Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Letting her go, he rose back to his full height and clinked his glass to mine. “It’s probably from all the screaming.”
My throat latched tight. “Screaming?”
“Yes, from the game.”
“The game...being the animals you shot?”
“No.” He grinned. “The one that will set you free.”
I forced myself to stay in control. “Ah, yes. What did you call it again? Ruby Tears?”
“That’s the one.”
“And how...” I fought the urge to wipe my mouth from despicable things. “How does one play this game?”
“I’m so glad you asked.” Beckoning me forward with a flick of his wrist, he guided me toward a hare on a plinth, perfectly preserved and looking as if it’d been plugged into an electrical socket with its wired expression and twitchy ears.
“Look.” He pointed at the dead creature.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to see.” I peered closer, catching a whiff of taxidermy chemicals.
“At the eyes, Henri.”
Peering closer, I glowered at the dead lagomorph and promptly tripped backward. A ruby gemstone had been glued to the corner of the hare’s eye—mimicking a teardrop.
A tear made of blood.
Pure horror crawled up my spine as I glanced at Ily on the carpet.
She moaned under her breath.
With effort, she raised her chin and locked her gold hazel gaze on mine. Crystal tears welled but didn’t spill. Her fingernails scratched her forearm, slowly at first but getting quicker and quicker until Peter reached across and pressed her hand flat.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I would die here tonight.
I would die because I would never, could never—
“I see that you get my drift but allow me to inform you of the rules.” Victor snaked his arm around my shoulders again, tugging me toward the table full of barbarity.
“The game is called Ruby Tears because that is what we collect. On the floor. In vials. On our hands and tongues and cocks. Because you are new and no doubt have shit endurance, you will be tasked in drawing as many droplets as we have mammals.”
Turning to Peter, he asked kindly, “How many mammals are in this room, Peter?”
With a barely-audible whisper, Peter replied, “One hundred and two, Sir V.”
“One hundred and two, that’s right.” Pushing my glass to my mouth, he waited until I took a healthy swallow before adding, “You confessed tears turn you on, so this game is right up your alley. Instead of capturing rain from her eyes, you will make her entire body cry. You will draw one hundred and two droplets of blood from your jewel. You may use whatever implement you would like. Bleed her slowly. Bleed her quickly. Bleed her from one wound or many. But bleed her you will and as each droplet falls, your chains will crumble. You will come face to face with who you truly are. A hunter. A predator. A killer through and through.”
“I’m not—” I coughed and cleared my throat from fiery whiskey. “I’m not going to kill her. Why the fuck would I kill something I want to play with?”
“Oh, don’t worry, you won’t kill her. I won’t let you.
She’s still eighty percent mine and hasn’t nearly paid off her investment.
She’ll merely help unlock your soul, Henri.
She will survive. You have my word. My guards will stop you if you go too far.
” Raising his voice, he said, “Peter dear. Please tell my new friend how it feels to endure this game.”
Straightening his spine, ignoring the fresh blood oozing from his cuts, Peter tipped up his chin with idiotic boldness. “Sir V, I have a request. Ily’s new. She’s had a long day. L-Let me take her place—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish.
His voice cut off, and he jerked to the floor, convulsing in familiar electrocution throes.
“Why, you insolent little twerp,” Victor hissed, stabbing his thumb onto the button. Looking as horrified as if he was a dinner host and his dog just pissed on the rug, he threw me a grimace. “I’m so sorry, Ward. He’s usually much better behaved.”
I couldn’t answer as Ily clamped both hands over her mouth as she watched Peter thrash and moan. She didn’t try to touch him, but she did shatter into pieces the longer he was punished.
I bit my tongue as Victor kept frying his slave.
Ten seconds, fifteen seconds.
Every instinct bellowed to murder this sociopath with my bare hands, but then I’d be shot, and the guards would throw Ily and Peter back into whatever cells they slept in.
Another bastard would rise to claim Victor’s place, and I’d save no one.
My corpse would rot here.
Q would never find them.
And everything I’d done this far would be for nothing.
By twenty seconds, Victor finally sighed and lifted his thumb.
Peter groaned and flopped into a heap. His limbs continued twitching morbidly.
Ily reached for him and yelped, receiving a shock. Wrapping her arms around herself, she rocked and rocked as if her mind had already cracked.
