I look over at Todd, aiming my gun at him. “Don’t fucking move.”
“I…fuck...Brian…I…” he stammers, glancing toward the front door. I’m not taking chances.
Two shots, one to each of his knees, takes him down to the floor, howling like the bleeding pig he is.
“Fuck!” Cathy tries to scramble up, to crawl away, but Dolly yanks out of my grip and pins her to the ground.
“We need to get them somewhere we can work.” I point the gun at Todd again. “Shut the fuck up or I’ll cut out your fucking vocal cords.”
Tears streak his pale face. He nods and holds up one hand covered in his own blood. “Okay. Okay!”
“Take out her other leg. I don’t want her to be able to move,” I instruct Dolly as I step over Cathy’s huddled body and head toward the kitchen. The door to her basement is there, leading down to the last place Cathy will take a breath.
I open the door to the basement and flick on the light.
“No!” Cathy’s protest is replaced with a curling scream. The last time I heard the sound, my heart shattered. This time, my heart warms.
Twenty-Five
DOLLY
“We’re all set.” Ken stands back from the camera he’s hooked up in Cathy’s basement. She had all the equipment already. Ken’s disappointment in her grows deeper by the moment.
Her basement isn’t very different than the playroom Ken and I knew. There’s a cross, which we’ve secured Cathy to, a table with straps built into it, and a tool chest in the corner. She has her own torture chamber here, down to the camera equipment to capture it all.
“It’s not online, but that’s good. We’ll run it later, once we’re away from here,” Ken explains. He’s already told me this, but I’m not going to correct him. There’s a lot for him to process here.
His partner betrayed him. Sent him to the playhouse. Spent money to see him tortured for her own amusement.
I check the ties on Cathy’s arms. She’s mumbling behind the cloth gag in her mouth. Tears run down her cheeks. We have her on the cross, standing on her feet. With her cut tendons, it probably hurts like a bitch.
I pat her cheek. “Doing okay?” I ask sweetly. She blinks several times and starts muttering again. “Can’t understand you, sorry.” I tap my finger against the gag. She pulls on her restraints, but Ken has her tied tight. She’s not going anywhere.
Todd isn’t ready yet. Ken needs him, so he’s secured to a chair in the corner with a good view, his wounds bandaged to keep him from bleeding out. We want him alert, or at least conscious.
Cathy pulls harder, shaking her head. Her attention focuses behind me on Ken.
“I think she’s scared of that cattle prod you’re holding.” I run my finger along her jaw. “You want to start there?” I ask him, looking over my shoulder at him.
“Dolly, what did she request most often of you?” Ken asks me, his gaze glued to Cathy. He stripped her when he secured her, so we have her entire body to play with. Nice blank canvas as Bossman would say. I know, because it’s what he said to me whenever he gave me enough time to heal between sessions.
“Queenhearts loved to see me dangled from the ceiling. She was particularly fond of my ass being used.” I recall the pings from the playroom. How fast they would dance around the room. The times when she was the special bidder, the pings were louder. Maybe it was because the pain was greater or because she was relentless in her requests.
Ken snorts. “Maybe that’s why she had me fuck her ass.”
“The camera’s on. We can start,” Ken says to me, pressing a kiss to my temple.
“Do you want to go first?” I ask him. She hurt me. I’ll have the scars for the rest of my life, but the hurt she caused him isn’t visible on his skin—and that’s worse.
“I promised you’d get to have your say with Queenhearts, and here she is.” Ken’s voice dips. “Take your time, Dolly. Don’t rush this.” He squeezes my shoulder and steps away, the prod still in his hand.
I stare at my gift, unsure where to start unwrapping.
“Who did Bossman work for?” I slip my knife between her cheek and the fabric of her gag, ripping through it.
She spits out the balled-up cotton and coughs. “No.”
“Really?” I ask, piercing her cheek with the tip of my knife. A pearl of blood forms and I lick it away. “Tell the truth.” I twirl the tip of the blade again, bringing forth another drop of blood, but I let this one slip down her face. It makes a pretty trail, following in line with her dried tears.
“Stop. Please,” she breathes out.
“Stop?” I pull back, as though the word is foreign to me. “Didn’t I beg for them to stop? Didn’t I beg all of you to stop? Didn’t Ken ask that?” I point the knife at her lips. If this woman doesn’t start giving us information, I’m going to cut out her tongue and dissect her organs.
“Brian, don’t do this.” She ignores me.
I won’t be fucking ignored!
“His name is Ken!” I jab my knife into her bicep. The blade hits her bone. I pull back and stab again until I make it all the way through her flesh, pinning her to the cross.
Her scream bounces off the walls, but no one will hear her. The walls have been sound proofed for her own playtime down here.
“Tell me who he worked for,” I demand, taking my knife back. There’s a bag full of toys for me to use, but I like my knife. It’s simple, easy for me to handle.
“I don’t know for sure,” she cries out.
“Then guess,” I snap.
Ken is quiet behind me, watching. Just having him here fuels my strength.
“I never worked with them directly off the web. I only interacted through the webpage.” Her words rush out as the tip of my blade touches her nose. Her eyes converge, focusing on my actions.
“How did you work out handing me over?” Ken asks from behind me.
“Online chat. I never saw them before that night.” She hurries with her explanation. “I paid—” Her eyes close, and she swallows hard. “They paid me—”
“You handed me over for cash?” Ken’s voice barrels down a dark tunnel. I’ve never felt such rage from him before.
“No! I—fuck,” she cries. The blade pricks her skin again, and she pulls back. “I just wanted a night of fun. It wasn’t meant forever. They weren’t supposed to keep you.” She opens her eyes, releasing streams of tears. “You were going to be left, high as fuck in an alley. You were supposed to wake up with little memory. You shouldn’t have remembered it.”
“The bag of blood?” I ask, remembering what she told him upstairs.
“He was supposed to think he was fucking a dead body,” she wails. “I was supposed to lay limp. I—fuck!” she screams as I twist the blade into her cheek again. This isn’t so bad, putting little pin holes in her face.
“Go on!” Ken demands.
“They fucked me over too!” she screams.
“And all your little requests?” I take a small step back, inspecting her cheek to see if I’ve left any open spaces.