Page 99 of The Collector
What was he doing here? How did he find out where I live?
Her eyes felt heavy, blinking rapidly as they fought to stay open.
Mynx took two steps toward her sister before her knees gave way, and she fell. She grasped at the side of the bed, raking at thesheets, trying to pull herself up. She tried to scream for help. But it was already too late. The darkness was beginning to consume her, but it was stilled.
When Mynx awoke, her body screamed with pain before her mind could catch up to the reason why. She was pinned to the bed, wrists burning against the restraints. The sheets beneath her were damp with sweat—hers, she realized. Light poured in from the hallway, too bright, too clean for what was happening. She blinked against it, trying to orient herself, trying to remember how she got here.
Then Pierre stepped into view.
Mynx swallowed her screams for help behind the gag he'd placed on her. He moved slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world. His black eyes scanned her face, and then he smiled, an eerie smile that made her skin crawl. He stopped moving towards her and sat on the edge of her bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Mynx recoiled instinctively, gagging, breath catching in her throat.
She tried to scream, tried to twist away, but the restraints held. The gag muffled everything but the sound of her panic.
Pierre reached for her leg, fingers grazing her skin like he was testing a violin string. She flinched. His smile vanished. His eyes hardened.
Without a word, he stood and began circling the bed, checking each restraint with clinical precision. When he reached the last one—her left wrist—he tugged it tighter, the strap biting into Mynx's skin. She winced, and he leaned in, letting his fingerstrail along the inside of her arm. The touch was deliberate. Intimate. Cruel.
"You have no idea what I gave up for you," he said softly, almost tenderly. "The deals I made. The blood I spilled. And here you are—flinching away in fear. That hurts, Mynx. It really does."
She stared at him, eyes wide, heart pounding. Her mind raced—not just with fear, but with calculation. She needed to find a way out of this to save herself and Cyndi.
He stood walking around the bed, and he went to each of her restraints to ensure they were tight as she struggled against them. His fingers glided along her inner arm after he checked the last one. The touch made Mynx cringe. His eyes hardened, and he tightened the restraint even tighter.
Pierre continued his inspection, his gaze drifting over her body like he was assessing merchandise. Then he spoke again, voice light, conversational—like they were old friends catching up.
"Normally, I wouldn't give you a choice in matters like these," he said, adjusting the strap at her ankle. "But since there are two of you for me to play with, I'll allow it. A choice. After all, I really only need one of you long-term. Keeping too many hostages is so time-consuming."
He chuckled, as if he'd made a clever joke. As if this were all perfectly reasonable.
Mynx's stomach turned. Her mind screamed. But her body stayed still, bound and gagged, forced to listen.
"So, here's what I'd like you to do, nod once if you accept my offer for yourself, okay- but if you'd rather, I have your sister's time— you just shake your head no. Easy enough, right?" Pierre sat beside her again.
There was no way he was letting this fuck get his hands on her sister. If she had to give herself freely, she would. She would endure anything for Cyndi. Mynx studied him, listened,and stopped struggling. He moved closer and took her hand in his own. Looked at her almost lovingly. Mynx fought the urge to vomit.
"Mynx, will you do me the honor of worshipping my existence, let me bathe myself in your blood whenever I choose? And in return, I'll take care of you, nurse you back to health so that we can do it all again. I'll make it worth your while. I'll give you orgasm after orgasm and adore you like you've never been." Pierre stared at her. He waited. Eyes locked on hers. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Her breath hitched. Her body trembled. But her gaze didn't break. She gave him nothing.
This sick fuck sounded as if he were reciting marriage vows. He was clearly delusional, dangerous, and out of his fucking mind.
"You will fucking choose," he said, slamming his hand on the mattress," or I will choose for you, Mynx. I've heard Raven's pet name for you is butterfly." He stood moving closer to her. "Well—," he huffed, "let me tell you a little something about me, Mynx. I enjoy tearing the wings off butterflies, watching them wither in pain. And I will feel no remorse when I do the same to you or your sister. You can agree, and I will eventually let her go once I see that you are truly willing to comply. Or you can both die now. It makes no difference to me. There are plenty of others who'd gladly take your place. Now choose." He leaned so close to her face that she could feel his breath and smell his body odor. She gagged.
He reached for her throat, fingers grazing the butterfly pendant Raven had given her. "Pretty-- little thing--," he sneered. "Let's see-- how well it flies without wings.
Mynx nodded just once. What other choice did she have? Her body was bound, her voice gagged, her mind clawing for escape. The nod wasn't consent—it was survival. A placeholder. A delay tactic. But Pierre took it as worship.
His smile widened, sick with triumph.
Then the door creaked open.
Pierre turned, his posture stiffening. Stoker stepped into the room, dressed in black, his presence quiet but commanding. He didn't rush. Didn't speak. Ju t stood there, watching.
Pierre's face twitched. "What are you doing here? Our transaction was completed hours ago. You got the proof-of-death photos you asked for."
Stoker clicked his tongue, slow and deliberate. "Pierre—Pierre," he said, voice low and almost amused. "Did you really think I'd give you something so valuable… so easily?"
Pierre's smile faltered. "We had a deal."
Stoker stepped closer, eyes scanning the room. His gaze landed on Mynx—bound, gagged, trembling—and something in his expression shifted. It wasn't pity or rage. But something colder, more calculating.
