Page 23 of Don't Say A Word

According to her file, she’s only a few years older than my sister, years younger than me. So I block the thoughts from my mind like I’ve trained myself to do.

But I do wonder what she thinks when she finally focusses on me. She doesn’t know that I’m not the one who took her. Not the one who wants her.

The first thing she does is speak. Not a quick learner. I have to use the lash again, needing her to submit to me quickly, rather than draw the punishment out.

Unlocking her wrists from the chains, I command her to kneel. She falls to the ground without hesitation and inwardly I smile. Maybe she’s not the slow learner I previously thought. Drawing her chin upward, I command her to look at me. Her eyes are swimming in moisture. Tears balance precariously until they trip over and spill down her cheeks. She drops her gaze to the ground and I whip the lash over the soles of her feet.

She’s so tempting, kneeling before me. Her eyes are the darkest of browns. So dark they could easily be mistaken for black if not for the outline of her pupils. Defiance and curiosity dances in them. Questions hover behind her tears. I need to leave. I need to get away before the temptation of her is too much and I do something I regret.

Junior is already standing at the monitors, Marcel at his side when I walk back into the room. His eyes are glued to the screen, twinkling with depraved anticipation.

“You can’t go in there,” I say before he even notices me.

“I can if I want. She’s mine,” says the petulant child.

“Not yet, she isn’t.” I do my best to keep my voice calm and even like his father does. “You agreed to let me train her. Part of that includes not going in there. Not yet. Not this soon.”

Anger flashes across his expression and he reaches for the gun holstered at his side, pressing it to the side of my head. It doesn’t scare me though. Junior is impulsive and quick to anger, but he’s not stupid enough to shoot his father’s favorite employee.

“Get that out of my face,” I growl.

“Make me,” he hisses back.

And so I do. Moving quickly, I snake out my hand, grabbing his wrist and twisting it away from me, gaining control of both him and the pistol.

“Men who carry guns are cowards,” I say to the back of his head as his body jerks lower with each increased twist of his hand. “If you’re going to kill someone, be a man. Look them straight in the eye and plunge a knife into their flesh or lock your fingers around their throat. Any man can pull a trigger, but only a weakling chooses to.”

I know his father will hear about this. I know that as soon as he’s out the door, he will be on the phone, his whinging voice telling tales. But like me, Junior is not scared. He knows I’m not stupid enough to hurt him.

It would be the end of me if I did.

I loosen my grip and he twists from my hold, running his hands through his hair to smooth it and reaching for his gun.

“Tut, tut,” I say, holding it just out of his reach. “You can have it when you leave.”

Taking the bullets out of the chamber, I shove the gun into the waistband of my jeans. Marcel is doing his best not to laugh as Junior fumes, threatening to call his father.

“Go ahead,” I say. “You know he’ll agree with me.”

Then a sinister smile crosses his angular face. “Everly called me last night.”

My blood turns cold. Just the sound of her name on his lips is enough to send icicles of fear into my heart. It’s one thing for his father to use her against me, but it’s another thing when he does.

“She said to say hello.” Crossing his arms, Junior turns back to watching the girl in the cell. She’s stretching, testing her muscles after spending so long trussed up. The monitor is in grayscale, so the injuries around her wrists aren’t too obvious. I desperately hope Junior doesn’t notice.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he says as she moves to the bed.

He says the words almost lovingly but the glint in his eyes is anything but. There’s a wickedness there, and for a moment, I feel sorry for this girl who is to be handed over to him as a pet. His annoyance at our altercation is gone now and he’s transfixed by the way the girl’s breasts jiggle with movement. He strokes the screen as though it allows him to touch her.

“I’ve been watching her for months, just waiting. She has no idea.” He rubs his hands together gleefully. “Have you heard her sing?” There is something in the way he looks at me, a challenge in his expression.

I shake my head, knowing it’s the answer he wants. When does he think she would have had the chance to sing? Fucking idiot.

He looks back at the monitor, the aggression in his stance sated. “Her voice speaks to my soul.” He looks at her with what some might mistake as love. “It’ won’t be long until you’re mine, my sweet songbird.”

As soon as he leaves, Marcel turns to me, eyes wide. “She’s to be given to the fucking boss’s son?” He whistles low and long. “Oh, how I’d love to get my hands on her just to mess with him. He’s so fucking stuck up the way he looks down on everyone, thinking he’s better than us all when he’s a fucking simpleton.”

“Watch your language,” I hiss at him because there’s nothing else to say. I’m a bastard like that.

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