Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Madelyn
The moment Gateley could separate Jackson and me, he did.
A guard takes hold of my elbow and drags me along, his movements faster than I can keep up with.
“Hurry,” he grunts without slowing down.
We go down one corridor to the next, turning left and then right.
The red-coated hallways are dim, with small flickering lamps lighting the way.
My feet slide against the flooring in some spots, as if someone used too much floor finish.
Every time I hit one of those spots, the guard grabs my arm to keep me up.
I wonder if all the slippery areas are ways to prevent people from running and escaping.
In fact, there is no way I can find my way out of here on my own, which I have no doubt is done on purpose.
After one last swing to the left, the guard stops in front of a red-painted door with the number five printed on it in black ink.
“You’ll stay here until someone comes fetches you,” he orders, while getting the key from his pant pocket.
“And when will that be?” I ask, while forcing bile down my throat.
“That’s up to the boss,” the guard replies before shoving me through the threshold and locking the door behind me.
My eyes adjust to the dim lighting coming from a lone floor lamp across the room.
The space is nothing like I thought it would be.
Instead of a cell, there's a huge four-poster bed in the center of the room.
Black sheets drape across it, along with several pillows on top.
Chains are secured to the walls; one so high a person might as well clean the ceiling while they're dangling from it.
The only section of the wall that isn’t decorated with chains has a thick glass mirror lining it. My mind immediately goes to a two-way mirror, and I hope with everything in me I’m not being watched right now. I force myself to breathe as I venture further into the room.
Upon further inspection, it’s not just chains on the walls, but all different masks, knives, paddles, and rope, too.
The room contains many questionable items, from ghost masks to wolf masks, including one that lights up neon.
There's a door to the left of the glass mirror, but I'm sure it's no way out. That would be too easy at a place like this. I go to open the door and discover a bathroom, complete with a claw-foot tub and shower. Jackson said Gateley was involved in all sorts of activities. Might as well add sex fetishes to the list too. My stomach lurches as I wonder if Jackson is in the middle of trying to strike up a deal about me right now, and that’s why it’s taking him so long to come back. The very thought makes me feel even dirtier than I already am. My head swims with the possibility of being trapped again. Of being sold off and used for someone else’s pleasure. Of being discarded and forgotten.
I cling to myself, not really knowing what to do.
It's clear I'm not going anywhere, and I cannot escape at this moment.
Even if I try, there will be no way I'll make it with the cameras and the guards.
It's a lost cause. The best I can hope for is that Jackson comes back, a man of his word, and quickly.
He's got to have a plan. I know this deep down, but…
hiding under the covers feels like the best way to hide from everything.
Still, a shower calls my name. We were rolling around in the dirt.
And continuously fucking Jackson has run its course on my body.
Maybe I'll feel slightly better after I'm clean. Decided, I cut the water on, shed my clothes, and step in. The water is warm, but the pressure of it is a little too rough for the sores on my body. Jackson has used me and used me good. Every few inches, there is bruising on my skin, and if not that, then it’s cuts or scrapes. Compliments of the rocks and twigs from the woods, and Jackson’s endless thrusting.
An ache spreads through my core at the very thought of him fucking me the way he did.
His moans do something to me even though they shouldn’t.
Not only that, but the way his cock stretches me and how my pussy just melts to mold against him.
My fingers run along the smooth shower tile as my thoughts carry me far away.
Jackson is not someone to fantasize about.
He’s not even someone I should want at all, but my body is not listening to my mind.
Not listening to my intuition has caused me harm more than once.
My brain was screaming at me that day. Warning me to leave that room before Oliver got too close.
I just couldn’t function well enough. There was too much grief surrounding me, and he knew it.
A shiver runs down my spine. I think about how things would be different if my stepfather hadn't done what he did, or if my mother hadn't died, leaving me alone to face the monster.
I used to think there was only one person to be worried about, and that was Oliver.
