Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
We’ll finally be in control, the monster and me.
I know she’s lost sense of time by how often she feeds. There’s no daylight down there—just the motion-activated ceiling bulbs. There’s nothing but silence and her own thoughts for company.
I can see it starting to wear on her. I mean, it’s pretty obvious when she starts screaming and jerking in her bonds at hour twenty. I’m glad they’re lined with soft, faux fur. I wonder if the screaming feels like a good release. I know I’ll play the sweet soundtrack of her screams back later when I rub one out.
She doesn’t ask me to come down, and she doesn’t relent; she just screams and screams. That’s my Mads, as stubborn as ever.
To double check, I press a button on my laptop connected to a speaker in the basement. “Do you yield?”
Her head immediately jerks upwards towards the ceiling, and I see fury and fire replace despair.
“No, I don’t yield, you twisted kidnapping son of a motherfucking cuntbag!”
I smile and reach a finger out towards the screen to caress her image. I’ve missed that mouth of hers. I never thought I’d ever meet a girl with the face of an angel who could swear a Donegal lad like me under the table.
This distance between us feels good. Necessary. Will she finally crack and do away with this ridiculous amnesia farce? How much will it take to break her the way her father broke me?
I don’t have a clue what to do with the warring affection and vengeance in my chest, but I suppose that’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? I never was good at expressing my emotions. Moira’s always saying so.
But I’m happy to show Mads exactly how I feel. I’m better with actions than words, anyway.
As soon as she gives in to me and lets me start to train her flesh, oh yes, I’ll show her exactly how I’ve felt all these years.
It will be so satisfying, in a way that has my fingers itching for her skin, once she finally yields.
I’ll be a far more benevolent owner than they were to me. And once and for all, the control will be mine.
After more screaming, some time spent curled up in a ball—or as much of one as she can manage with her shackles—at six minutes past hour thirty-two, she finally whispers in the tiniest voice that I have to reverse and playback with the volume cranked all the way up: “I yield.”
Immediately, I race to the elevator, my heart thumping. I force myself to stand there for five minutes more before hitting the button to call the elevator. I can’t have her thinking I was waiting for her, after all.
Control is a tentative game of temptation and withdrawal. I’ve become a master at it over the years, but this is truly the greatest test of my skills yet. I’m finally faced with the only other master to have ever bested me.
TWELVE
BROOKE
I hate him. My throat aches from screaming out my fury. My limbs ache from yanking against the horrible, barred contraption he’s bound me in. Worse than chains, it constricts my movements so much, it’s driving me insane.
I’ve felt nuts a few times after waking up and not being able to remember my own name, but the last week, or however long he’s had me down here, has made me rethink what insanity really means. I’ve barely slept—who could in this fucking contraption he’s got me locked in? Basic bodily functions like eating and using the bathroom are all but impossible. I mean, they’re possible, but fucking barely.
But worse than all that, he was fucking right.
I can’t stand being alone.
There’s nothing but my goddamned thoughts. I’m supposed to be on this big journey to find myself, right?
But when I’m left alone with nothing but my own thoughts for company, I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin.
At first I thought he’d just shut me down here and forgotten about me. Then when his voice came over the speaker and I realized he was watching me the entire time… it felt… better.
I still wanted to stab him in the eyeballs for locking me up in this awful fucking cuff contraption, but still, someone was there. It wasn’t just me and the darkness. And the nightmares.
The last nightmare I woke up screaming from, I finally remembered something. Just an image in the darkness. A black box. Like a trunk you put blankets in. And I was so, so afraid when I saw it. I can’t remember why. But I was so terrified.
What am I supposed to do with these dreams and the puzzle of crumbs Domhnall’s dropped, if any of it’s true?
My father’s someone who likes inflicting pain. Domhnall said he made an art of it. What the hell’s that supposed to mean? And how does Domhnall know it? Did he meet my father at another BDSM club? How do I fit into it? He said I’m a liar, and that we made him a monster.