Chapter 3 #2
John steps in, grabbing my wrists. The cuffs dig into my skin as he unlocks them, the metal clicking open one after the other. He doesn’t give me time to react before shoving my arms forward.
One of the men takes over immediately, snapping thick black zip ties tight around my wrists.
Plastic bites into my skin as he yanks them smaller, tighter, until my fingers tingle.
Another cinches one around my ankles. A third wraps around my waist, securing my wrists close to my body so I can’t lift my arms more than a few inches.
Grant approaches me. I strain against the restraints until fire tears through my wrists. I scream behind the gag.
My vision blurs from the pressure of fighting. Hands lock me in place. I lean forward again, trying to force the words out, but Grant reaches into his coat and pulls out the hood. He slides it over my head and cinches it tight at my neck.
My breathing sounds too loud, trapped beneath the fabric. Panic creeps in despite my effort to control it.
They drag me out of the house, and cold morning air bites into my exposed skin. I am lifted into a vehicle and forced down onto the floor. The door slams shut, and the engine starts.
Time blurs into motion. I feel turns, stops, and uneven roads while sweat collects beneath the hood until the fabric clings to my face.
At some point the vehicle slows, and the engine drops into a low idle. Gravel crunches beneath the tires while doors open and close outside. Boots strike the ground, and voices drift in and out.
Hands grab me again.
They haul me upright and drag me forward. The ground shifts beneath my feet before smoothing out, and the air changes, cleaner, colder, more open.
Then I feel it.
The hollow echo of a large space and the overpowering scent of fuel.
They push me forward again.
My steps falter as they force me along, and then I am lifted and shoved into a seat. Straps snap tight across my body, locking me in place. A door slams shut, sealing me in.
For a moment, everything goes still.
Then a low rumble kicks on beneath me, deep and mechanical. It builds fast, the vibration spreading through the floor and into my spine. The seat hums under my body, the sound growing louder, heavier, until it fills the space around me.
The movement starts slow, then picks up. The pull drags me back against the seat as speed builds, the force pressing into my chest. The noise climbs with it, loud enough that I feel it in my teeth.
My grip tightens against the restraints.
The pressure shifts. The ground drops away. Weightlessness hits for half a second, just enough to make my stomach flip and my body tense against it.
We’re not on the road anymore. We’re in the air.
Grant reaches forward and rips the hood off my head.
Light burns my eyes as the inside of the private jet comes into focus. Leather seats line the narrow cabin, clean and polished in a way that makes everything feel wrong.
Grant sits across from me, relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the seat as if this is nothing more than a routine trip. He looks at me like a man unwrapping something he has waited a long time for.
I stare back without looking away. There is no fear left, only hate.
“Well, looks like good old Seth got you knocked up, huh?”
His eyes move over me slowly.
“I can’t say I don’t get it,” he adds, his mouth curving. “You filled out real nice from that little twelve-year-old we used to watch.”
Disgust crawls up my spine. I lean forward as far as the restraints allow and hold his stare.
He laughs.
“Yeah, you take after your mom. She had a great body too.”
Something inside me fractures.
“If we had more time, I was planning to have some fun with her before Richard slit her throat.” He shrugs. “I mean, I still could’ve. But the job was done. Your dad was dead. So we had to go.”
I scream against the gag.
Grant tilts his head as if listening.
“What was that?”
He leans closer.
“I can’t hear you.”
He reaches forward and loosens the gag.
I don't hesitate. I spit straight into his eye.
He jerks back with a curse, wipes his face, and then laughs under his breath. He leans forward and spits at me. The saliva slides down my cheek, and I wipe it off on my shoulder without breaking eye contact.
“I’m warning you,” he says quietly. “Don’t piss me off.”
He pulls out his phone and taps the screen. The glow lights his face as the call connects.
Grant angles the phone toward me.
Kristie Talbert, Nick’s mother, the mayor, appears on the screen.
“You’re on.”
“Brooke Sinclair,” her gaze drags over me slowly. “The little slut who thought she could touch my son.”
I don’t look away.
“We’re almost there,” Grant says. “Everything’s arranged.”
“Good,” she replies. “I don’t give a fuck what John told you. He doesn’t have the money or the standing to pull rank. Not with me.”
Grant chuckles softly.
“You killed my son,” she continues. “You humiliated our family. You made us look weak.”
Nick’s face flashes in my mind, his weight pressing down on me, his voice in my ear, the way he laughed when he said he would split me open.
He had it coming.
“The Manor is the best punishment,” she smiles. “I’m going to love watching you suffer.”
Grant’s grin widens.
“See you soon, Brooke” she murmurs. “I can’t wait to see you break.”
Grant ends the call.
Only then did the jet change, the vibration shifting as the nose dipped. The engine tone drops into a deeper grind. My stomach rolls with the descent.
I twist against the grip on my arms. The zip ties bit. My shoulders burn.
“What happens in Elliot's manor?” I ask.
Grant’s mouth curves. “The only thing you need to know is you follow what he says.”
My eyes burn. “Or what?”
Grant’s gaze stays calm. “Men like us decide if you breathe or if you don’t. We’re gods. If I were you, Brooke, I’d fall in line.”
