Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
L ondyn
After using the restroom and splashing her face with cool water, Londyn put away the contents of her duffle bag. Her clothes fit into one drawer of the sleek system built into the walk-in closet. The pair of tennis shoes she had packed from her sister’s house were placed neatly on the built-in rack where they appeared embarrassingly out of place.
Perching in one of the chairs by the row of windows, she looked out over the stunning view. There were endless swathes of trees and the distant glimmer of a lake in the distance, but no other houses could be seen. If she managed to escape the cabin, there was nowhere to go. She couldn’t even be sure where this house was located, although she suspected she was still in Colorado.
She shifted on the chair, the soreness of her bottom a blazing reminder of the spanking and the humiliation of having a thumb shoved inside her. Her captor had no mercy in his twisted soul. He would kill her the moment he grew tired of her.
“What am I going to do?” Londyn wiped tears from her cheeks, hating how easily they flowed. She had to be stronger than this. Stronger and smarter. She must remember her psychology studies and use everything she knew against Oliver Winter.
It would not be easy, especially since he had so easily tapped into a hidden portion of her psyche and discovered how to manipulate her. He commanded, she folded. Realizing that she was complicit in her destruction made her sick.
She had sworn to obey him. Promised to willingly kneel in exchange for her sister’s care and safety. There was no other choice but to do what he demanded and survive long enough to get away.
He had not locked her inside her bedroom. Maybe it was some kind of test. If she could gain his trust and show him that she would not run, he might grow comfortable with her submission and drop his guard. And as much as she feared the reality of being at his mercy, she would do what was necessary. She would obey him. Appease him. Make him trust her.
And strike when he least expected it.
When Oliver returned as promised just a short time later, he had a bottle of water and a ham sandwich for her.
“Best I can whip up in a hurry.” Setting the tray on the dresser, he waved a hand toward it. “I took a chance and decided you liked ham.”
Londyn nodded. She wasn’t really hungry, but she would devour that sandwich if it meant keeping him calm. She must appear appreciative of everything he did for her, regardless of how small. It was how one stroked the ego of a sociopath—making them feel like the most important and most interesting person in the room. She did not get up from the chair where she’d sat, waiting his return. She didn’t want to move and give him the impression that she might be thinking of darting past him.
“I like ham and cheese. Thank you,” she said softly, frozen like a rabbit avoiding the predatory gaze of a wolf.
His head tilted as if he knew her game plan. “You’re welcome, Londyn. Make yourself comfortable. In fact, I advise that you take this opportunity to get some rest. We’ll both need it.” His beautiful light-blue eyes darkened as they raked her body. “You, especially, will find the coming days exhausting.”
Without another word, he turned, exiting the room as Londyn slumped in relief that he had not tried to touch her.
For days, he left her alone in her room. She was positive it was a test to ensure she followed his commands. Londyn obeyed. Not once did she attempt to leave the bedroom, although she was aware that the door was unlocked. Oliver delivered her meals, silently watched her eat, and took the dishes with him when she was done.
Londyn was glad that their interactions were brief. But she could not ignore the uneasy feeling that something momentous was coming. So, she remained on high alert while she spent the days watching the woods outside the large windows, sleeping, or reading a book from the selection provided in the room’s built-in bookcase. Eventually, Oliver would claim what he had purchased, and that reality was so terrifying that it gave her nightmares.
One morning, the soft sound of the door clicking open made Londyn leap from the chair. Wrapping her arms around her midriff, she stared at her captor as he leaned against the doorjamb. He was tense, an unsettled air emanating from him had grown since they arrived at this house.
His eyes, so piercingly blue, pinned her in place, and Londyn couldn’t do anything other than tremble. Something bad was about to happen. She could feel it.
“What a good girl you are. Staying put, like I told you,” Oliver said in a low voice. He held a bundle of clothes in his arms and tossed them onto a small bench beside the door. A few of the items appeared to be very expensive and exquisitely designed lingerie. In different circumstances, she would have squealed with delight at seeing the lovely items, but the sight of them caused her heart to thump wildly.
“Where would I go?” Londyn was afraid even to blink as the corners of his firm mouth quirked up.
“Where indeed?” His gaze swept over her body, then narrowed. “You’re crying.”
Londyn quickly wiped her cheeks clear of any lingering moisture. She did not respond to the accusation. Of course she had been crying. She was at the mercy of a monster and held as an prisoner inside this room for three days.
Oliver studied her for a few more seconds, then crooked his finger. “Come here, Londyn.”
As if approaching the execution block, Londyn glided toward the man holding her hostage. The closer she got, the more uneasy she became. The dark frustration rolling off him scared her. When she reached him, she stood silently, dreading what might happen.
