Me, the boy who takes Rowan’s hand, and the woman are the only ones exposed.
My heart is going to fucking explode. It beats in an odd rhythm, battering against my chest as one by one the mirrored masks line up in front of the woman.
Rowan strokes the top of the boy’s head and asks, “Would you like to choose tonight, sweet boy?”
“No, Master,” he croaks. “You know better than me.”
What in the ever-living fuck is wrong with him?
It can’t be something sick. He’s just a kid and these are grown adults. Rowan raises his free hand to the lined-up guards, announcing, “Entertain me. Your prize is waiting.” He ruffles the boy’s hair.
I’m frozen in place, useless as the first masked guard steps forward, lowering his zipper. The woman doesn’t scream or lift her chin. There’s no fight as she’s violated.
I can’t escape the image with all the fucking mirrors in the room, reflecting every angle of her abuse. They’re not content with forcing themselves inside her body. They degrade her, devalue her soul in the same ways still haunting me.
She’s forced to her knees.
Slapped.
Punched.
Kicked.
Pissed on.
Her mouth forced open as some of them push their fingers into her ass, depositing the contents on her tongue.
And she doesn’t fight.
She’s like me.
The knife I tucked into my boot during the flight scrapes against my ankle as I manage to break through the ice setting into my limbs. The first step is mechanical. Pained. Each subsequent step is worse. The pain allows me to move until Istruggle to remain a grasp on reality then it all flickers, mixing the image in front of me with the one from my memories.
21
CHAPTER 21*
Fifteen mirrors crowd Kane as he gets closer to Bianca. The masks are curved to cover the features of the guards beneath them, distorting the reflection of his approach.
Fifteen masks, yet there are thirty reflections staring at him. Fifteen of him with wild eyes and a goal. Fifteen of Bianca with her deep red hair, nearly black from the fluids soaked into the strands. She’s become desensitized to the violence around her, accepted her fate after a lifetime of being Rowan’s object of entertainment.
She learnt at a young age he craved her screams the same way an artist lives for an encore, so she kept her pain to herself. Which Kane doesn’t understand as he takes his knife from his boot, grabbing the nape of the guard closest to him. He sees a companion who may understand his torment, so he’s offering her protection. As he pulls the guard’s head down into his knee, he catches the blur of Bianca’s hair. Red hair—like his orb that resembled fire. His marble rolled out of his hand because he couldn’t protect it whenhewas assaulted. Here, in this desolate place far removed from humanity, he’s been given an opportunity to stop the marble from rolling away.
Plunging the knife into the soft tissue of the guard’s clavicle, he twists, digging it deeper, further, until the muffled gurgling comes from under the mask. Then he drops them, moving on to his next target.
Each guard wears his face. Kane, the reflection, has his own reflection. One he hates because it shows he’s weak, a victim to his memories. Even though he’s no longer trapped with the torment, he will never truly be able to escape, so his movements are in part fueled by anger and inferiority.
To kill the abusers.
To kill the victim they turned him into.
To kill the abuser he’s become.
He keeps slashing, punching, screaming internally, but each guard falling lifeless to the floor isn’t really dead because his goal is to kill parts of himself. An unachievable goal after seven failed suicide attempts over the course of his life. Still, he tries in vain as he drags a guard’s head back, cutting a deep slash across their throat. The soft cloth of their mask parts and their all-black attire becomes sodden in blood.
None of them attempt to fight back as Rowan eagerly watches on, awaiting the outcome. Beneath his mask, he smiles in pride at what he’s managed to create in Kane.
A son,Rowan thinks.One who may end up becoming worthy once he’s successfully trained. A son who wasn’t born defective like the others. A son I share with Mother, both of us forever together.
