“Are you still having side effects?” It’s only been a few weeks, but I wonder if that’s something he’ll have forever.
He shakes his head. “No. Yes…” Trailing off, he looks over at the cell and then back at me. “I got a call from Ryat around midnight. He hallucinated and needed someone to talk to.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Is he okay?”
“As well as a man who sees his wife and children getting tortured and murdered in front of him can be. It feels so real. No matter how much you tell yourself it’s a hallucination.” He widens his stance and goes on. “After his call, I went back to sleep, and well…”
“Had a nightmare?” I guess when he trails off.
He doesn’t respond, and I know that his call with Ryat brought Haidyn’s worst fear to life for him.
“She’s safe, man,” I assure him. I never asked him what he saw happening to Charlotte when he was at Dollhouse. I didn’t need to.
“For now,” he growls. “But that doesn’t change what that motherfucker was going to do to her.”
I slap his bare shoulder. “Go upstairs and fuck your wife. He’ll still be down here when you’re done.” The bastard isn’t going anywhere. He can’t see, for fuck’s sake. Devin made him a special mask for his face that covers the holes where his eyes once were. Haidyn didn’t want him to die from an infection—too easy, he said. No. He wants his death to be slow and dragged out over years. But at this rate, I’m not sure he’ll make it another week.
Haidyn turns to walk away but stops and faces me once more. “Have you spoken to Sin?”
I shake my head.
“Give him a call.”
If it was only that easy. I would just show up at his house again, but I don’t want to upset Ellington. She’s been through enough, and she’s pregnant. I don’t want to put any more stress on her. Especially after how much she cried when I took her to that appointment. “He wants nothing to do with me.”
Haidyn moves again, and I follow him down the hall and into the open room where the pits are. He goes over to the sink in the corner and turns on the faucet before pouring soap into his hands. “Sin seemed pretty upset at Blackout the other day when Tyson called that meeting.” As he begins to wash his bloody arms, the remnants of his rage splash into the sink. “If Ryat’s having hallucinations, I can guarantee Sin is too.” Rinsing off all the suds, he turns off the water and grabs some towels before turning to face me. “And no matter how mad he is at you, I promise…he could use a friend.” With that, he tosses the wadded-up paper towels and walks away, headed to the elevator to go upstairs to shower and fuck his wife.
I have no doubt that afterward, he’ll be right back down here torturing Hudson with that damn song on repeat.
I pull my cell out and go to Sin’s contact. I type out a message but then delete it. It’s four in the morning. My meeting with Adam replays in my mind, and I debate about what to do. I can’t just ask Eve about her past. She’s not the type of woman to open up about her life. Not to someone like me anyway.
But sex? You can tell a lot about someone by how they like to fuck. Or be fucked. In our world, you’re either the Dom or the sub, and I promise you, 99.9 percent of the time, the woman is the sub. And if Eve’s going to be someone’s toy, she’ll be mine.
I run up to my room, change my T-shirt, grab a hat, and pack a bag. I’m going to go see my girl for the second time tonight.
EVERETT
Sixteen years old
The door to my bedroom swings open with a bang, and I quickly sit up in bed.
“Get up,” my father orders.
Swallowing, I push the covers off and get to my feet. I want to ask where I’m going, but I already know. I’ve been going to the same appointment for the past couple of months.
They say I’m a woman, and a woman has responsibilities. Whatever that means.
I slide on my shoes and follow him out of my room. My feet are heavy, and my heart is broken. This life isn’t worth living. Not like it was before, but I refuse to believe this is all I get. And if it is, then I might as well just end it.
We come to a stop at the end of the hall, and he opens the door for me. He always stays. It’s to guarantee that I won’t attack the doctor. I tried once. Managed to hit her in the face before my father grabbed me by the neck and slammed me against the wall. It knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, I was strapped to the table with him looking over me. Afterward, I was placed in a straitjacket for three days—punishment for my violent behavior.
“Hello, Eve.” The woman smiles at me as if she’s friendly. No one here is. “Come.” She pats the table. “Lie down for me.”
I know the routine, so I remove my shoes, sweatpants, and underwear, and then I crawl up on the table and lie down with my arms down by my sides, palms up. This position makes her feel safe. Who the fuck cares how I feel?
She straps my wrists to the table so I can’t fight her, then does another over my upper chest and stomach. “Just a precaution,” she tells me. “You won’t feel any pain.”
I swallow nervously, staring up at the ceiling. I’m always put in humiliating situations.
