Chapter 12 Royce
ROYCE
My body trembles, and my head aches from behind my eyes down to my spine.
Chills envelop me. Unable to bring myself to move, I keep seeing him.
His eyes shone a bright white as his mind controlled mine. Evil radiated from his aura.
Then my stomach drops.
Fuck.
Prince saw my mate’s mark. Beckham is now in danger because of me. Dread looms over me like a dark cloud, like the blood rain that terrorized me earlier this evening.
To be responsible for yet another death of someone who is my family, I won’t survive it.
But I will make you.
I startle.
His voice is haunting. And it’s now evident that my thoughts are no longer safe, and perhaps not even my own.
And I am going to make you watch.
Opening my eyes, I brace for the intrusion of brightness but awaken to darkness instead. For that, I am thankful. The ground beneath me is hard, cold cement. In an attempt to get my bearings, my torso rises slightly, but not even a crack of light is peeking through.
Touching my body, I feel a harsh, scratchy fabric against me. A men’s undershirt. It’s uncomfortable, but I am no longer exposed, which is a relief.
As I attempt to stand, I am quickly stopped by the low ceiling above me. My head hits it instantly, triggering the sharp pain in my head to intensify. I wince, lowering myself back down on the hard floor, squeezing my eyes shut, wishing it would stop.
The feeling of exhaustion washes over me, and I let out a large yawn, allowing sleep to take over. The multiple head traumas have most likely left me concussed, and I shouldn’t give in to the slumber, but to fight it only feels as if it will take more energy from me.
Heads or Tails?
The voice, which now haunts my dreams, wakes me. The concept of time has evaded me; darkness and nightfall are all that live here.
A hushed whisper leaves my dry mouth, “I won’t play your games.”
Defiance gets his dick hard, and ultimately I lose either way, so if to defy him means I am being true to myself, I will fight his wickedness.
“Please, baby, pick.”
The words sound pained, and my eyes shoot open.
“Don’t you fucking touch him!” I scream, and it sends sharp knife-like pain into my skull, but I will
sacrifice myself for him in any way I can.
What happens next is up to you. Heads or Tails?
And that includes giving in to his fucking games.
My voice shakes nervously. “Tails.”
I always liked the long game. To watch as they do what I command.
My brow furrows in confusion. Rage courses through me. And I am suddenly very awake. The sharp pain stabbing in my skull dissipates as my focus centers on Beckham.
“Prince! You motherfucker!”
An evil cackle follows.
I wish, but sadly both of yours are dead.
Time passes slowly, or does it?
Hours or days or weeks—I don’t have a clue how long it’s been.
The concept of time doesn’t exist here, wherever here is.
Sitting up on my knees, I place both hands above my head until they connect with the ceiling. What’s above is as hard and cold as what I sit on. I move my fingers around the space. Surely there has to be an opening, an entrance somewhere. I didn’t magically just end up in a hole, or did I?
Claustrophobia hits me like a tidal wave. Panic sends my mind into a tailspin. I feel as if I have just fallen through ice, in the middle of a lake, on a cold winter’s day. Freezing water sucks me in and feels like a thousand knives piercing my skin.
Hypothermia.
Opening my eyes, I look up, hands against the ice, unable to find the hole that I just plummeted through. Rapidly, I search and search, letting my last air bubble out, and my body weeps as I begin to fade. All hope is gone, and I let myself go, drifting off to the depths of no return.
And that is exactly how this feels, slapping the palms of my hands against the cold cement ceiling, hopelessly. Until I give one last bang, pleading, “Please,” and squeaky hinges respond.
Relief allows my body to relax. Sliding my hands above, a sharp edge catches my skin, telling me it’s wood. It’s a small wood door.
Then realization washes over me. Shit, I’m in a cold storage space. It’s the only thing that makes sense, with how tiny it is and the location of the overhead door. But how the fuck do I get out of it? I didn’t even know the manor had one of these.
And as I think about the manor, Agatha’s floating body comes to the forefront of my mind. A silver knife angled so perfectly at her thick throat. One movement and it would slice her open and release all life from her.
I would not mourn her, nor would I cry. A celebration of death would be held as I burned this forsaken place to the ground.
No other child should have to be placed here or put through her wrath.