But now I know that's not true. They are everywhere.
Either by wearing a mask or, like Jackson, who doesn't hide behind a facade.
I close my eyes, contemplating whether I still believe Jackson is as evil as he claims. He's killed.
Obviously. I know he says he will kill me, but maybe what he's really offering is the freedom to stop running.
Oliver will never quit until he finds me and shields me away from the world.
No matter how hard I try, he is always only a few steps behind.
I'm tired of worrying when he'll finally catch up to me and I can't escape.
My hands find a bottle attached to the wall.
Without checking, I pump the substance into my hand and put it all over my body and hair.
I only open my eyes to watch the dirt and grime fall away.
Perhaps Jackson will provide me with the one thing I want in this world.
He promised Oliver's death, and I want so badly to see it before I meet my end too.
I have to believe that, or there's no point in going through the motions now. I stay in the shower a few more minutes before shutting the water off and climbing out. Still lost in thought, I don’t register the door barging open until my vision connects with a blonde chick in a purple laced nightie standing in front of me.
I scream, only for her hand to clamp my mouth shut.
“There is no need to be afraid,” she whispers, so close her arm brushes against my chest. She notices, but keeps the closeness between us.
“It would be good to have a friend here, Madelyn.” How does she know my name?
I shake my head in agreement, despite not knowing the answer.
Having a friend that’s female sounds like a good plan, but I can’t trust her.
I only agreed, hoping she would remove her hand from my face.
She smiles, “Good.” To my relief, she does exactly that. Her face lets go of my mouth, and I immediately back up, looking for a towel.
“Relax, girl,” she replies. I force myself to glance up at her.
This girl is what I imagine a real-life Barbie doll would be.
Slim, big breasts, and perfect skin. I feel the heat rising to my face.
My body does not look like that at all. “The boys told me to come and get you ready. They have a surprise for you.” She opens the nearest drawer and pulls out a towel.
I snatch the fabric from her hand and cover myself with it. “Which boys and who are you?” My voice shakes a little regarding this so-called surprise.
She turns away and motions toward the bed. “I’m Sam, lovely. And it’s our boys. Gateley and Jackson.”
“Jackson is not mine,” I mutter. Even the very thought of us being together makes my head spin. I just don’t see how that’s possible. My feet remain planted.
“His actions say otherwise.” She pats the mattress. “Come, please.”
I pull the towel tighter around me. “Not until you cover yourself with something. Anything.”
Sam laughs then. “You’ll have to get used to slutty outfits and even naked skin if you plan on staying here.”
“Jackson has plans for me that involve the grave. I don’t think I’ll be a guest here long.” I didn’t really mean to blurt that out, but there it is. Maybe now she will leave me alone.
“You have a lot to learn.” Sam gets up from the bed, giving up on that idea. “I will tell you about Jackson, but it doesn’t seem like you are willing to hear what I have to say.”
My heart takes a leap and refuses to listen to my brain, but I stay silent.
She goes over one of the many collections of chains and chooses the biggest one that’s still secure on the wall. “Why don't we try this instead?”
A contraption drops from the ceiling, a collection of rope and chains with a small strap in the middle. I realize then that I should have chosen the bed. “I thought you said that I could trust you?” My voice barely over a whisper.
Sam continues to pull until the mess of chains dangling a couple of feet off the ground. I can tell that it was definitely made for someone to be confined in, rather than for someone simply to be suspended from it.
“You can trust me.” She smiles a little too friendly.
“I told you if you wanted to know more about Jackson, I would tell you.
And that's exactly what I'm going to do, but I need you to do something for me too.
Please don't make it that difficult. I will not lay a hand on you, sexually or otherwise. I'm only following orders.” She pauses while securing the chain back to the wall. “So why don’t you drop your towel and put on this little number?” Sam pulls out from a chest of drawers, a sheer white dress.
I clench the towel harder. Looking at it, that fabric won't even go down to the top of my upper thigh.