17. Remy
Chapter seventeen
Remy
“Why me?” I ask as Kent and I approach the small silver car. “I have no military background, no tactical experience. Wouldn’t Rich have been better suited for this?”
The trees billowing around us sing a sad song, a haunting melody that whistles through the branches. The sun is bright in the clear sky, and the air smells like the fields of wildflowers surrounding us. It betrays nothing of the horror show that awaits us on the other side of all the brilliant colors.
“That’s why I chose you. Rich has a hard time hiding who he is.”
“And me?” I laugh. “If Davos knows I’m coming, wouldn’t you think his people know who to keep an eye out for?”
“No.” Kent assures me. “I promise you that even if they recognize you, these guys will think you’re here to partake.”
I won’t tell Kent, but I’m afraid of what we’ll see when we get in there. I’m even more afraid of what we might not see.
If Davos had warning, who’s to say he didn’t have the place cleared and the captives moved? The devastation of another failure is more than I think we can bear, and this time, I have the senator waiting in the wings. If this mission is a bust, I’ll lose the trust and belief he’s placed in me. He doesn’t seem convinced that Lauren was taken for a purpose, but even if Claire isn’t his daughter, he’s willing to help for her connection to the woman he clearly never stopped loving.
The window rolls down a sliver as we approach the passenger side, and the man in it cranes his neck to look out at us. “Michael? ”
“John Smith?” I ask, certain that this is the guy just by the way he looks at us… like we’re the hope he hasn’t dared to have.
“I—You’re him?”
“We’re here to help.” I assure him. “But you’re a big part of this. I need you to play it cool. Do what you always do.”
John Smith, which is certainly not his real name and just a pseudonym to try and protect him from our judgement, nods and unlocks the doors. I slip into the front seat while Kent slides into the back and leans into the center between us. The two of us switched into a nice set of suits before we got off the plane, and we look every bit the part we’re here to play.
I’ve played this part before, though never under the scrutiny of other men. And I never claimed to be a good actor. “I’m not a monster, you know?” John looks at Kent in the rearview mirror as he turns the key in the ignition. He’s quiet until the gates appear ahead of us, and he blurts out, “I was just lonely. I didn’t know when I first came what they… what they really do here.”
Kent squeezes his shoulder in what looks like reassurance. “We’re just a couple of friends here for a good time, okay, John? No judgement, no concerns. You’re just sharing the wealth.”
John nods, pulling up to the gate and swallowing back his fear as he presses the call button that’s situated between the statuesque legs of a woman’s form.
Classy.
The callbox next to the statue hums to life with static, and then a gruff voice says, “Ja?”
“I’m here for my appointment.” John says, craning his neck a little to speak louder into the box. “It’s John Smith.”
“Password, John Smith?”
“Vagabond.” John clears his throat, waiting for more from the guard on the other end of the callbox. But he says nothing, and a moment later, the gates grind open to allow us to pass.
John adjusts his hands on the steering wheel, and I can tell from over here that he’s sweaty. If he doesn’t calm down, he’s going to give us away before we even walk through the door. Fortunately, Kent is good at talking him down. He feeds him the assurance he needs, warning him that he has to get it together for his girl, and that seems to be all it takes to renew his confidence.
By the time we park and approach the big double doors, John seems to have taken on the confidence of a complete stranger, walking with his shoulders squared and not the faintest bit of nervousness. He presses the call button again, presumably gets the same guard he spoke to last time. He repeats the process as he did before, this time with a different password, “Voyeur”.
I’m sensing a theme, but I keep it to myself.
The doors click as they open automatically, and John pushes his way through them with a swagger. They close behind us automatically, just as they opened, and Kent and I focus on following John, taking in our surroundings just enough to pass off the illusion that we’re customers. There’s a desk set up in the center of the massive room, a great dark wood table with a woman sitting behind it, her eyes trained on the papers spread out before her. She doesn’t offer us any greeting as we approach, waiting until John stops before her. “Hello, Natalia.”
The woman looks up and manages a smile, though it’s tight and uninterested. “Hello, Mr. Smith. You’ve brought friends?”
“I did.” John nods for her. “I was telling some of my colleagues about this place, and they wanted to come check it out for themselves.”
“Of course.” Natalia agrees, standing and smoothing the black pencil skirt clinging to her thighs. “Right this way, gentlemen.”
She doesn’t spare a glance at Kent or I as she leads us off to the right, down a hall where iron bars block the path. She gestures to the baroque looking gold couch next to the gate, and I follow John’s lead, sitting down as Natalia passes a clipboard to Kent and another to me. “You’ll need to fill out your intake form, and I’ll need a copy of your I.D.s. ”
I glance at Kent anxiously as he reaches for his wallet with zero hesitation, pulling his ID out and passing it between his fingers for her to take. I didn’t bring a fake, and Kent seemed confident that my real identity won’t blow our cover, so I reluctantly hand mine over as well.