Fuck, I’m sorry.
So fucking sorry that I’d brought her here.
I wished I could rewind time and never set eyes on her in the club. Never notice her. Want her. Steal her.
Christ, this is all my fault.
“Shall we try that again?” Victor raised an eyebrow. “If you will, Peter. Please tell Henri what it feels like to be on the receiving end.”
Gasping, shaking, barely alive, Peter pushed himself onto his knees. He almost toppled forward as his voice hitched and wobbled. “I-I’ve played this game multiple times, Master H, and I-I’m still breathing.”
Could’ve fooled me.
For all my jealousy where he was concerned, I felt an awful obligation to reap revenge for what Victor had done to him. If I survived tonight, I’d find a way for Peter to repay all the shocks Victor had dished out.
Somehow.
Victor raised his hand, his finger poised threateningly on the remote. “And...”
“And...it’s our pleasure to serve.” Peter bowed his head. “We live to serve.” He pressed his forehead to the bloodstained carpet. “We only exist to serve.”
“Good boy.” Tossing the remote back into his pocket, Victor turned his nasty attention on me. “Now drink, Henri.”
A snick sounded behind me as a gun’s safety flicked off.
Looking over my shoulder, I caught the blank stare of a guard. The muzzle of his gun mere inches from my skull.
My heart thundered.
My gut churned.
I looked at Ily breaking apart on the floor, then glanced at the alcohol in my hand.
If I hurt her sober, I would do it as part of our act. I would cut her as gently as I could. I would do what needed to be done with as much kindness as possible.
I rolled my eyes.
What an oxymoron.
Tender torture?
Fuck.
There was no such thing.
I was kidding myself.
All of this was a waste of fucking time.
I tried.
Christ, I tried.
If I hurt her when drunk...
If I played this game under the influence of hard liquor...if she so much as looked at me wrong or whimpered a fighting word...merde.
I would hurt her as the man I’d tried to hide from.
The monster I couldn’t contain.
The beast I couldn’t tame.
If I hit her drunk, the cage I existed in would spring open, and I’d become a fucking animal.
An animal far worse than any on the walls.
An animal my brother would happily slaughter.
“Choose, Henri,” Victor said ever so softly. “Only you get to choose who bleeds tonight. Her...or you.”
Her eyes met mine.
Sunshine blazed exquisitely bright, burning, burning, burning.
I’d chosen her at the club.
I’d picked her.
Condemned her.
She was the key to getting inside so I could save the other jewels.
Slaves I’d seen being buggered, beaten, and abused.
Slaves who had no one.
A boulder sank into my gut.
Ily never looked away from me.
She completely destroyed me with a single silent nod.
Permission to hurt her.
Permission to cut her, bleed her, play this disgusting game with her.
She wouldn’t die.
But she would scream.
She’d feel pain and heartache, and...I couldn’t do it.
If you don’t, you’ll die.
And then where will she be?
At the mercy of Victor and Roland. Gangbanged by all the other beasts who’d drooled after her.
I didn’t have a choice.
To save her, I had to hurt her.
And by hurting her, I’d lose myself.
You won’t.
You’re strong enough.
She won’t fight back.
She gave you her word.
So what if I did it drunk?
That didn’t strip me of my faculties—it just intensified the parts I kept secret.
But Ily already knew those secrets.
She accepted those secrets.
We fought together because of those secrets.
Together.
A shred of salvation filled me.
I let out a heavy breath.
We’d both accepted this might happen.
We just had to hold on until it was over.
Forgive me.
Jesus Christ, forgive me.
Tearing my eyes from hers, I tossed back the tumbler full of whiskey. Two mouthfuls, three, four. My eyes watered. My throat stung. And my stomach turned to pure fire as it splashed into my empty insides.
“Good choice.” Victor took my empty glass and marched toward the bar. Topping it up, he came back toward me. “Again.”
Fuck.
I’d be half comatose if I drank that.
Already, the slithering, seducing effects of drunkenness crept over my mind.
I should’ve eaten breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
I should never have come here.
Should never have set eyes on the girl who would haunt me forever.
Swaying a little, feeling sick and lightheaded, I accepted the glass.
I tipped it to my lips.
And drank.