That’s what you do with a toy. You play with it.
He grabs a hold of my left nipple and places the clamp on it. The sharp teeth make me hiss in a breath. “Kashton,” I cry when he does the other and allows the short chain to drop. There’s a small weight in the center of the chain that rests against my heated skin, pulling the clamps down.
He ignores me as he grabs another chain and hooks it to the ring of the collar, He holds it with one hand while the other picks up the duffel bag and starts to walk toward the door. “Come on.”
“Wait.” I stop, and he yanks me toward him. The movement has the nipple clamps biting, and it makes my pussy throb.
“Forty-eight hours, Eve,” he reminds me. “I control everything you do, and right now, you’re going to follow me. Do you understand?”
Swallowing, I nod softly. “I understand.”
TWENTY-THREE
KASHTON
Twelve years old
Istep off the elevator and whistle while making my way through the pits to the hallway that leads to the cells.
My heart begins to race when I see the first one on the right is open. I rush into it, looking around. My tennis shoes crunch the broken glass that still remains on the floor from last night when I visited. Why haven’t they cleaned it? And the blood? The floor is covered in it. Something has been dragged through it. Smearing it across the concrete floor.
“Why are you down here?”
I turn around to see my father following me and step into the cell. “Where is she?” I demand.
“She’s gone, Kashton.”
“You moved her?” I shove him out of the way and rush out of her cell. I go to the one across from her. Wrapping my hands around the bars, I scream into it. “Mom?” A frail woman sits in the far corner, her arms wrapped around her bony legs with her head down, trying to hide her naked body. “Where is she?” I shout, and the person flinches.
“Kashton.”
“Mom?” I scream, starting to panic. I run down the hallway, scanning each cell. There are a few that don’t have bars, just concrete doors, and I slam my fists on them as I call to her, hoping she answers from the other side.
“She’s gone, Kashton.” My father yanks me back by my shirt and spins me around to face him.
“You killed her.” I punch him, and he pushes me away. “Why? Why would you do that?” Tears sting my eyes.
“She killed herself.”
“No.” I refuse to believe that. “She wouldn’t leave me.”
“Come on.” He grabs my upper arm and pulls me through the basement andto the morgue.
We enter a cold room that has rows and rows of drawers stacked three high. It’s where they keep the bodies. There’s a metal table in the center with a white sheet over it that’s soaked in blood.
A knot gets lodged in my throat when my father walks over to it and yanks it back.
It’s my mother, but I refuse to believe it. “No.” My tear-filled eyes go to his.
“She took a piece of glass and slit her throat,” he explains, running his finger across her neck, following the open wound. It looks almost fake. Like a Halloween costume with its uneven line.
“This is your fault,” I scream. My chest is squeezing. I can’t breathe. “You…you didn’t clean up the shattered glass.” It was from the light bulb that had broken. It was all over the floor. “It was cutting her.” She had blood on her hands and knees last night from crawling around her cell.
He says nothing, and I walk over to her and place my hands on her arm. I’ve never been able to touch her before. Even in her cell, she never tried to reach out to me or get close enough to hold my hand. That’s all I ever wanted. To show her how much she meant to me. How much I love her.
“No.” I shake my head. “She wouldn’t leave me. She loves me…” Tears roll down my face. “Please…Mom.” I sniff when my nose begins to run, digging my fingers into her cold skin. “No.”
“Sometimes you have to hurt the one you love.”
