Chapter 4
LOCATION UNKNOWN
Bryson heard the key entering the lock before the click of the deadbolt signaled an arrival. On his feet, Bryson felt his body easily push any tiredness away as Sabin walked through the door.
He was tall with broad shoulders, a grin plastered on his face peeking through an unruly black beard.
“Boss has something special in mind for you today,” Sabin said.
Bryson didn’t say anything.
He never spoke to them.
Instead, he just stood there, eyes never leaving Sabin’s. These days there were a lot of things he didn’t know, but one thing Bryson knew for sure was that Sabin didn’t know shit about what Regan had planned.
Bryson hated all the lackeys. Hated going through the motions, hated playing the docile prisoner. But he couldn’t risk jeopardizing Kaydon and Seth’s safety. And right now, their safety hinged on one thing.
A secret between him and Regan.
Something he couldn’t even risk telling Seth and Kaydon about.
So instead of telling Sabin he was full of shit, Bryson just waited until the door to his cell was open before punching the smug smile right off his face.
Sabin was momentarily stunned before he regained his senses and grabbed Bryson. Hand at the back of his neck, Bryson didn’t struggle further as Sabin smashed his face, not once but twice, into his cell bars.
The taste of copper filled his mouth, and Bryson spat blood on the floor.
His hand was twisted painfully behind his back, and Bryson caught Kaydon’s anguished look out of the corner of his eye.
The distance between them was killing Bryson.
Just a little longer.
Bryson tried to convey with his eyes that he was okay. That they didn’t need to worry.
Another guard locked the basement door as Sabin and Bryson passed through. Bryson allowed himself to be guided through the house and to the double white doors without any further incident.
Sabin raised his meaty hand to knock, but the door opened just prior.
Bryson was sure to give Regan a bloody smile just as he appeared in the doorway.
Regan’s gaze shifted to Sabin, eyes darkening. “What happened?”
“The fucker hit me,” Sabin said.
Bryson didn’t need to look at Regan. He could feel the anger crackling in the air. In an instant, the arm holding Bryson’s was dropped and Sabin was backed across the hall.
Bryson could see Regan’s fingers curling around Sabin’s neck, and he could hear the man struggling. No doubt clawing for some much-needed oxygen.
“My prisoners get punished by my hand or my orders,” Regan said, inches from Sabin’s face. “When they bleed, they bleed because of me.”
Bryson ignored the chill that broke out on the back of his neck.
For the first two weeks, they had bled because of him.
Bryson had watched helplessly while Regan and his goons took turns cutting, belting, or hitting Seth and Kaydon.
Bryson endured the same treatment, but he would have preferred it to be him that was dragged out of the cell.
Rather than endure the torture of watching.
Every mark, every ill-intentioned touch was cataloged in Bryson’s mind. He would never forget what was done and by whom. And he would never forgive.
A few moments passed, and Bryson wondered if Regan was going to kill Sabin right there in the hallway. He couldn’t decide how he would feel about it, actually.
Regan released the man, and Sabin fell to the ground, coughing.
Regan turned on his heels and entered the room. Bryson didn’t need an invitation. He moved purposefully behind him, shutting the doors.
The space was the same as it had been the last several times Bryson had been in there. At a glance, it might appear to be a bedroom, with its large four-poster bed and attached bathroom. But if anyone spent any time in there at all, they would quickly realize it was more than a bedroom.
It was a well-designed torture chamber.
Bryson stood a few paces away from Regan, allowing his body to feel the energy.
Regan stood, arms crossed, just breathing.
“Is this how we are going to play it today?” Bryson said.
Regan took in a breath, running his eyes up and down Bryson’s form. Bryson’s skin crawled.
“Maybe I don’t feel like the usual today,” Regan said.
Bryson closed the rooms in his mind that led to Seth and Kaydon. With steel in his eyes, he locked his mind tight before closing the distance with Regan.
He reached Regan in two swift strides. Grabbing his chin roughly, he said, “Just because you play hard to get doesn’t make what’s about to happen any less likely.”
Bryson’s fingers pressed into the contour of Regan’s jaw. He could snap his neck or break his jaw so easily. Regan would crumple like a bag of dirty laundry at his feet. The image made Bryson smile.
He leaned in, his breath hot on Regan’s neck, bringing his lips to the edge of Regan’s ear. Hand still on his jaw, he whispered, “Get on your knees.”
Regan’s jaw moved in his hand, but Bryson held on tight.
