18. Dahlia
Dinner wasa quiet and tense affair. Bri, however, acted as though nothing was amiss. She munched on the fresh baked bread, pasta, and salad like she was relaxing in a restaurant. Payton, however, looked miserable. Even through the burn scars, I could see the dark emptiness in his eyes.
He kept sending furtive glances my direction. My memories of the house were still indelibly carved into my mind, and despite my horror at the situation, the last thing I wanted was another starvation punishment. I ate. Quickly but begrudgingly stuffing my face, twice surreptitiously cramming a roll into one of the pockets of my sweatpants for later.
Finally, unable to hold back, I looked at Payton. “Why are you helping them? Why?”
He flinched as though he’d been struck, cowering away from my voice. Unable or unwilling to speak.
“Our friend Payton,” Bri said with a smile. “Had two options. The same two options I had. The first? Join Sam, oh I guess his name is actually Owen, but whatever. Join him, and in doing so, get to have power and freedom. For me, the choice was easy.” She speared a dressing- covered cucumber slice and popped it into her mouth. “When you really think about it? The playhouse is horrifying to live in, but the thought of being in charge?” Her eyes sparkled with manic glee, and I understood whatever sanity she’d had before had been completely wiped away. “Being in charge is fucking hot. Making these poor fuckers do what I want, kill, fuck, roast, and gut who I want? There’s nothing more I could ever want.”
“They made me,” Payton muttered, his voice barely audible.
“We didn’t make you,” Bri said, smiling at him. “We asked you, and you said yes.”
A bit of agency returned to Payton’s mutilated face, and he scowled at her. “You waited until the flames were in my goddamned room. I was already blistering when you asked. What could I have done? I was going to die, Bri.”
“And you easily could have,” she said as though telling someone they could make their own dinner.
“You also threatened my family,” he hissed.
“What? That old bitch mother of yours? Or the dad who disowned you when you told him you like to suck dick and fuck guys? Which one?”
“My mother and grandmother,” Payton admitted, but again lowered his head, as though the fight was leaving him.
Bri nodded. “Yeah. That’s true.” She looked at me and gave me a dazzling white smile. “We told him that if he didn’t help us hunt you and Drake down, we’d get a big burly fucker with no morals to rape his mommy and granny to death while he watched. Honestly,” she said, tilting her head back as though picturing the scene in her mind’s eye. “I kinda wish he’d said no. I’ve never seen a chick get literally murdered by a cock. Might have been enlightening to see.”
“You’re fucking sick,” I said, hissing the words at her.
If I offended her, she didn’t show it, instead she grabbed another roll and smeared bright yellow butter on it.
“Dahlia, dear,” she said in a pompous voice. “Aren’t you the one who skinned a woman live? Shoved a steel rod up a guy’s ass until he died? Castrated a fucker with a rubber band? Are you really the one who should be calling someone sick?”
I slammed a fist onto the table. “That was different. Those people were guilty. They’d done fucked up shit.”
Bri leaned forward, peeling her lips back, revealing her teeth like an angry animal. “And who the fuck determines what guilt is? Inside everyone’s head some awful shit happens. What about the guy who looks at his little niece and wonders what it would be like to bend her over and slam a dick into her? What if he never does anything but only thinks it? Does that make him any less sick than the prick who actually does rape her? I don’t think so.” Bri grabbed a knife and slammed its blade down in the table. “No one is innocent. Everyone is guilty. Therefore, everyone deserves punishment.”
Bong. “Dinner is done. Dahlia, return to your room until you are called. Payton and Bri, your instructions will be sent to your devices,” Owen said. I refused to think of him as Sam any longer.
Bri stood and tossed her knife down with a clatter. “See you soon, Dahlia.”
Without another word, she walked out of the dining room.
Payton stood as well, head still down, and went to follow Bri. I reached out, trying to grab his wrist. Before I could make contact, the familiar and painful jolt of electricity snapped through my arm. It had been months since I’d felt it, but the moment it struck, it was like I’d never left. I gasped, crying out in pain and cradling my arm to my chest.
“It’s fine,” Payton said. “Just go with it. It’s better if you don’t fight. I’m sorry I helped them find you. It was the cameras, by the way. Security cameras. Ahh.” Payton hissed in pain, as Owen shocked him too.
Payton rushed from the room, nearly running to get away, to follow orders. Not wanting to be shocked again myself, I stood and walked down the corridors back to my room. The door clicking shut behind me.
For the next hour, I sat waiting. My anxiety building with every second. I hid my two rolls in the nightstand drawers, and then lay on the bed, trying not to imagine what horrors awaited me. When the chime finally came, I nearly screamed in fright.
Bong. “Dahlia, I’ve done away with Drake’s archaic terminology. I want you to proceed to the torture room. That’s what it is, why call it anything else? You have two minutes.”
The door to my room clicked open. Owen wasn’t lying. He’d shock me in a second if I gave him the chance. Standing, I gave the room one final look and headed out the door.
The layout of this playhouse was an exact replica of the previous one, and I found the room easily. Two-way glass greeted me in the viewing room. What I saw inside the torture room nearly made me vomit. Payton lay naked and spread eagle on a padded table. His wrists and ankles held by padded leather straps. He wasn’t even struggling. Instead, he lay there crying, tears running down his puckered and ruined face.
Bong. “You had nine seconds left, Dahlia. I suggest you step inside.”
“Fucker,” I hissed under my breath but did as he commanded.
Once in the room, the door swung shut and locked behind me. Payton didn’t even bother to look my way. Instead, he simply let out a single, gut-wrenching sob.
