Chapter 20
KANE
The flight to Austria was tense. I didn’t even quiz my uncle on when or how he learnt to fly a jet.
His warning is the only thing in the forefront of my mind when I’ve left Delilah with the bitch who ordered a child to be murdered because of gossip.
A child who couldn’t walk without a crutch, who just lost her mother, her home, then some sick fucking cunt set a pack of dogs on her.
Snow crunches under the tires of Lennox’s SUV as we drive to the creepy cabin.
Rowan has already called him to request an update on when I’ll be delivered.
The sound of his name in my head turns my stomach, now that I know his curiosities.
Asher used to call his sadistic interests the same thing too, brushing them off as intrigue.
The vile jigsaw pieces force me to understand my mom as I control my breathing.
She was so afraid whenever it came up and my dad would be deep in thought for weeks after—because they’d witnessed it before.
The sun is starting to come up, reflecting off the stark white snow, making me squint from the glare in the open space. Lennox leans across the car to flick my visor down.
“For someone who doesn’t want kids, you’re being a dad right now,” I mutter.
“Wanting and having are different sentiments, little shadow.”
I don’t know how strong his loyalty is, so I don’t offer him a chance to leave with Delilah and me. It would be quicker if he’s involved. He could give her the answers she needs, which we could leverage for our safety. But I can’t gauge what he’s thinking to know if he’d ruin our planning.
Rowan is waiting for us on the front step when we pull up to the cabin.
This time, he doesn’t have his phone at his ear or the little boy at his side.
I know he hurt Delilah. I hate him for that alone.
Yet hurting a child is unfathomable. It’s one of the things that was even agreed upon amongst the prisoners while I was inside.
He holds his arm out, smiling as I get out of the car.
“Welcome, dear nephew. The entertainment is waiting for you.”
“I don’t need entertainment,” I grit.
Lennox remains two steps behind as the dickhead in front of me gives me his back, walking into the cabin.
He doesn’t guide us to the room we were in before.
Instead, he walks through a set of steel doors and up a flight of stairs.
We stop as he takes a mirrored mask from a hook on the wall then fits it over his head.
There’s another set of steel doors before we reach a large room full of people wearing mirrored masks.
A woman cowers in the corner with only her hair to cover her as she bows her head so the long red strands flow down over her chest with her hands clasped in front of her in an attempt to maintain some dignity in this fucking place.
It’s the boy still dressed in a pair of paper-thin shorts who has my focus. Rowan opens his hand and I turn, but my own horrified reflection stares back at me because Lennox has one of the fucking masks too.
Me, the boy who takes Rowan’s hand, and the woman are the only ones exposed.
My heart is going to fucking explode. It beats in an odd rhythm, battering against my chest as one by one the mirrored masks line up in front of the woman.
Rowan strokes the top of the boy’s head and asks, “Would you like to choose tonight, sweet boy?”
“No, Master,” he croaks. “You know better than me.”
What in the ever-living fuck is wrong with him?
It can’t be something sick. He’s just a kid and these are grown adults. Rowan raises his free hand to the lined-up guards, announcing, “Entertain me. Your prize is waiting.” He ruffles the boy’s hair.
I’m frozen in place, useless as the first masked guard steps forward, lowering his zipper. The woman doesn’t scream or lift her chin. There’s no fight as she’s violated.
I can’t escape the image with all the fucking mirrors in the room, reflecting every angle of her abuse. They’re not content with forcing themselves inside her body. They degrade her, devalue her soul in the same ways still haunting me.
She’s forced to her knees.
Slapped.
Punched.
Kicked.
Pissed on.
Her mouth forced open as some of them push their fingers into her ass, depositing the contents on her tongue.
And she doesn’t fight.
She’s like me.
The knife I tucked into my boot during the flight scrapes against my ankle as I manage to break through the ice setting into my limbs.
The first step is mechanical. Pained. Each subsequent step is worse.
The pain allows me to move until I struggle to remain a grasp on reality then it all flickers, mixing the image in front of me with the one from my memories.