“I think today I want to play things differently,” Regan said.
Bryson had no intention of doing things differently today. Regan was a dangerous psychopath, and Bryson couldn’t afford to let him out to play. Bryson took a step back, leveling Regan with full eye contact; he needed Regan to know he would not mess around.
“The fuck we are,” Bryson said. “You have a need, and I’m here to take care of it. You want to start messing with me? You might lose your chance.”
Regan feigned boredom, leaning against the wall and yawning. “I’ll just get Sabin to bring up Seth or Kaydon. See how tough you are when they are under the knife?”
Bryson felt his control slipping.
“Or maybe,” Regan said, “I should have one of my men pay your precious Adria a visit?”
Now it was Bryson’s turn to fake boredom. Adria could handle herself. But this was the first time Regan had mentioned her by name, and Bryson preferred for things to stay as simple as possible given the circumstances.
The fact was, Regan didn’t want to bring his brothers up here. Nor did he want to hurt Adria, at least not at this moment.
What Regan wanted was for Bryson to hurt him. For Bryson to force him.
Regan enjoyed causing pain, but he had a secret.
The first time they were alone together, Bryson had planned to kill him. Bryson thought it was odd that Regan had been willing to be alone with him. But in hindsight, it all made sense.
As soon as the door closed, Bryson had launched himself at Regan. Wrestling on the floor, he bested Regan easily. Ending up on top, straddling him, with his hands wrapped around his throat. Bryson’s fingers were so close to crushing his windpipe when Regan said, “My father says hello.”
Something about the way he said it, the certainty in his eyes, made Bryson ease up. It was then that Regan spilled the beans about his relationship with Jonathan.
Once Bryson knew the truth, the resemblance to the Triune’s mouthpiece was unmistakable, and the pieces started to fall into place.
But there was still one missing.
One big giant piece that still eluded Bryson.
The three of them out of the way benefited who?
The why was a problem, but the more pressing issue was Jonathan. If something happened to Regan, Bryson knew Jonathan would go after Adria.
That was another thing Regan spilled while pressed beneath him. His father came to visit from time to time and he had questions for Bryson.
“Why are you telling me this?” Bryson asked, fingers loose at Regan’s neck.
Regan’s pupils dilated, and his tongue flicked out of his mouth. “I want to have some fun with you, but there needs to be some rules.”
Bryson felt his gut turning, but he kept eye contact with the predator beneath him. “And what would those be?” he asked.
The rules were simple. Keep their time a secret. No visible marks. If Regan died, his brothers and Adria would die. In exchange, Seth and Kaydon were safe.
So, Bryson didn’t kill Regan that day. Or the next or the next.
More times than he wanted to count he had been pulled up here to play Regan’s sick games. But his brothers were safe, and Bryson had a plan.
He just needed to wait until Jonathan visited Regan.
“This isn’t part of our deal,” Regan said, bringing Bryson back to the present.
“No, it isn’t,” Bryson snapped, stalking over to Regan.
“You,” he said, poking a finger into his shoulder, “are supposed to be on your knees, begging me to stop. But instead, you’re fucking around with your normal bullshit.
You wanna go back on our deal and bring my brothers up here, be my guest. But do it, and I’m done. We’re done.”
The words felt like poison on his lips.
Regan’s eyes assessed him.
Bryson steeled himself. If Regan called his bluff, he would be forced to move up his timeline.
Whatever Regan saw in Bryson’s eyes must have convinced him, because he nodded and jerked his chin towards the far wardrobe.
There, now they were getting somewhere.
Bryson moved to the large closet, anxious to see the special surprise Regan had for him today.
In their many sessions, the pair had engaged in several risky activities. Including breath play, waterboarding, forced orgasms and knife play, but nothing would have prepared him for the Picana in the closet.
A copper tube about a foot-and-a-half long and the handle was connected to a large car battery.
“I want to use it on you first,” Regan whispered from right behind him.
Bryson’s skin pimpled at the proximity.
The Picana was an electric torture device. It delivered high-voltage shocks applied in short increments. Its design was specifically meant to deliver a high amount of pain while keeping its victims alive. Portable and easy to use, it was a common torture method.
Any feelings Bryson had in the moment had to be pushed aside.
Regan could and would smell any hint of weakness.
Hands gripping the device, Bryson didn’t even need to take a steadying breath.
The weeks together had solidified what Bryson’s father had started.
When he turned to face Regan, Bryson was a stone wall.
“Take it then,” Bryson said.