Page 60 of Chained

The bodyguard steps beside us, his voice low. "Follow me."

He begins leading us through the dungeons, girls bowing their heads as we pass. It's another world down here—women straddling men, fucking them on sofas without a care for who's watching, their moans so false it's so clear they're faking, either that or they're so fucked out of their heads the noise doesn't sound real anymore. The air is filled with the smell of sweat, cum, and booze. Their eyes are glassed over from drugs. I'd feel sorry for them, if I had any space to feel anything. If I wasn't already consumed with my own guilt.

"Can we please make this quick and leave? I can feel the hepatitis fighting to get hold of me." Jarrod leans closer, his voice low as his stutter fights to surface.

We push through the back exit to a van waiting outside. I frown as we step closer.

"I wasn't expecting a vehicle."

"Your boss's orders." He tosses me the keys, unbothered. "Said to tell you if you look inside the crate, he'll carve your faces off and wear them as masks."

He doesn't wait after passing Vincent's message along. He turns quickly to return back inside, leaving me and Jarrod out in the cold, my hands itching to open the doors to see what the fuck is in the back.

"Go get the car." I press my keys into Jarrod's chest.

"You're n-not going to…" his stammer is back, even the mention of Vincent's name scares him to death, "…look, are you?"

I don't answer. I don't need to. He knows me better than I know myself. My hands are already moving. Unlocking the van with the fob, I pull open the back doors.

Inside lies a black coffin with multiple holes drilled into the side.

Fuck. They're for breathing.

Someone's inside.

My hand moves on instinct, trailing over the wood. Jarrod moves quickly, gripping my arm, his hand shaking.

"He'll know." His voice is finally stable. I turn to look at him, his eyes meeting mine, so full of fear. I pull my arm away from the coffin, my stomach turning and chest tight.

"Let's go home," I say through a sigh, slamming the doors closed as Jarrod nods. He moves fast, almost into a jog as I climb into the front seat. I drag my eyes away from the rearview, the coffin in my sight.

Go home. It's nothing to do with you. She won't be worth your life, they never are.

The drive home is almost in silence. My eyes are constantly checking the mirror behind, no matter how hard I try to tear my gaze away. I can hear her moving, maybe waking? I'm not sure. But every so often I hear the coffin shuffle, a limb knocking against the wood. And each time, my heart sinks further into my stomach.

The car comes to a crawl as I drive through the manor gates.

Home. Finally, it's weird to call this place my home when in reality, it's a cage built from stone, windows, and doors. A place where my childhood was stolen, where love became hate. I sigh, but still. It's the only home I've ever had.

The engine dies beneath my feet, my hands sweating against the leather as I grip hard. Staring straight at the dashboard, the lights from the car behind are bright as Jarrod pulls up beside me. I exhale, daring a glance into the mirror. The last time, I promise myself.

Don't let it in. You won't survive anymore.

Anger bubbles in my chest, strong and harsh, and before I can stop myself, my fists are hurling into the wheel, pounding against the leather. I don't stop, I can't. I need the release, the pain splintering in my knuckles straight into my wrists. It feels good, too good to stop. I hit harder, gritting my teeth with each punch.

Then something pulls me from the moment. My fists hover in the air, breathing laboured, heart hammering like a fucking train.

"Help…me…"

A voice so small, I almost miss it.

No. Don't do this. Don't speak.

"Please…"

My head slowly turns as I look into the back of the van. Two fingers slide out of one of the drill holes, and before I can stop myself, I'm moving out of the van. Jarrod's walking towards me, a smile on his face.

"Hell, you drive fast, I thought I had you for a minute—" I don't answer. I move quickly, gravel crunching under my boots as I rip open the van doors.