Hope Restrained (Estate Series) (18 page)

Red with rust, or blood — or both. Her eyes opened
just enough so she could see the stain. It was everywhere: in her hair, on her
skin, on the bars and floors. She sat back; tired, her body barely moving when
she became uncomfortable or cramped.

Like animals, they were caged and they cried silently; the
sounds of their bodies softly beating against the bars from their sobs. Hope
fought the euphoria, the numbness and blanket of confusion, her blood still
polluted with the drug they’d forced. Waves of intoxication crashed against her
stealing her breath and it felt like, in those instances, she would drown. She
pushed through, breathing slowly … in and out. Her heart rate would slow and
her blood would stop speeding through her body.

She could barely comprehend what the two men said, but when
she saw them grab Xander, lock him down to his chair, something bloomed in her,
an emotion that removed the tunnel over her vision, that cleared the haze just
enough that she knew to be scared — on edge — alert. She pushed past
the next wave, breathing steady, willing her heart to slow back to a normal
pace.

Footsteps, slow and rhythmic, she opened her eyes to see
them approach. The guard walked through the rows, laughing, kicking at the
metal. Keys hung from his hand and he swung them, mocking the women trapped
inside the small cells.

“Who will it be?”

Despite the fact that they could easily be seen between the
bars, they backed up, cornering themselves, shrinking so as not to be chosen.

“This one.”

He knelt down in front of a cage, and the woman scrambled
away, pressing herself against the back. Another woman screamed, an agonizing
wail that made Hope’s ears feel like they would bleed — made it feel like
her heart was being ripped from her chest.

“Crystal! No!” The second woman reached out, desperate to
stop the guard from removing her friend.

He kicked at her hand, her arm bending back until a
sickening crunch punctured the air and the woman screamed again while pulling
her arm back to cradle it against her naked chest.

He laughed when he dragged her out by her hair, the air
ringing as her hands slid from one bar to another. She fought and Hope’s heart
beat faster to watch it, her own instincts kicking in — adrenaline
pushing it’s way through her. But even that small loss of control brought the
wave rushing back, overtaking her, leaving her lost in blissful ignorance of
the nightmare of her surroundings.

She didn’t push back again until they’d taken the girl to
the front of the room. She could barely see, it was too far for her hazed
vision and Xander’s body blocked parts of the scene. The table, she recognized
the table and her body shivered to remember how cold it had been — it
felt like razors scratching the skin, pins and needles everywhere.

The woman was laid across, strapped in, and she fought
— bucking against the men while they taunted her. They walked around, one
in front, one in back. Violated, abused, mistreated — the woman was being
used. The men moved, forcing themselves inside, but then one of the guards
screamed, the sound flooding the room. Hope forced herself to look, noticing
the blood that ran from the guard’s hands. He pulled away from the girl and
Hope saw the blood on her mouth.

Hope smiled to realize that even strapped down and shackled,
that woman still fought.

“Fucking bitch bit me!”

The other guard turned suddenly, grabbing something from the
table and moving to stand in front of the woman. “You like to bite?”

Pliers — he held pliers and Hope closed her eyes again
fearing what was to come.

She opened her eyes again when the blood curling scream
sounded. Holding her hands over her ears, she fought to mute the sound, but it
was invasive and all consuming.

Teeth fell to the ground and the horrendous scream would
never end. Balling over herself she attempted to hide from the horror that
played out in front of her. In her life, she’d seen pain, she’d seen death and
she’d seen heartache — but never had she’d seen the face of the beast
itself — a thing so vile and depraved that just by looking at it, your
soul was charred, a pattern burnt and scored into the deepest part of yourself.
It was an inescapable prison, created and molded to fit within the body of the
witness. It was repulsive and addicting at the same time.

