Page 36 of Body Tox

“Ready for your prize, Pretty Boy?”

The attic of the church was surprising. Who knew there would be little toys back here? Old-school torture devices were stored against the walls. There were even notches where chains could anchor something.

Historical reasons?

I didn’t exactly know why there were torture devices here, but I still didn’t have shit to wear but these ugly ass robes. I had to make due.

“Asher Ballard,” I said, breathing hard from pulling his unconscious body up onto the slab.

His lean muscle was fucking toned. My cheeks heated as I pulled the layers of clothes from his body, leaving him only in his boxers.

How does it feel to be the naked one asshole?

Up close, I could finally see his tattoos. There were so many designs, and each one told its own story. What was Asher’s story? I only had one piece of information.

A name.

Despite my search engine and social media searches, the name was a complete ghost. Asher Ballard didn’t exist. Eira Svenson didn’t technically exist either, but yet here I was.

My father’s company had swiped my name from existence, and Echo was born. I didn’t even know who the fuck Eira was. That girl died the day she saw her mother slaughtered by monsters.

Eira. It means merciful in Norwegian, and Echo was anything but….

“Agh…wha?”

I smiled, shaking myself from my thoughts and the people who didn’t exist to go back to my Pretty Boy.

“Good morning, sunshine,” I sang, admiring my intricate chain setup.

There was a bar overhead, and I clipped the carabiners through the embedded iron loops on the back of the wall. These bible humpers were so gracious to leave these special treats for me.

These archaic ass castles had metal loops all over the place, probably used to place torches or some other medieval crap. It worked well enough to loop the chains over the bar and onto those hooks.

If my handsome little prisoner pulled forward, he would feel every ounce of his weight on his wrists, and that would make him think twice before yanking on his new bracelets.

I giggled, the gorgeous setup being the perfect ‘finders-keepers’ moment.

All that was missing was my dagger.

A tear slipped free, the emptiness of my hand with its golden weight leaving a hole in my heart. My jewelry box was god knows where, and I had to make do with the pliers, hammers, and other construction tools left up here.

According to the internet, the torture tools up here were going to be fun. I ran my fingers against the rows of needles. Pretty Boy was about to look like a porcupine.

“It’s a shame, really, since you are so pretty.”

He was blinking, groaning, and studying the bright light aimed at his face. The aches of the angle and his wrists above his head had to be registering.

“More than what meets the eye, Little Wraith?” he mused, testing the shackles around his arms.

“Why does someone want you dead?” I said, getting right to the point.

He laughed, attempting to shrug, his shackles rattling on the slab.

“I piss a lot of people off. Bound to have one or two wishing for my untimely demise.”

I pondered that. He was definitely fucking annoying, but getting a hit out on you meant one of two things. They were hiding something the person knew, or they were sending a message to someone.

“Message?” I said, pacing in front of him. “Or did you stick that little nose where it doesn’t belong?”

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