Time stretches after that. The engine noise settles into a constant roar that fills the cabin while my body remains locked in place as the plane carries us farther away from anything familiar.
Grant shifts in his seat as if remembering something.
“Oh. I almost forgot.”
His eyes move over me again, slower this time.
“Elliot likes his girls to look clean.”
A faint smile touches his mouth.
“Obviously we can’t do anything about all those tattoos right now. But we can at least get rid of the piercings.”
Before I could lean away, he reaches forward and shoves the gag back into my mouth. The fabric forces my jaw open and presses against my tongue as he ties it tight behind my head. The pressure cut off any chance of speaking.
Then his hand comes up to my ear.
His fingers catch the first earring along the shell. He twists it free with quick, careless movements. The small piece of metal drops into his palm. He moves down the row without pause, unscrewing each one and pulling it out. The cold air brushes over the empty holes as he clears the last of them.
Grant rolls the little cluster of jewelry in his hand, studying it.
“Oh yeah,” he looks back at me. “The footage my PI got.”
His tone carries a thin edge of amusement.
“It also showed you have piercings in a few other places.”
He grabs the front of my shirt and yanks the fabric down just far enough to expose my breasts. The movement is rough enough that my shoulders jerk forward.
Grant looks at the barbell through my left nipple.
“Thought so.”
His fingers close around the metal.
He doesn’t warn me. He doesn’t slow down.
He twists the first ball loose in a quick, impatient turn. The metal shifts inside the piercing, dragging painfully through the tissue as he pulls the bar out. The sudden movement sends a sharp sting through my chest.
A muffled sound pushes against the gag as my body jerks against the restraints.
He drops the piece of jewelry into his palm with the others.
“Let’s see the other one.”
He grabs the fabric again and pulls it lower.
The jet rocks slightly as it cuts through the air, but Grant doesn’t seem to notice. His fingers close around the second barbell.
Again he twists the end off quickly, careless with the angle. The metal catches as he pulls it free, sending another hot flare of pain through my nipple before it slides out.
He holds both pieces up for a second, turning them between his fingers like he was inspecting them.
He sighs, “shame we’re about to land.”
His hand returns to my chest before the words even finish leaving his mouth. His fingers close around my nipple and twist hard.
Pain rips through me.
My back jerks against the restraints as a muffled sound pushes against the gag.
The movement only makes it worse. My breasts had already been swollen for days, heavy and sore from the pregnancy, my nipples tight and painfully sensitive even before he touched them.
The pressure of his fingers sends a sharp, nauseating jolt straight through my chest.
Grant watches the reaction closely.
His eyes lift to mine.
A raw scream tears out of my chest, trapped behind the gag. The sound comes out strangled and furious, my body jerking against the restraints as rage surges through me. My teeth bite down hard into the fabric while the jet roars around us.
Grant doesn’t react.
His fingers tighten again, grinding the sensitive skin before finally letting go.
“I could’ve had a lot more fun with you. But Elliot doesn’t like sloppy seconds.” His mouth lifts slightly. “He prefers to ruin them himself.”
He leans back like the moment is over, like none of it matters.
The engine pitch shifts under us. The steady roar dips lower, the vibration changing as the plane starts to descend. My body tilts forward slightly against the restraints, pressure building in my ears. The movement turns uneven, subtle drops and corrections as we cut through the air.
Then the landing hits.
The impact slams up through the seat and into my spine, hard enough to jar my teeth. The wheels screech briefly against the runway before the plane stabilizes, still moving fast but grounded now. The roar fades into a lower rumble as we slow, the vibration easing in waves beneath me.
The engine idles low, steady now. A latch clicks somewhere behind me. Then the cabin door opens and cold air floods in.
I barely get a second to process it before the hood is dragged back over my head, sealing me in darkness again.
Rough hands grab me. They haul me out of the seat and push me forward. My boots hit metal first, then shift to narrow steps. I stumble as they drag me down, the angle steep, their grip the only thing keeping me upright.
Wind cuts through my clothes. I feel gravel under my feet.
They don’t slow. They pull me across uneven ground, stones shifting and crunching with every step.
A car door opens.
I’m shoved forward and forced down onto the floor again, my shoulder slamming into something hard as the door shuts behind me.
The engine starts. The second drive feels shorter but rougher, with fewer turns and longer stretches of silence that press in around me.
When the vehicle finally stops, no one speaks.
The door opens, hands pull me out again. My boots hit the ground, and the air feels different here, colder and heavier.
“Come on.”
They haul me forward. Even through the hood, I feel it before I see it. Then the hood is ripped off.
The building stands in front of me.
Dark stone stretches upward. Rain slicks the walls, turning them black and reflective. Tall pines crowd close on every side, cutting off the horizon and swallowing any sense of escape.
Only a few small windows glow, their yellow light weak against the mass of shadow swallowing the rest of the structure. Most of the house is dark, its shape fractured into wings and towers that suggest too many rooms and not enough ways out.
Grant smirks. “This is Elliot’s Manor.”
The doors open. They haul me inside. And the darkness closes around me.
I already know I won't leave here the same.