Natalia leaves us with our IDs in hand and saunters away on her heels, little clicks echoing through the drafty old walls. It’s weird, how quiet it is here.
It’s unsettling, and I’m not even sure why.
I turn my eyes to the paperwork before me, wondering whether I’m applying for a loan or visiting a brothel. I know Davos takes the utmost precautions with the auctions, but I never imagined his process here to be so… sophisticated. I scan down the page, filling out the waiver, agreeing to their privacy policy, and releasing them from any liability that may occur on the premises.
Kent fills out his form easily, like this isn’t the most barbaric thing he’s ever done, and I start to second guess him as my stomach churns at what we’re about to see. John, meanwhile, stands with one hand in his pocket and his phone in the other, scrolling as if he’s bored.
When Natalia comes back to return our IDs, she takes the applications and nods toward the gate, where she presses a small doorbell. A guard appears a moment later, dressed in the uniform I’ll be stealing off of his body. His face is obscured by a wide-brimmed cap, which is weird given that we’re indoors, but I don’t contemplate it as he fits a key in the lock and slides the grate open to allow us entrance.
John leads the way, entering the long hallway. It’s dimly lit, but I can see another grate at the end of it, and realize we’re caged in now, without any weapons of our own. I fucking hope that Kent knows what he’s doing.
There’s an alcove to the right and one to the left a little further down, the space lit by torches even though I know the place has electricity. I guess they like the medieval ambiance. The guard leads us to the first alcove, where he demands we empty our pockets, take off our belts, and runs a metal wand over us looking for any bits of metal. I suppose they really do treat it like a prison.
Once he’s been assured that we aren’t smuggling our own weapons in, he leads us into what I can only consider an armory. Guns sit displayed in a glass case, resting upon a velvet cloth, and knives adorn the long wall behind them… they have varying lengths, different striations in the teeth, different materials for the handle. My stomach twists again as I look at them, and when I tear my attention away it only gets worse. “If you’d like to take anything from the a la carte menu, you may add it to your purchase now.” The guard says, his thick accent sounding uninterested.
The sex toys are in a glass case to the right, and I’m not sure if I should be more outraged about them using the same toys for all their prisoners or the fact that they allow weapons to be used upon them. They’re both despicable in very different ways.
Kent taps his mouth thoughtfully as he runs his hands along the edge of the case, appraising the offering of dildos in varying colors and lengths. I recognize some of it—gags, clamps, handcuffs, vibrators. Other things, I don’t recognize. I turn my eyes away from them and glance up at the wall of knives again, looking for one with a clean edge. I’m not looking to make a mess.
John chooses some stuff that makes me think is his usual order, while Kent picks out a horribly huge double-ended dildo, handcuffs, a serrated knife, and a gun.
When I catch his eye, he smirks. “I like to stuff all the holes at once.”
I squeeze out a laugh that feels like I’m choking on desert sand, and we follow the guard back through the hall to the main room, where he passes us off to Natalia to make our payments. None of us balk at the quarterly cost, choosing an hour without hesitation, and Natalia runs our cards as a set of men come out of the long hallway opposite.
One guard, and the customer, with his black suit and an embarrassed grin on his face.
“Sorry about that,” the customer says, running a hand through his slicked back hair anxiously. “I never would have guessed she had a heart problem. I just love how tight her pussy got when I shocked her.”
“She wasn’t listed as having a heart problem.” Natalia frowns, looking up at him as if we’ve ceased to matter right now. She sighs, clearly irritated about something, and then glances down at the computer screen before her. “Tell you what? She’s probably still warm, if you wanna pay for another fifteen?”
The man licks his lips in thought, and I find myself staring at him as he contemplates the offer.
“Will you comp the cables for it?”
“Sure.” Natalia shrugs, unbothered.
“Add it to my tab.” The man says, turning to go back to whatever hell he just emerged from.
“Necrophilia?” Kent asks, his voice much lighter than mine could be right now. He almost sounds intrigued.
Natalia shrugs, clicking around on the computer as she processes his payment. “It’s a niche kink, but you never know until you try it. At least we’ll get one last use from 1847 before we dispose of her.”
John murmurs his agreement, and I think I must be the crazy one because everyone else is doing a damn good job acting like that isn’t the most horrifying thing they’ve ever heard. “And you’re paying the upcharge for a private room?”
“Yes,” we say in unison.
Can’t have cameras watching what we’re about to do. The cells are monitored and recorded, but private rooms allow discretion—for a hefty fee.