And as much as I hate Prince, he didn’t deserve her shit either, because he was just a child; he could have been saved.
Prince was her favorite out of the two of us. You wouldn’t be able to tell immediately because she strived to make us both miserable and obedient, but my punishments were always worse than his. And Prince has always been suspicious of her but never acted on it until now.
He loves a long game, to watch and wait. To play them like a fucking fiddle and then laugh as they burn is his specialty. Just as he did with his parents before their untimely ending.
And with this one simple thought, his voice invades my inner sanctum once more.
Close your eyes and come on this ride with me.
I try to resist, but his abilities force them shut.
Heavy breathing fills my ears.
With my bare feet against the cool floor, I push my seated body backward.
Who is in here with me?
The hard wall hits sooner than expected, startling me. I gasp, freezing from fear.
A loud chuckle vibrates in the small space, only frightening me further.
Gripping my hair, I pull it hard at the roots, bringing my focus to the pain instead of terror. I find comfort in pain. Peace returns to me and the heavy breathing subsides, and that’s when it occurs to me… I was the one panting, breathing so heavily that I scared myself.
Being kept in the dark, alone, is starting to fuck with me.
I pull my hair harder, keeping my mind in the present, focused on the now, not allowing it to run away too far out of my reach. Just as I calm myself somewhat, the distinct ringing of our doorbell excites me.
Help is coming.
Loud bangs in quick succession follow as I see Prince arrogantly walking toward the door. He doesn’t bother looking through the peephole before opening it, rubbing the palms of his hands together. I get the feeling he knows who it is. I’m curious. I didn’t think Prince knew people.
With the creak of the old, un-oiled hinges, the door opens wide.
And in plain view is someone who shouldn’t fucking be at our front door.
Releasing my hair, with a closed fist, I slam the sides of my hands into the cement walls.
“You shouldn’t be here! Why are you here?” I scream in a fit of rage with saliva spitting out of my mouth. Some drips down my chin, and I allow it, because it doesn’t matter.
None of it matters if he is here.
Abruptly, the throbbing pain of my headache returns behind my eyes, but it doesn’t stop my emotions from flowing because another scream follows, and now it feels like there is a sharp knife stabbing me directly in the pupil of my eye.
Their mouths move, but my ears have stopped working. White noise fills my head, mixed in with the distant slapping sound of flesh pounding the wall.
Breaking slowly. My soul has a crack in its foundation, and my heart weeps.
Snot and tears mix with my drool. Why is he here?
Prince pulls him in without even touching him. His feet scrape against the floor, and the door slams, shaking the walls and frames decorating them.
Defeat absorbs into my body; a wallow of sorrow follows. “Baby, why did you come?”
Prince doesn’t just pull Beckham in; he slams his body into the staircase banister, the edge directly thrusting itself into his gut and causing him to immediately bring up bile.
Thick black locks fall over Beckham’s forehead as he is thrown backward into the wall behind him, knocking the wind out of him.
His head bounces, and I wince, but it doesn’t stop there.
The knife previously used on Agatha flies forward and comes within millimeters of Beck’s chest, just over his heart.
No!
My body slides down the wall until I am lying on my back.
My feet take me forward until I reach the other side of the small prison cell I’ve been placed in. The ticking of the clock from the living room takes over the space where white noise once lived. It’s toying with me. Motherfucker.
Raising my legs, I use my feet to feel for the door.
Prince taunts Beckham as he hangs in the air, and he slowly inches toward him, teasing, “I can taste your death, and I promise you, it is beautiful.”
Beckham’s bright white, sharp canines are on display, his muscles contracting in his neck and eyes going from dark brown to a vibrant red.
And my foster brother has the audacity to place his hand around his neck, squeezing tight.
“First, I’ll starve you. Make you crave crimson.
Then enter a state of delusion and frenzy.
Her scent will send you into a tailspin.
And as much as it would pain me to witness such an event, you would be unable to stop as you drink her dry.
Killing your mate and being left to live with it for an eternity.
” Prince pauses, chuckling at his perverse fantasy.
“That would almost be better than killing you myself.”
Sick bastard. He would relish something so inhumane and vile. With his cock in hand and a giant smile on his face, this is the kind of shit that gets him off.
My face turns, disgusted.