Page 56 of Their Little Ghost

“This is only the beginning, Erin,” he warns, standing up. “We’re just getting to know each other. Now, get on your knees.”

I shuffle to the edge of the bed, swaying from side to side. “I…”

“Do it!” he roars.

I slide off and land on my knees before him.

He nudges me with his foot like I’m a dog, forcing me to crawl into the middle of the floor.

“Take off your robe,” he orders. My momentary hesitation makes him more irate. “Off, now!”

I do as he asks, slipping the soft material from my shoulders and letting it fall.

“Look at their marks on you,” he admires, walking around in circles while I keep my chin lowered, avoiding eye contact. “You may not remember them touching you, but your body loved every second of it. Your body needs us. It craves us. And, as you like games so much, it’s time we played one together.”

Terror builds in the pit of my stomach.

“Get on all fours for me,” he commands. While I position myself, he acts fast. A rough leather band crushes my windpipe as he pulls it taut around my neck and fastens it. He gives the leash a tug. Adrenaline brings me out of my hazy, drug-induced state, knowing danger is here, and there’s nowhere to hide. “This is how they used to chain us up in Sunnycrest.”

He yanks the chain attached to my collar. The metal links rattle and jerk my head upright.

Although I’ve been in the asylum many times, I’ve never been on the wards. However, I’ve heard Dad talk about how they pride themselves on gentle rehabilitation. Three must be lying.

“You’re our pet, and we’re your owners, Little Ghost,” he says. “I want you to remember this whenever you have another thought about letting another man lay their hands on you.”

“I just wanted to speak to you,” I breathe, realizing how stupid it sounds as I say it.

“Enough,” he hisses. “All I want to hear from your mouth is pleading for me to stop.”

He ruffles around with something. Clinking crystals chime, then pressure from the leash builds. He forces my head up at an uncomfortable angle, drawing a choking sound from theback of my throat. I reach for my neck, struggling to breathe as it tightens. I move from all fours to a kneeling position and then onto my feet as the lifting chain manipulates me like a marionette.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “On your feet.”

I hold the collar, clawing the material as it cuts into my skin. Above us, my chandelier jingles, and realization hits. He’s created a pulley system—wrapping the chain around a chandelier arm, then back to his hands, leaving just the right amount of slack for me to stand. He tightens the chain, wrapping it around his fist to force me onto my tiptoes. It’s the only way to breathe.

“If you try to escape, those crystals will shatter your skull,” he says.

Why did Mom insist on placing chandeliers in every room in the house?

He swaggers forward with his lighter and holds the flame in front of my face, dangerously close to my eyelashes. “Are you scared, Little Ghost?”

I swallow hard and goosebumps spread over my skin.

“Yes,” I whisper.

I’m hanging like a carcass, completely at his mercy, wearing nothing but panties.

“Good.” The balaclava stretches across his face to form a grin as he flips the Zippo lid down. “You should be.”

His index finger skims along my cheekbone, then down the curve of my chin and neck. My breathing deepens, my bare breasts heaving. He stops behind my ear, resting on my pulse.

“It’s racing, Little Ghost,” he observes. “The others are sad they can’t be here, but they have other plans.”

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Lex,” he replies with no qualms. Sensing my shock, he laughs coldly. “Knowing my name changes nothing. You can’t trace someone who should be dead.”

“You’re a ghost too,” I say.

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