His hand came up, and Londyn could not help herself when she flinched. The ice blue of his eyes darkened as he trailed a forefinger down her cheek and across her jawline until he reached her chin. Applying pressure to the underside of it, he forced it upward so there was nowhere else to look other than him.
“My brother believes I can be a hero,” Oliver remarked, his tone distant and contemplative. It was as though the possibility was a foreign concept and one impossible to obtain. “But he knows me. Knows how we grew up. Knows the things I’ve done. There is nothing good inside me; he knows that better than anyone. He doesn’t want to see it. He’s fucking in love, and now, he’s blind to everything else. But in our world, it’s dangerous not to recognize the wickedness of others.”
Londyn said nothing. Oliver had a brother? Did he have any influence over the man imprisoning her? Was it possible that he could help?
Her thoughts ran rampant until Oliver slid his thumb over her bottom lip, demanding entrance. He stroked her tongue and then thrust it further into her mouth in a crude imitation of a blow job.
“You are going to bleed for me, Londyn. You will do it because you want me. You will do it because you know I’ll hurt you and then lick the wounds I create. You will discover that I am no fucking hero. So, you can cut me open even more if you want. See for yourself that I have no heart; that any pleas for mercy will be wasted.”
His voice was soft and resolute. He meant every word, and Londyn shivered as she recognized the truth of his statement. Her life lay in the hands of the Devil, and that’s where it would end eventually.
Oliver removed his thumb and rubbed it over her mouth, painting her lips with salvia before wrapping his hand around her throat. He gripped it so hard that Londyn could hardly draw in a full breath. Then he leaned forward, licking the tears from her cheeks. His lip brushed over hers with brutal tenderness until she tasted the salt. “Are you ready to see just how much of a villain I am?”
Londyn’s heart pounded with such ferocity she felt sick. “I’ll do whatever you want, just please, don’t hurt me.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option. So much of what I’m going to do to you will be painful. But I promise I’ll make it feel good.”
She could not grasp that concept, her brain struggling to understand how pain could be pleasurable. Oliver laughed at her obvious confusion.
“Oh, Londyn. We’re going to have so much fun, you and me. You had your first lesson when I spanked your sweet little ass. Now, it’s time for another— only this will be for my pleasure.” Letting her go, he grabbed something black and silky from the pile of clothes he had dropped on the bench. It was a slip of a nightdress with spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline. It hardly looked long enough to cover her ass, and Londyn knew that was intentional.
“Put it on,” he directed with a smirk. “And don’t worry about underwear. I want you bare beneath it.”
Almost woodenly, Londyn did as she was told. She carefully folded her yoga pants and T-shirt into neat squares, tugged off her bra and panties, and then slipped the negligee over her head. It settled over her body like it was made for her, the material soft against her skin and hugging her curves. Oliver reached out, quickly ripping off the tag still attached to the garment. She caught sight of the price stamped on the item before he crumpled it and tossed it onto the bench. A thousand dollars. A thousand dollars for this scrap of silk.
“Much better. From now on, I don’t want to see you in anything other than the clothes I give you.” His voice was husky with desire. With a frown, he picked up the tail end of the braid she’d woven her hair into early that morning and pulled off the elastic band that held it all in place. With tender care, he untangled the plait, combing his fingers through the strands until it lay in dark, wavy curls.
Londyn stood like a statue, not daring to breathe as he pushed the dark mass of her hair until it tumbled down her back. Then he grabbed a handful of it within his fist, tilting her head back. Oliver studied her carefully, holding her gaze for so long she thought he might be reconsidering whatever he had planned for her.
“You are so beautiful, Londyn. And while I’m sure my money was well-spent, now is the time to confirm it.”
She did not resist as he took her by the hand and led her from the bedroom toward the downstairs portion of the house. Londyn caught quick glimpses of elegant rooms decorated in an eclectic mix of both sleek modernism and edgy rustic touches. Everything was black and dark wood with chrome accents and luxurious furs that she couldn’t be sure were real or not. The fox fur blankets, the bearskin rugs… it all certainly looked real.
Behind a gourmet kitchen outfitted with all the newest and shiniest chef-grade appliances was a steel door that looked like the entrance to a vault. A fingerprint keypad was an additional security fixture to the heavy locking bolt. Oliver halted before it and turned to Londyn, smiling at her wide eyes.
“Before we go any further, I want to make sure you understand what I expect from you.” His hand curled under her chin. “You will give me your complete obedience inside this room. Defiance or refusal will result in punishments, which will vary depending on the severity of your transgression. Remember, Londyn, you agreed to this in exchange for your sister’s care and the money I have directed to be utilized for that purpose. Do we understand one another on this?”
