Page 10 of Bound By Blood and Lies

“Y… yes,” I nod quickly, forcing brightness and obedience into my expression even as bile continues to rise in the back of my throat.

“Aww, my sweet little girl. Stand up.”

My legs don’t want to cooperate. They feel like they belong to someone else as I shake uncontrollably. I push up anyway. Pins and needles explode through my calves as blood rushes back into starved muscles, and I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. The room tilts but I keep my head bowed, with my eyes fixed on the filthy floor. His onion-stale breath wraps around me as he leans close and I stop breathing entirely.

“Go and unlock Robyn for me. Show me you’re on my side. Can you do that?”

“Ye… yes.”

“Mmm. I think you should call me daddy, don’t you? I do take care of you after all.”

“Okay… daddy,” the word curdles in my mouth at the implication.

I’m not one to kink shame and to be honest if Roman told me to call him that I wouldn’t protest. No, it’s not thewordso much as the person. A man who watches his own daughter get raped whilst he gets turned on. A man who enjoys young children. The whole thing is another layer of perversion that will make his death that much sweeter.

“Well done, little girl. Off you go.”

I turn around as his hand cracks against my arse and the sting blooms as it radiates outward in sharp pulses. It feels like a swarm of sparks under my skin, fireflies trapped and furious. I force my spine straight as I brace myself for Robyn’s disappointed glare. But to my shock, there’s only understanding.

A key is pressed into my palm, and my fingers shake as I unlock her restraints. I don’t linger. I hand the key back and return to my place with my head bowed. Fisher fingers clamp around my chin, forcing my face up as he bends and presses his mouth to mine. It’s brief before he strokes my head like a dog.

“See you soon,” he whispers and then takes a step back. “Let’s go,” he barks and my stomach lurches as I watch them move towards the exit.

I can’t move.

It’s as if my body has been wielded to the ground as my eyes stay fixed on his back. It isn’t until I hear the lock turn on the door that something snaps in me, and then I run.

I barely make it to the toilet before my body folds over itself and my stomach convulses. Acid burns my throat, my nose, and my eyes as vomit mixed with his semen expels out of me. Every heave makes my ribs ache. My hands tremble so violently that Ihave to brace them against the wall. A touch grazes my shoulder and I flinch hard enough to nearly fall before I realise it’s Robyn.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she whispers, pulling my hair back from my face.

I spit into the toilet bowl, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. My body feels hollowed out as a chill spreads over me despite the sweat clinging to my spine and I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor.

“I did,” my voice is hoarse and scraped raw. “But angel, that was just the start. I need to build his trust. Piece by piece.” I lift my eyes to hers, forcing strength into them even as I want to splinter. “As soon as he gets confident, he will get careless.”

I lean my head back against the wall, breathing through the aftershocks still rolling through me. “And carelessness kills. One day, he’ll come in alone. He won’t think he needs anyone else.” I hold her eyes until she understands. “When he does… get ready to run.”

I don’t say the rest out loud. I don’t tell her that every time he touches me, I’m memorising it. My body might shake, I might gag, I might bow my head and call him whatever twisted name he wants to hear. But none of that is surrender.

It’s strategy.

Fisher may believe he is training a pet, but even the best family dog can bite.

CHAPTER 4

ROMAN

Ipress play.

‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough by Marvin Gaye’rolls through the speakers. The opening bars spill into the room like sunlight forced into a grave. It is warm, cheerful and so violently out of place against the concrete and steel that it settles something inside of me immediately.

The dungeon is cold tonight.

Not the theatrical kind of cold, the real kind. The kind that creeps through fabric and settles into bone. The concrete walls hold the temperature like they hold sound, swallowing both until everything feels muted and heavy. Shadows stretch long across the open space, clinging to the corners where the lighting doesn’t quite reach. Cobwebs gather high in the beams above, silver threads catching faint reflections from the industrial strip lights. I haven’t bothered removing them this time; since Fae’s gone there’s no need. It echoes differently in here. Footsteps travel too far, breath sounds too loud, even silence feels amplified. This room was designed for confession, for collapse, for the precise moment someone understands they are not leaving. And over it all, Marvin Gaye sings about devotion.

But the song isn’t for them, it’s for me.

Behind me, there’s a heavy exhale.