Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
His stomach clenched with pure terror. Would this be his life? In comparison to the prospect of being raped and beaten over and over again, even a life in Diana’s cage seemed like not that bad of a deal.
He tried to scramble for information about his whereabouts, but there was nothing specific in sight. The corridor was long, with white walls, a laminate floor that had a greenish shade, and pairs of doors facing each other at regular intervals. No windows though. The basement of some kind of office building?
His skin still burned from the icy water, but he knew that at least he wasn’t to die just yet. Muted laughter drew his attention to a room they passed, but the two goons stopped just a couple of paces away, with Crooked opening the next door along.
Bright light made Clover squint when he entered the new space, stumbling when one of the men shoved him forward. The floor here was colder and harder than the laminate had been, and when he opened his eyes, white tiles surrounded him from every side. They covered the floor, the walls, and even the ceiling of the empty space
Empty with the exception of a contraption made of metal and leather.
In the pale space, the one piece of furniture was like a giant black spider crouching in the middle, its legs attached to the floor with thick screws, open cuffs dangling off the thing. It took Clover’s brain all too long to recognize the rig for what it was. He’d seen something similar in a catalogue he’d looked through with Drake.
A spanking bench, only a heavy duty one, with traces of use on the leather.
“What’s your name?” came from a speaker in a pleasant masculine voice made eerie by the creaking sound that followed.
His brain emptied. Should he keep that a secret? Was there a need for it at this point? “I… I—”
Crooked slapped the back of his head, sending him two steps forward. “Answer the fucking question.”
“Clover,” he choked out.
Big Nose closed the door that had no handle on this side, just a metal grip meant for pulling, and the finality of the gesture made Clover’s stomach drop. He’d be raped here. Why hadn’t he listened to Tank? Jerry’s successful killing had muddled his mind and given him far too much confidence in his skills. Between these white walls, stripped naked, he could see how miniscule they were all too clearly. He wasn’t strong enough, nor fast enough. He hadn’t even been smart enough to run and call for Tank’s help when he’d still had the chance.
Boar had been right. Drake hadn’t been thinking straight, and Clover should have tried to stop him instead of following his lead in that moment of madness.
He searched for the speaker, only to find it mounted above a large window. His heart might have stopped before speeding up into a frantic gallop when he saw Apollo on the other side. The man wore a mask that covered the upper half of his face, but it was the same person Clover had seen at the zoo. Seated in a comfortable chair, he drank wine from a crystal glass, but he wasn’t alone. Four other people were in the dark space on the other side of the glass, their own masks glowing in the clinical light shining above Clover. Each was the same plain oval with slits for eyes, as if they had been offered to wear them for the occasion.
What the hell was this?
“And who might you be, Clover? Who do you work for?” Apollo asked, and drank more wine.
Were the others being questioned now too? What would Drake have done? Or Boar? Clover knew one thing—neither of them would have given up Tank and Pyro.
“I work for myself,” Clover uttered.
One of the goons behind him snorted. “This will be fun,” he whispered to the other.
Apollo tut-tutted and pointed to the contraption. “You didn’t come to that zoo on your own, so why would you say something that stupid?”
Clover didn’t get to speak before two pairs of strong arms dragged him toward the spanking bench as if he were a puppet. Fire burned through his veins, and he kicked one of his captors without thinking, but the man’s elbow clashed with his mouth so hard the room spiraled around Clover even as he felt cool leather touch his chest and gravity pull at his limbs.
“Don’t make this harder on yourself than it needs to be,” Apollo said as if he were calming a toddler.
Clover’s heart was beating faster by the second, and he cried out in pain when Big Nose pressed him down. Crooked grabbed Clover’s hands and fastened them to the bench with metal cuffs that felt nothing like the soft leather Drake had used for their pleasure.
“I’m sorry,” he uttered. “I meant that we work alone. Not for anyone else.”