder, shattering the bones beneath. She collapsed to the ground in agony, shrieking her pain through a gaping mouth.
Still breathing heavily like an animal, I straddled her, lifted the statue with both hands, and stared down at her. The searing pain of the shocks grew more intense, but this was a task that had to be done, pain be damned.
“Fuck you, Mom,” I snarled, and brought the statue down with both hands.
The metal punched through the bone of her forehead, and blood spurted from the wound. Almost immediately, her body began to buck and writhe beneath me. I didn’t stop. I raised the statue again, and brought it smashing down on her face a second time. This strike tore her upper lip off, and shattered the top row of teeth. Somehow still alive, a gurgling scream burst from her throat.
Lips peeled back in savage fury, I brought the bust down again and again. An eyeball exploded out of its socket, the nose vanished into a mess of blood, and a cheekbone shattered and caved in. Her body eventually went still, yet I kept bringing the statue down, until her head was gone. All that remained was a messy pile of meat and pulverized bone sitting in a pool of smashed brain matter. Even then, I didn’t stop. I slammed the bust down, denting the wood floor beneath. Owen’s shouts and curses through the speaker were continuing, but I was in a blood lust now, and all I could think of was hurting her.
Then, as my adrenaline faded, the pain became too much. I finally dropped the statue and fell to the side, convulsing as the electric shock finally registered in my mind and body.
“You stupid fucking cunt,” Owen hissed as I began to foam at the mouth in pain. “You ruined that little game, but I’ll find something better.”
The last thing I saw before darkness descended on my vision was the bloody pulp that had been my mother. Even in my agony, I managed a smile before slipping into unconsciousness.
Chapter 21
Drake
The location was only fifteen miles from the previous house. Still on the same massive piece of property I owned. Crazy that Owen would be so fucking bold with his choice. The place had at one point been a huge private hunting preserve my grandfather had purchased back in the early sixties. It was still in my name, but Owen had forged enough documents that the construction crews he hired had done the work with no questions asked.
Trees and shrubs slapped the sides of my car as I drove the overgrown path toward the new playhouse. This road was much less used than the old one. I had to inch along at a snail’s pace due to me keeping the headlights off. I’d even stopped at the turn off from the highway and busted out the front and back running lights. I had to keep the element of surprise. God only knew what kinds of cameras and motion sensors Owen may or may not have installed. It would have been hard enough to sneak in without driving with beacons of light.
White knuckled, I gripped the wheel and leaned forward, peering through the windshield with nothing but the moonlight to guide me. The canopy of the trees wasn’t as thick as usual, fall had come to Savannah and the leaves had begun to fall, helping my vision.
The clock on the dash read four-fifteen in the morning. Dahlia had been taken less than six hours before, yet it felt as though she’d been gone for years, decades even. As hard as I tried not to imagine what Owen had done to her, I couldn’t help but visualize the atrocities he might commit. The blood, the severed body parts, intestines, rope, water, electricity, rape, all the degradations were possible.
Even as the horror movies of Dahlia’s destruction played through my mind, I promised that regardless of what I found, Owen would pay. If Dahlia was alive, then we’d ruin him slowly. Both of us together. If he’d already killed her? I would draw it out. Not for hours and days like I did in the playhouse. No, I’d keep him for years. I would hurt him, then fix him. Let him recover, and begin again. I’d cut pieces off of him, and wait for him to heal, then do it again. I would piss and shit on him every day. Maybe, in a decade, when he’d lost his mind and was begging me for death, I’d finally give it to him in the slowest, most painful way imaginable. Then and only then would it be over.
Ahead of me, rising up through the trees, I saw the dark black outline of the warehouse. I hit the brakes and threw the car into park. After turning it off, I got out and closed the door, and standing there, staring up at the monolith ahead of me, a sudden and dizzying surreal sensation came over me. It was like I stood in a dream. A nightmare. My greatest dream, my reason for being, and it was now under the control of a madman. It was almost like seeing your lover in bed with another man. Owen, with his betrayal, had turned me into a cuckold, watching as he tried to take what was mine.
Lips peeled back into a snarl, I trudged forward, moving toward the house. Within fifty yards, I came to a chain link fence, shiny and new. The gate stood rigid and locked. A keypad sat on the edge of the gate, and I stared at it for several seconds, wondering. It would be my only way in. The hum of electricity buzzed around me as it surged through the metal. As new as the fencing was, there would be no broken or damaged sections yet. No other way to breach the property.
“How dumb are you, Owen,” I wondered out loud and reached toward the keypad.
I punched in the six-digit code we’d used at the last playhouse, and to my mind-boggled surprise, the red light above flashed green and the gate trundled aside, propelled by the motor and chain drive that sat on the inside of the gate.
The sheer audacity of Owen was shocking. Or, I wondered, was it simply lack of imagination. Maybe he’d assumed I’d never find this place, or I’d be dead before I had a chance to look. Either way, he’d fucked up yet again. I’d be sure to force him to pay for it.
Slipping in through the entrance, I kept my eyes and ears open. For all I knew, he was watching me on camera at that exact moment. I had to be ready for anything. Owen could have more than just Bri working for him. Perhaps he’d turned Payton too? Hired some psychopaths with promises of torturing and maiming innocents?
The warehouse building had been painted a matte black, and when I got close, I could see that the paint, all the way to the ground, was solid in color. No mud spatter or moss growth close to the ground. This had been completed recently. Probably less than a month. That was good. It meant it had been rushed. Whatever Owen had wanted to do here, probably had shortcuts taken, just like the code at the gate.
Another security pad waited at the large rolling garage door. Taking a chance, I punched in the same code as before. This time I wasn’t surprised when the motor hummed, and the door began to rise.
Kneeling low and pulling my gun out, I waited outside behind the opening, hiding. As badly as I wanted to get to Dahlia, rushing could be suicide. I had to be cautious. There was nothing else to be done.
After almost five minutes, no one had come out to investigate, and I decided to move in. Holding my gun out, I pushed through the fake trees and plants. The cheap and rough leaves grated on my skin and clothes. The ground wasn’t even turf. Instead, Owen had installed garish bright green carpet. More shortcuts.
Inching my way toward the mansion, I strained to listen. I heard no screams, no alarms, no shouts. It was eerily quiet, and my nerves were sizzling as I readied myself for whatever might come. As badly as I wanted to rush straight toward the door, I had to make sure things were exactly as I thought. Taking a right, I circled the house, inspecting the area. The biggest surprise was the lack of a bunker. I double and triple checked. It was nowhere to be found. Owen must have either believed it was too much of an expense, hadn’t had time, or he wanted a more intimate experience and was inside the mansion with his dolls. That was fine. It meant there were fewer places for him to hide.
