Chapter 5
Chapter Five
THE NIGHT BECAME a river of time, meandering toward morning but never seeming to quite get there.
Hardly calm, the moments slipped by in a tumultuous raging torrent, buffeting Elsbeth, until dawn’s cautious light finally cracked through the single small basement window.
That sliver of light brought yawns to their tormentors and ushered the men upstairs to their beds.
She and Forest remained locked downstairs, but she didn’t care because the arrival of the sun meant one less day of summer stretching out before them.
She wasn’t entirely certain about Forest’s state of mind.
He wasn’t talking to her. Had they broken him?
She feared that was the case. He was both too young and too fragile for John Snowden’s merciless coercion.
The things done to Forest had turned her stomach and soured her mouth.
Even more heartbreaking, she had been one of the tools used to tear apart her precious Beanpole.
“Forest?” she asked. “Are you awake?”
His stillness worried her, and while she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, two things held her back. First, the steel bars of the cage limited her movement, but worse than not being able to hold and console him was the knowledge of exactly what touching him would do.
Forest slumped against the restraints holding him in place.
The Saint Andrew’s Cross creaked with his weight.
The leather shackles groaned in protest. Sweat streaked his skin, and his golden locks hung limp where they dragged against his shoulders.
His head dipped low, his chin brushing his chest, and his knees sagged, forcing his shoulders to bear the majority of his weight.
Whether from dejection or exhaustion, he didn’t answer. He’d stopped speaking hours ago.
His entire body bore the evidence of the evening’s abuse. Cane and whip marks marred his flesh, the visual display both wretched and terrifying.
Surges of testosterone hadn’t done him any favors. He had bucked authority when he should’ve remained silent. It hadn’t lessened Clark Preston’s plans. Forest’s resistance had done the opposite and spurred the men to tear into him until he gave in and begged for whatever they desired.
Confined inside the small cage, Elsbeth’s body ached—not from the aftereffects of implements aimed at her flesh, but from her cramped conditions.
“Forest,” she called out, “please answer me.”
A moan escaped him, and his head rolled to the side, but he didn’t answer.
He was either unable or unwilling, and she prayed for the first. If he were ever unwilling to speak to her, she wouldn’t want to live.
Forest was her lifeline. He would keep her spirits up during the darkest of times.
Perhaps now, it was her turn to do the same for him.
Shifting her weight to her left hip did little to relieve the aching in her limbs.
Slowly, she reached out and stroked the cold steel.
The metal stung her flesh but warmed slowly stealing her body heat as she palmed the unforgiving steel.
“It’s not your fault.” She sniffed to hold back the tears. “You can’t let him win.”
He groaned and pulled himself up until he could bear his weight. “Elsbeth,” he said with an agonized sigh, “I’m sorry.”
The first night she’d met him, they were twelve, less than a month’s difference in their ages.
She’d held him until morning. Sodomized, broken, and bleeding, Forest had been given a stern introduction to his new home, and with a whip, Clark Preston had taught him what would happen to the little girl he now called his foster sister if he disobeyed.
“Don’t let him win, Beanpole.”
His head sagged from side to side, ponderous in its movement. “The things I did—”
“Weren’t your fault.” Shoot, the things she’d done to him were worse.
“I need you, Bean.” She tried to portray confidence, but her need for his strength tunneled right through her words.
His head snapped up. The agony etched into his proud features revealed deep cracks in his control. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
As was she, but they would get through this. They always got through it.
“We have each other, Bean.” They’d always have each other. “Don’t let them take that away. Don’t disappear, not when I need you the most.”
“Snowden is spending the summer with us.”
Yes, she had heard the men talking. Clark Preston had spoken of John Snowden moving into the guest room on the upper level.
But for the whole summer?
“I love you,” she said. What else could fill the emptiness stretching between them?
“I love you, too,” he answered. “But I can’t take another night of…of…of that.”
“Do what you’ve always told me to do. Pack up everything important, and lock it up where they can’t find it. It’s a body, Forest. It’s only a body.”
Forest’s icy-blue eyes turned up to focus on the door leading to freedom.
The lock turned.
She gripped the bar, leaning forward, as if that would give her a better view. The landing wasn’t visible from where she crouched. The stiffening in Forest’s frame told her everything she needed to know.
