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She bleeds for me. Because of me.
“This didn't need to happen today, Banksy. It really didn’t. But you did this. You put yourself here.”
Lifting the machine up after the final drag, I turn it off and place it down. Grabbing the black bag beside me, I pull out some saline solution and gauze. I pour the solution over where I have just grafted, to make sure it doesn’t get infected. I’m not looking for a murder charge. Just a little fun during the holiday season. Once I have doused the area, I add the gauze on top then cover with medical tape, securing it in place.
Looking up at her, I notice her bottom lip is shaking. She’s going into shock. Motherfucker.
Tears still stream rapidly down her face. I pull a package of glucose tablets from my pants pocket, open them up and remove the sock from her mouth, “Landon, can you open the orange juice from the bag.”
He hasn’t said a word this entire time. Instead, he let me enjoy this moment between her and I.
Taking two tablets out and putting them in her mouth, Landon passes me the juice and I pour some in her mouth, “Swallow, these will help.” She listens, taking the pills and juice back. I grab a couple painkillers from the same pocket and slip them into her mouth and tell her to swallow again. She listens without hesitation.
Landon remains quiet. Still taking everything in.
Before standing up, I take the grafted skin off her stomach and throw them into my bag, then tie it off. I’ll leave the first aid supplies here, we will need to come back in a few hours to change her bandages.
“Keep her cuffed. I’ll watch her on the feed. She shouldn’t go into shock after what I gave her.” I instruct my brother.
Looking down, I admire my work, then glance to the brand my brother left, theHCLinked on her lower hip.
My cock is pressed against my pants, hard as a goddamn rock, while admiring our work. I do nothing to hide it, I’m not ashamed.
Now she has two brands to admire from her time here. To always remember what has happened here in the last twenty-four hours, and how she made us do this.
We are Coopers. We are our father’s sons. We may not be proud of being his kin, but with the last name comes a vast knowledge base on how to punish those who force our hand. And Banksy, you have fucking forced it.
14
LANDON
My room is pitch black. Curtains drawn shut, not allowing the rising sun to peek through. Just how I like it, how Ineedit. The silence may not bring peace to all, but it brings it to me. Surrounded by nothingness is calming to my mind.
It’s the morning of Christmas Eve. It has been a couple of nights since the skin grafting. We decided to let her heal a bit before continuing with her punishment. We’ve taken turns going down to feed her and tend to the open wounds. This has made her feel more comfortable with us, more trusting. While Hudson lives for inflicting pain and seeing the reactions immediately, this is where I shine. The long game. The smarter game, in my opinion, although my brother would disagree.
My body is a clock that won’t ever let me sleep in. It’s almost eight am and I’m laying in bed wide awake. Blowing out a breath of frustration, I roll out of my black silk sheets in only my black boxers, my inked torso on display. I don’t have a lot of ink, but the ink I do have, I have done myself. Art is a calming place for me; the pencil drawing along the paper, or the ink from the needle marking the skin. I lose sense of time when I’m creating, minutes quickly turning into hours. It’s a beautiful thing.
Sliding on a pair of black sweats, I head out of my room, walking down the hall and stopping at the linen closet. Opening it, I grab a thin white folded sheet and a smaller square pillow, placing both under my arm. I head downstairs. There’s no sign of life, which means Hud is still passed out upstairs. We have to make an appearance atDaddy Dearest’shouse today. It’s a few hours away, so the later we leave, the less time we have to spend there. That house is nothing but bad memories. Hud would give our father exactly the reaction he was looking for each time. A reason to punish. I think that’s where I learned about the long game. Not immediately reacting, how to play mind games. I suppose that is the one and only good thing I gained from being raised in that house.
We left the light on in the basement all night, and there is a sliver of it peeking under the door. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, then the mason jar of overnight oats I made from the counter, along with a spoon I head into the basement.
Easing my way downstairs, I can hear the chain from Banks’s movements. She’s not been to sleep yet, from what I can gather. I checked the cameras periodically throughout the night and her eyes were open every time. Hudson hasn’t noticed, but I am keeping the lights on all night and off during the day. Completely fucking with her sleep schedule.
Last night, I also added some death metal to her nighttime routine. I can hear it still playing from the portable speaker.
Taking the last step, my bare feet make contact with the cold concrete, and a chill runs up my spine. Turning my head, her eyes make her look like a wounded animal, a victim begging for help. Letting all her cards show, she’s ripe for the taking.
Bending down, I turn off the speaker. Still keeping my eyes on her.
“Hi, Landon.” The pathetic whimper leaves her dry and chapped lips. I ignore her and continue walking toward her. Theleftover gauze and first aid cream sits next to her on the floor. Taking in her small frame still in only her bra and panties, I place the water down before her and pass her the oats and a spoon. “Eat.”
Her sad eyes widen as her excited fingers reach out, taking it from me. She wastes no time inhaling the food. She is tiny and cannot afford to lose any more weight. Hud made fun of me the other night when I started doing this, but I don’t want to malnourish the girl, I only want to teach her what happens to bad, thieving little girls who can’t just shut up and do what they are fucking told. I watch in disgust as Banks shovels the food into her mouth. I am not even sure she is breathing between bites.
She looks up mid-bite. “Sorry. I’m so hungry. This is incredible. Thank you, Landon.”
Still not caring, I don’t respond.
A few more minutes pass, Banks places the jar on the ground with the spoon inside and takes a sip of water.