“Thank you, sir.” Natalia hands Kent’s card back to him and takes mine, processing the payment I blindly agreed to. “Here you are, Mr. Boudreaux.” She hands my card back to me, and then bends down to grab something from below her desk, offering us a view of her tits pushed together in the red top she’s wearing.
The menus.
She gives one to Kent and the other to me, grinning at John when she says, “The usual, sir?”
“Yes.” John agrees easily.
I take my time surveying my options for Natalia’s benefit, as if I hadn’t already memorized every face in these pages. They’ve haunted me all week, keeping me from sleep, and I suspect even if we save them all, I won’t sleep for at least another week.
Kent sighs, glancing up to see Natalia watching him. “Are you on the menu, sweetheart?”
Natalia manages a smile. “I’m not, but there is a very nice selection. Inmate 1724 is a fan favorite.”
Kent glances down, checking to see if the suggestion is to his taste. “But everything has a price, right? Name yours.”
Natalia laughs shrilly, and I can’t tell if she appreciates being propositioned or not. “I don’t have a price because I am not on the menu.”
“Mm.” Kent agrees. “So, what if I order off menu? I prefer to dine al fresco, anyway.”
Natalia shakes her head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong.” Kent says, his voice taking on a dangerous quality. “Call your master and we’ll see just how much you’re worth to him.”
Natalia’s eyes widen and her face flushes as she casts a quick glance around, as if her masters could be lurking. “I…”
“Or we could make a more direct deal. Cut out the middleman?”
“Sir, I…”
“Tick Tock, Natalia. You know my time is money, and I know yours is, too.”
Her eyes glance up at me, and then turn back to Kent. “And what did you have in mind, sir? ”
Kent grins, picking up a pen from the desk and writing a figure on it that makes Natalia’s eyes widen again. She glances at his receipt, no doubt thinking about what he ordered off the a la carte menu and wondering whether it’s worth it. I’m sure Natalia is trying to decide if a little temporary torture is worth the chance to pay whatever debt is keeping her a hostage here.
“Very well.” She agrees.
The guard laughs at her. “You’re gonna piss the masters off, you dirty bird.”
“I’m a woman free to fuck whomever I please for whatever sum I wish.” Natalia replies curtly, her eyes snapping to me. “Have you made a selection? The men are at the back, if that’s your preference?”
“Just so many options.” I sigh to cover the nausea threatening to turn my stomach. “But I think I’ll have this one.” I point at the picture, and Natalia smiles a little.
“Our special of the day. Good choice, Mr. Boudreaux.”
The way she says my name tells me she knows who I am, but nobody’s come to escort me off the premises yet, so I guess I’ll just lean in. “I’m assuming your special is usually more compliant as the day wears on and I won’t have to resort to excess force?”
Natalia offers me a small smile. “You may use as much force or as little as you wish, but I assure you by this point, it is well aware of the consequences for failure to comply.”
It .
Kent is assuming that Natalia is a victim here in some capacity, but given her blasé attitude, I have to wonder whether she isn’t here by her own volition. She taps around on the computer, presses a few keys, and then smiles. “The products are being delivered to your room as we speak. If you will have a seat, the escorts will be here momentarily to show you to your room. We hope you enjoy your stay.”
John and I go to sit together, waiting for the guards to come back for us, while Natalia catches Kent’s eye and gestures for him to follow her. He does, tailing her up the steps that she ascends quickly, unhindered by the stilettos on her feet.
I breathe a sigh of relief when she’s gone, wondering what Kent’s game is here. Next to me, John flips through a menu that has been left on the coffee table, as if we’re just at the car dealer waiting on an oil change or something.
We aren’t alone long when two guards come from opposite directions to gather us. “Mr. Boudreaux,” the first says, ushering me toward the other staircase that Kent and Natalia didn’t go up.
“Inmate 4152 is currently in use,” the other man tells John. “But they’re just finishing up. I’ll escort you to the room in just a minute.”
John nods, though he looks displeased that someone else has visited the person he’s here to see. “Have fun!” He calls behind me. His laugh follows me up the steps that I trail the guard on. My eyes focus on the briefcase in his hand, assuming that’s where the knife I ordered is stashed.
I’m going to have a very slim window of opportunity here, but my anxiety has gone away only to be replaced with fury. I’ll kill every guard in this place myself, and Natalia too, and I’ll do it without remorse. I haven’t even seen the cells yet, and I’m already so rattled by the horrors here that I want to burn it to the ground. And I will, just as soon as we finish what we started.
We studied the schematics of the castle from before it landed in Davos’ ownership, and with the information John gave Michael, I know when we pass the second-floor landing that the control room is just down there. Once I overtake my chaperone here, I’ll backtrack this way and meet Kent for shift change. A glance at my watch assures me we have twenty minutes left… plenty of time.
Hopefully John has the wherewithal to lie low, given that our timelines will differentiate.