Londyn clenched her teeth, her stomach roiling with fright and anger. “Yes. I understand.” She could not stop the words that poured from her next. They were like a runaway torrent; she could no longer hold it back than she could dam up a tidal wave. “And I understand that you are a sociopath with an undiagnosed need for control. A need to prove ownership of things you’ve never earned or deserve. Tattooing the word on your knuckles does not give you the right to take or steal whatever you want. You’ve no right to demand my submission while dangling my sister’s safety over my head like some damn carrot. But I have no choice. I will do what you want. I will do it, and I will hate you with every breath in my body. You need therapy, Oliver Winter. Or maybe a bullet. I believe the latter is the only cure for the depths of your sickness.”
Oliver stood motionless, his blue eyes cold and hard as he stared her down, listening silently to her vitriol. A muscle clenched in his stubbled jaw, and his lips tightened. His fingers flexed around her chin before slowly lowering his hand to her throat. His right hand—the tattooed one. That hand encircled her neck, pushing until her back was flush against the wall. That same hand began to squeeze as a smirk flitted across his face.
“Mouthy little dove,” Oliver murmured, removing her ability to breathe with frightening calm. “Don’t you think I know that? I’m very aware of my shortcomings. And as for therapy… you’re going to help with that in more ways than you could possibly dream of.”
Keeping her pinned to the wall, he raised his free hand and pressed his thumb to the keypad. The lights blinked red, then green, and the sound of a lock opening reached Londyn through the roaring in her ears. She clutched the hand around her throat to loosen his grip, but Oliver simply chuckled. Only after he had thrown the bolt to the door and let it swing open did he let her go so she could frantically suck in a breath of air.
All Londyn could see were stairs leading into darkness, but as he pushed her ahead of him, sconces on the wall immediately lit up, activated by their movement. She stumbled down the concrete steps, holding a hand to the cold stone wall to keep her balance as Oliver prodded her to keep moving. When they reached the bottom, she sucked in a whimper of alarm as he flipped on a light switch. Illumination filled the entirety of the space, revealing gadgets and devices of all kinds. She had no idea what most of this stuff was, but it all appeared to be instruments of pain.
A cage of thick steel bars took up one corner. It was not nearly as ornamentally pretty as the one at Diamond Lake Ranch. This one seemed designed to contain a dangerous prisoner. A small twin-size bed with iron bars for a footboard and headboard stood in the middle of the enormous room. No linens other than a white fitted sheet covered the mattress. Nearby, a harness-type contraption resembling a diabolical swing hung from a lowered truss system.
Along dark-gray walls, silvery chains with manacles dangled from rings embedded in the thick mountain stone. An illuminated cabinet closer to the steps they had just descended held a dizzying array of whips, paddles, and crops, all contained behind glass and lit up like a rare art display. In one corner stood a large formation in the shape of an X. Cuffs hung from rings drilled into the wood, and Londyn swallowed hard. She knew what that was. She saw one on the dark web while searching for auctions she could enter. A blindfolded girl had been strapped to it, a man standing behind her with a leather whip gripped tight in his gloved hand.
Oh, God.
This is what Oliver had planned for her.
Torture. Degradation. Pain.
She could scream and scream, and no one would ever hear her. They were far below the main foundation of the house above them. The air was cool, the room windowless with corners as dark as midnight. But despite the obvious, dungeon-like atmosphere, there were undeniable touches of expensive luxuries. Recessed lighting cast warm, golden pools of light over the main components of the room. A beautiful couch upholstered in blood-red velvet occupied one of the many alcoves, and a thick abstract rug of black and gray defined that area. Hidden speakers played a hauntingly seductive tune Londyn had never heard before, and sconces crafted of black iron and diamondlike fractured glass adorned the walls and threw off a low, flickering light.
Oliver watched Londyn as she gazed around the room. She could tell that he liked the fear she could not hide. Liked the horror in her expression as she took in the implements of torture. He liked scaring her. It was part of what made him tick. It excited him.
For some unholy reason, her pulse began racing. Adrenaline scorched her veins, and for reasons she could not yet completely face, Londyn trembled with realization.
She felt more alive in this moment than she ever had. Knowing she had no control over what would happen next, no way of stopping this man from doing anything he wanted with her, was incredibly freeing. And knowing he would encourage her to scream, cry, and curse was almost cathartic. If she let everything out, screamed out all her frustration, all her pain and fears, he would most likely praise her for it. It was both a sobering revelation and a frightening thought.
Maybe… she needed therapy, too. And this was only the first session.