Page 35 of Wallflower

Just then, another scream echoes through the hall, the sound dampened by the thick wood door. Maximus doesn’t so much as blink. I’m going to need to give a little to sway him.

“Look, it’s my understanding that there’s an ever-growing thorn in your side. If you decide this partnership is in your favour, I’ll eliminate him without breaking a sweat.”

That pain in his ass is me, but he doesn’t need to know that. My surgeon worked so much fucking magic after I was shot that I’m unrecognizable, and my second-in-command is passing as a bandaged up version of myself with a persistent limp.

“And if I decline your very generous offer?”

“No hard feelings. Though, before I go, I’d like to view the…most difficult pieces in your collection.”

Maximus rises from his seat, a smirk peeling across his lips. “Have I got just the one for you.”

“Lead the way.” My smile matches his sinister one as total titillation quakes through my body. I’m giddy as fuck and trying hard to hide it. Any earlier feelings of trepidation have disappeared at the mere thought of acquiring myself a new plaything. Previously, I’ve found myself willing partners. People who want to be degraded and broken, someone who feels they deserve the things I ache for. However, I need a reason to weave myself into the fabric of Maximus’s operation, and having a favoured whore to regularly visit can’t hurt. I want a fresh doll, one unsullied by another filthy fuck’s hands. Thankfully, I have the money to pay for it, all because of the pitiful drug ring Mr. Smythe allows me to carry on with.

Moving like liquid through his office, Maximus makes his way to the door. I rise from the dark leather wingback chair, following behind. It would be so easy to strangle the life out of him like this, or snap his neck before he even knew what hit him. But, I can be a bit of a dick. I want him to know it’s me ripping away his life’s work and claiming it for myself, while he dies a slow and painful death.

We stroll leisurely in silence down the hallway, coming up in front of the flickering light I noticed before. Opposite the sconce sits a bookshelf. To the right of it there’s a small panel on the wall. Maximus flips it open, placing his hand on the pad. A metallic click sounds, and he winces almost imperceptibly. When he pulls his palm back, a small spec of blood gleams.

This is some next level tech I wasn’t prepared to deal with. Hopefully, Bucky knows what the fuck this all is when I relay it back to him, because there’s no way in hell I can take pictures or prod Mr. Smythe about its components.

Maximus turns back to me as the bookshelf disengages from the wall. “If your blood’s not in the system, you’re not getting in.”

“Does an alarm sound?”Fuck, I shouldn’t have asked that.

“No, but whoever dared to enter will die without any intervention from me.”

Well, what the fuck does that mean?“Good to know.”

“After you.” He gestures, waving me forward, no longer comfortable with having me at his back. Stepping forward, a metal staircase descends into the darkness, and I tentatively take my first step. My body’s taut with anticipation and a sudden burst of anxiety. I’m unarmed, heading into the unknown with the devil of the island chain. While confident in my hand-to-hand combat skills, I have no idea what awaits me at the bottom.

“Watch your step,” Maximus says from behind me, too close for my liking. “It’s a bit steep. Lights will kick on about halfway down.”

“All right then.” So, I proceed. Like a lion dressed as a lamb lead to the slaughter, spiralling into the endless abyss of his lair.

Agony unlike nothing I’ve experienced before rips through me. The searing pain shoots down every nerve ending, travelling to the tips of my fingers and toes. The former is restrained above me and rapidly losing blood flow, the cold from lack of circulation making the pain more acute.

Richmond growls a feral sound of satisfaction from behind me, blade slicing into the flesh of my tattoo once more. “Break,” he snarls.

Never.

This woman-beating motherfucker isn’t interested in my screams. It’s my tears he wants, and he isn’t worthy of those.

A wail rips from my throat, shredding the cords until they burn. I swear he’s stabbed me this time out of sheer frustration at my stubbornness.

Sweat trails down the side of my face, dripping from the bottom of my jaw onto my naked chest. The red shorts are saturated in blood. It travels down my legs, collecting in an ever-growing pool beneath my near-dangling feet. The chain connecting me to the beam that spans the length of the room rattles as my toes try to inch me away from the lethally sharp point of that obscenely large knife.

Three loud bangs on the metal door halt Richmond in his tracks. He grumbles under his breath, abandoning my quaking form to disengage the heavy lock. The screech of the hinges is loud, but I don’t have the energy to lift my head. Now that my attention isn’t on the next strike, I’m crashing, blackness invading my sight.

“How’s it going?” Maximus asks, his voice unfortunately becoming familiar.

“Slow,” Richmond replies. “But we’ll get there. Won’t we, sugar?”

“Go fuck yourself,” I mumble.

Maximus barks a laugh, the sound loud and sharp, reverberating around the cell. “Well, Mr. Morgan, do you like what you see?”

A third voice hums its reply. “Is she newly purchased?”

“Just brought in this morning. A little spitfire. As you’re looking for, I presume?”