He had returned.
Clark Preston descended the half flight of stairs into the basement, his steps sure and determined. Light even? The anticipation in his tread raised alarm bells in Elsbeth’s mind. Something was different, and that didn’t bode well.
Their guardian paused before Forest, taking a measured assessment. After devouring Forest with his eyes, Clark Preston then caressed Forest’s skin with his knuckles.
“You are miraculous,” he said with a hint of awe. “I admire your strength.”
Forest hung his head, pulling deep breaths in and out of his lungs. He didn’t speak. He wouldn’t, not until commanded. Elsbeth feared what would happen if he did. Could Forest stand much more? It would break him; of that, she was certain.
Bending her legs beneath her, she assumed the pose for greeting, hands pressed to the floor, forehead touching the backs of her hands.
The entire cage shifted with her intent, doing exactly as she’d hoped.
Clark Preston’s heated gaze turned her way.
And, while her stomach trembled with what would come next, she cheered for the result. Forest would sit this one out.
Only Forest didn’t sit. Clark Preston forced him to remain on the Saint Andrew’s Cross. When his legs buckled, he groaned against what must have been tremendous pain.
Clark Preston came to the cage, released her, and drew her to the far corner of the room. “We’re going to try something, my pet.”
It was noon before she was set free.
Hours of screaming had made her throat bleed. The forced orgasms had taken a different toll. Clark Preston’s face had filled her mind and commanded her performance. When she’d failed, he had attacked Forest with a cane until she begged to be allowed another chance to come.
Pleased with her progress, Clark Preston left her with instructions to release Forest. It was Saturday, and they had the rest of the day off but were warned that Sunday would bring more guests.
She released Forest, and he slumped into her waiting arms. He could barely walk.
“Come,” she said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He moaned. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“You will.”
He had to because she couldn’t do it alone. Maybe that made her selfish—to want someone to share in the misery that permeated every painful breath. It had to mean she was a horrible person. But how could she think otherwise?
She took Forest into her bathroom because she had a tub.
“Why are you bringing me in here?”
“It’s easier to help you in here.”
“I can take a shower in my own bathroom.”
“You’re not even capable of supporting your weight, Bean.”
His entire body was covered in dried sweat and crusty secretions. His rank smell inundated her nostrils and forced her to breathe through her mouth.
“I don’t need your help.”
His entire body shook as she held him. Getting him into the Jacuzzi tub took effort on both their parts, and it didn’t help that they were still naked from the evening’s activities.
Forest flinched every time she readjusted her hold. He pulled away when she wrapped her arm around him to steady him. He refused her grip when she tried to help him sit in the tub.
Hesitant to touch or terrified to be touched? There was little she could do about that.
He needed a bath, and he wasn’t strong enough to do it himself.
The water coming out of the faucet was cold, and he hissed when it splashed his feet and lower legs. The water did warm, and with the filling of the tub, tension eased in his body.
She took the soap from the shower. Opening the cabinet, she retrieved a clean washcloth.
When she returned to Forest, the water filled half of the tub.
He had his head resting against the back of the tub, slipping down to submerge as much of his body as possible.
Tension tugged at the corners of his closed eyes and reflected in the tightness of his jaw.
Crouching, she positioned herself on the edge of the marble step. “Do you want me to put on the jets?”
He cracked one eyelid and gave a shake of his head. “I’m good.”
“Is it too warm?” She leaned over and tested the temperature.
“It’s perfect. In fact, can you make it a little hotter?”
Making the adjustments, she dipped the washcloth into the water to wet it and then folded the soap inside. Reaching out, she pressed the washcloth to his upper arm.
Forest jumped. His eyes flew wide open, and his entire body shifted away.
She withdrew her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
His large hand took the washcloth. “I got this. Maybe just let me sit for a bit?”
“You might fall asleep.”
“If I go under the water, I’m pretty sure I’ll wake up.” He held his body rigid, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Are you okay?”
The muscles of his jaw clenched. “I will be.”
But was that the truth? Would either of them ever be okay? And, when Clark Preston went too far, what would happen? What would it take to free her and Forest? There weren’t too many answers to that question. Would she be strong enough? Could she?
When she glanced at Forest, the answer materialized. She’d be strong enough for whatever it took.