Eventually, the screams eased into bitter, heartbreaking sobs,
Hope opened her eyes to be met with the pool of crimson gathered beneath the
woman — noticed how the guard who’d been bitten had replaced himself in
his pants and now marched towards the woman, a long thin pole in his hands,
spinning in front of him like the propeller of a plane or the blades of fan
that could tear a body apart. He laughed at her pain, smiled proudly at the
blood stained hand of the other guard, the pile of bits of white bone weaved
within the maroon pool spreading at their feet.

The woman looked up at them as much as she could with her
head strapped in place on the table and she did something that surprised Hope
— she spit. Pride towards the woman blossoming in Hope’s chest, she
nodded her respect to Crystal, recognizing that, despite the hopelessness of the
woman’s position, she continued to fight the bastards, refusing to allow them
to crush her spirit as easily as they could her body.

Hope noticed how Xander looked away, bracing himself for
what the guards would do. Maddy’s words rang louder in her head — feigning
weakness in effort to survive — the woman now locked onto the table was
doing the exact opposite. Even though she was shown how her life would end, she
fought — refusing survival by giving the men who tortured her dominion
over her mind — she fought and she lost.

The guard stood behind her, and Hope focused on the side of
Xander’s face, tried to keep her eyes locked to something she could love
— something that put an emotion in her other than the terror she felt. The
drugs stopped fogging Hope’s mind, the hormones produced by her body in
reaction to the woman’s terror and pain managing to wipe away the euphoric
effects.

The guard approached her, and positioned the pole, intent on
burying it in the woman from behind.

Her friend in the cage screamed and Hope covered her ears
again, her skull crushed by the force of her own hands.

“Son of a bitch! Stop!” Patrick stood up and looked between
the woman in front and her friend. Slowly, he stalked between the cages, his
hands tucked casually behind his back. He stopped above the woman.

Kneeling down, he asked, “How the fuck am I supposed to
enjoy the show with your annoying FUCKING SCREAMING!!” Once again, pulling the
gun from the waistband of his pants, he aimed and fired.

Her body fell to the ground, blood splattered from the cage
to land on Hope’s skin. Hope opened her eyes, not able to keep from looking at
what Patrick had done. She collapsed when she noticed the woman’s face was
gone.

Patrick stood up, brushing at the crimson splotches on his
shirt. “Fuck!”

He walked back to his seat and looked over at Xander, “I
apologize for the distraction. People have no fucking manners around here
anymore.” He smiled — the look unnerving in its insanity.

He turned his attention back to the front of the room. “Proceed.”

The guard shoved his hands forward, the pole he held
impaling the woman vertically until she choked on her own blood; her body
jerking in Hope’s peripheral vision from the stabbing, the tearing apart of her
body from the inside. When it was forced fully through her body, her body went
limp, a woman skewered like an animal on a spit.

The woman died on that table a whore, but Hope realized that
she walked into the next life a warrior. She’d never stopped fighting, never
given the bastard’s the submission they sought. Hope laid her head against the
bars of her cage imagining she could see the woman’s spirit leave the room,
finally freed from the madness and insanity of the house in which she’d been
trapped.

The room grew quiet except for the heart wrenching sobs of
the two women left alive in their cages.

 
“Well, that was
— pleasant. Guess it takes practice to learn that you never force your
dick into a bitch’s mouth without removing the teeth first.” Patrick stood from
his seat, glancing at Xander before turning to glare in Hope’s direction. “Remove
her body and clean up the area.” The tip of his tongue ran along his bottom
lip, the look in his eyes cruel and calculating. When his lip curled at the
side and a lewd grin stretched menacingly across his face, he continued, “It’s
time for me to take something that I’ve been wanting for the past week.”

Hope’s eyes widened. Locked to the blue and green of Patrick’s,
she attempted to move back in response to his stare — his words. Her body
was lethargic and the cage in which she’d been trapped offered her no place to
hide. The bastard stared down at her and grinned when he recognized that she
knew she was next.

She saw Xander’s body move, saw how he pulled against his
own chains to realize what Patrick was about to do. He was discreet in his
struggle, but Patrick noticed, smiling brighter to know that what he was about
to do would destroy Hope and Xander both.