Bong. “Our friend Payton, while somewhat helpful in finding and tracking you and Drake, has become rather moody in the last few weeks. I no longer think his heart is in this. Even after all the medical help I gave him with those nasty burns on his face, arms and chest, he still seems ungrateful. You will teach him a lesson on what is required. On the table, you will find enough tools to do the job. I trust in your creativity, Dahlia.”
The table he mentioned was covered in multiple items. A couple of knives, a scalpel, a car battery with jumper cables, a pair of heavy-duty tin snips, a small trigger activated blow torch, and more. Bile rose up in the back of my throat.
“No,” I said. “I won’t do it. Fuck you, Owen.”
“You refuse?” Owen asked, his voice echoing out of the speaker and bouncing around the room. “We’ll see.”
An instant later, I let out a scream as a burst of electricity flashed into my wrist, hot and agonizing. It went on for a long time, long enough that I fell to my knees.
“Punish him,” Owen commanded.
“No.”
Another jolt, this one more powerful. Unable to stay upright, I tipped over, landing on the grated floor, my body shuddering under the current. When it at last ended, a thin sheen of sweat coated my whole body.
“Punish him,” Owen said, his calm Sam voice gone now. Instead, he sounded psychotic.
“No!”
The next pulse from the device made my vision blurry. Vomit, hot and acrid, burst up out of my stomach and sprayed across the floor, dripping through the grates below. Blessedly, the pain stopped a moment before I passed out.
“It seems my new assistant’s wishes will come true after all,” Owen said, and it sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth.
Wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I rolled over, gasping for breath. When the door clicked open, I sat up fast. What walked in caused my jaw to fall open. Bri, naked, holding a gun, sashayed in with that pissy grin on her face, tits swinging as she did.
“Good evening, my lovelies,” Bri said. “Looks like Owen is letting me have some fun.”
Payton’s breathing grew erratic, and he stared at Bri with wide, terrified eyes.
“You,” she snapped, pointing the gun in my direction. “Over there.” She gestured to a chair a few feet beyond the head of the table where Payton lay. “Sit your ass down and watch like a good girl.”
The hungry look in her eyes told me she would shoot me if I disobeyed. Reluctantly, I did as I was told and sat on the chair, staring at her as she walked to the side of Payton’s table.
She leaned on his chest with an elbow and pressed the gun into Payton’s head. “You know, I’m really upset you couldn’t just fall in line. This could have been fun, but oh well.”
She raised up and turned to the table, snatching up a knife with her free hand, then laying in on the table beside Payton’s head. Then to my horror, she reached down and began to stroke Payton’s dick.
“I told Owen I wanted to do more than torture you, I wanted to degrade you, Payton. I want to make you feel like a dirty piece of shit. What better way than to rape you? You told me you’ve never been with a woman, well, tonight is the night, big guy.”
Payton whimpered and cried even harder, but I watched as, despite himself, his cock began to harden and lengthen under Bri’s strokes until it stood rigid and quivering in her hand.
“Will you look at that,” Bri said. “Looks like he’s a little into girls, huh?”
“It’s biological, you stupid cunt,” I hissed. “He doesn’t actually want to fuck you.”
Bri smirked back at me then swung a leg up onto the table. “We’ll see about that.”
She took hold of Payton’s cock, stroking it again to keep it hard then lowered herself onto it, his dick disappearing into her. Bri’s face didn’t reveal any pleasure, only bare toothed delight in the look of horror on Payton’s face. From the angle I sat, I could just make out the appearance of shame, disgust, and shock in his eyes.
Bri, still holding the gun but steadying herself by pressing her free hand onto Payton’s chest, began to grind her hips back and forth, riding and fucking Payton.
“Yeah,” she hissed. “You like it, don’t you, you little fucking whore? Short dicked mother fucker, get in that pussy. Fuck me like a man.” She pressed the gun against his forehead again. “I said fuck me.”
Payton let out a sobbing moan, but his hips began to rise, thrusting himself into Bri, doing her bidding and fucking her. Bri tilted her head back in ecstasy but kept her eyes on me, grinning. I wanted to vomit again.
“Fuck me harder,” Bri commanded, and Payton did as she asked, slamming his cock into her, straining against the binds holding him and grunting with exertion all while still crying.
“Oh god,” Bri moaned. “I think this little faggot is gonna make me come. You better not stop, Payton,” she panted. “Don’t you fucking stop, or I’ll slice your guts out.”
He didn’t stop, instead, it looked as though he was actually trying to hurt Bri. From the look of determination I saw in his eyes, I had the feeling he was imagining that his dick was a knife, plunging into her over and over, eviscerating her and turning her into a bloody mess.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Bri grunted, veins popping out on her neck. She reached up with her free hand, pinched a nipple, and yanked it hard, stretching the nub of flesh until I thought it might tear off her body. Then she bucked and called out, screaming curses as she rode out her orgasm.
Even finished, she didn’t stop grinding on Payton’s cock. If anything, she thrusted her hips forward and back even faster.
“I wanna see something,” Bri said, a thin sheen of sweat coating her breasts and stomach. “I wonder how long it lasts after.”
After what, I wondered.
In one quick motion, she scooped up the knife and plunged it into Payton’s chest. A faint muffled crackle burst from his chest as the blade broke apart ribs before being buried to the hilt. Payton let out a gagging and gurgling scream. Still, Bri thrust her hips on him, grinding the dick into her body even as blood pulsed from the wound. She lifted the knife, removing it with a wet sucking sound, and slammed it down again, then once more. Blood arced up with each stab, spraying Bri’s naked body.
Payton’s face grew slack, and a bubble of blood formed on his lips, expanded and then burst. His eyes gazed out, sightless and dead. Still Bri was fucking him, grinning down in glee at his dead face. Finally, blessedly, she stopped moving, and looked up at me, with a small pout on her lips.
“Hard on only lasts a few seconds. Pity. I was getting ready to come again.”