The guards moved about, dragging the woman’s body away like
nothing more than meat. They mopped up the area, leaving it wet and clean, an
empty canvas on which they could paint another portrait of pain, of misery and
of malice.

Still staring at her, Patrick mused, “I was quite upset to
hear you’d been caught, especially considering you promised me you’d return. I
thought I’d chosen a professional by choosing you.” He stepped towards her and
all Hope could see out of the door of her cage was his approaching feet. “I
seem to remember that you promised to play.”

She stopped struggling to move away. Conserving her energy,
she realized that while imprisoned by metal, she been rendered defenseless. When
he reached her, he knelt down, peering in — a predator stalking his prey.
“You have nothing to worry about. Unlike my guards, I don’t feel a need to spill
blood immediately; especially considering the fact that it will take days for
me to do all the things to you that I’ve been dreaming up since our last
encounter.”

Hope looked at him, purposely blinking her eyes to appear
dazed. Even though her muscles still protested movement, and the room still
managed to spin around her, she could force herself to think clearly again.

“Clear the room!”

Hope couldn’t tell who was more surprised by his order, the
guards or her. When the men didn’t move fast enough, Patrick stood, screaming
his commands, the rage in his voice revealing the insanity contained within his
psyche. He was mad, a man overcome by demons — led by evil into becoming
evil, into personifying the ugly truths of life.

His men removed the living women from their cages, leaving
behind the women who’d died, the black shade of mortality already having freed
them from the prison their life had become. She was jealous that those women
had been granted the one thing fate had refused her for so long.

The dead were left behind, while the two who remained were
led to a room and shoved inside before the men closed the door again and
locking it. When the men had left and all who remained in the room were Hope,
Xander and Patrick, she shuddered, the silence amplifying the threat of the
violence to come.

Patrick didn’t unlock her cage immediately, but rather, he
walked casually away, stopping at a table across the room. Picking something
up, he turned again to face Xander and tapped a syringe against his palm.

“The small amount of fluid in this is enough to kill a man.”
He took a few steps towards Xander and the muscles across Hope’s back tensed,
her fingernails digging into the palm with the growing fury inside her.

“I’ve been instructed to keep you alive — at least
until we can obtain the information we seek. But, my partner and I disagree on
whether anything you say would be beneficial or not.” He stopped. “My vote is ‘not’.”

Stepping slowly towards Xander again, Patrick smiled
deviously. “Is anyone up for a game of chance?” He kneeled down in front of
Xander, “This amount could be enough to kill you — or — it could
leave you just at that edge to allow you to know what death is, but not quite
grant it. I’d like to find out exactly where it will take you.”

The chains rattled on Xander’s chair and the wood groaned
and cracked as he struggled to move. Hope’s head started to spin, but not from
the chemicals floating freely in her body — no. It was fear, the same
fear she felt for her sister, the same fear that meant she was losing something
she valued. Even more debilitating than the drugs, her fear froze her muscles
over her bones, made her throat swell to the point where it was difficult to
breathe. She willed herself to calm down — to feel nothing. She needed
the black space of violence and pain, she needed the clarity of having no
thought inside her mind besides the idea that she was to kill or be killed.

Patrick chuckled, the sound hollow and heartless. Placing
the syringe on the table beside Xander, he stood up again and moved to stand
beside the metal table at the front of the room. The grating squeak of metal
over metal resounded over the ceilings and walls — the sound scratching
against Hope’s mind when Patrick swiveled the table so that it faced Xander.

Hope could see the muscles flex and constrict beneath his
clothes. He worked at the chains, but couldn’t loosen them, no matter how
desperately he fought.

“Even if I hadn’t known already that you weren’t truly
intending to help my rebellion, I would have known by the way you fucked your
whore
. You see, it’s the face that gives
it away, the expression that reveals the truth about whether a woman hates what
is being done to her, or if she likes it.” His fingers idly played along the
table, the tips walking along the cold metal surface as if they were a man’s
legs.