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How could I not love Evie, when she still made it so easy?
A yawn slipped out of me before I could stop it, my eyes fluttering shut, despite everything in me resisting the idea of sleep. Exhaustion sat behind my ribs like something heavy and stubborn, but rest didn’t feel like rest in a place like this. Sleeping in a room where someone I was becoming close to died, was impossible in a way I couldn’t explain properly. It was not fear exactly—it was awareness. Like the room was still thinking about it, even if I tried not to.
Wayne had taken Christopher's corpse away yesterday, wrapping him in a large garbage bag and dragging him up the stairs. The thud of his skull hitting each step had stuck around long after he was gone. And the stench of death still remained. It clung to the air. Thick and heavy, like you could reach out and hold it. I couldn’t escape it, and I couldn't get the sight of Evie scrubbing the blood-stained concrete out of my mind. She cried, I reassured her, and then I spent the night listening to the springs above me again. It was a torturous cycle that needed to end.
To make matters worse, Wayne had been down here most nights, creating a horrific-looking lampshade out of Christopher’s skin like he was Pablo fucking Picasso or something. Christopher’s flayed face had stared me down every night for the past three nights, his skin stretched and contoured to wrap around the curved fabric beneath him. I couldn't help but wonder what piece of furniture he’d make out of me.
I looked up as the floorboards creaked above me before loud footsteps stopped at the door. A shadow moved beneath the crack as the handle turned and a thin line of light cut across the stairs, sharp enough that I had to blink against it. The door shut and heavy pounding trailed down the stairs. My stomach turned as Wayne drew closer, a smirk slashed across his face.
“Evenin’,” he said.
My stomach tightened, but my voice didn’t. He was lucky I was in these chains, because if I wasn’t, there would be nothing left of him. “Go to hell,” I retorted, absentmindedly running my tongue over the gaps in my teeth, the holes making my blood boil.
“That so?” he said.
I watched in silence as Wayne produced a large, brown whip from behind his back.
Oh. Get. Fucked.
The leather unfurled slightly in his grip, and he let it hang there between us. “Bit dramatic, aren’t you?” I said, as if my heart hadn’t just dropped out of my arse.
“Careful,” he warned softly.
“Or what?” I asked.
He laughed and stepped closer, blocking the light above him, casting a dark shadow over me. “I’ll break your fucking neck,” he answered casually, like he was discussing the weather. He tilted his head, studying me. “Now you’re going to be a good boy and listen to me, aren’t you? Yeah…you will.” He dropped the whip onto the mattress beside me with a soft thud that felt far too loud in the silence. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a keyring—three bronze keys clinking together.
Wayne kneeled over me and unlocked one of the clasps, setting my arm free. Before I could even shift, his hand was on me, gripping the back of my thigh, forcing me forward while his other fist caught my shoulder. He moved me like I weighed nothing, flipping me over with brutal efficiency. I thrashed and tried to pull my arm free, but he just laughed as cold metal bit into my wrist again. He reattached it to where Christopher’s were hung, chaining me in place with the same calm precision as if he was setting a lock and not a fucking person.
I ended up on my knees.
Head down.
Exactly where he wanted me.
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood while his fingers slid down my spine, tracing the ink on my back. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or disappointed,” he muttered, nails pressing in just enough to remind me he could. “What a fucking shame.” I closed my eyes and prayed to whatever god would listen as my heartbeat pounded in my ears, loud and pulsating.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Crack!
I stilled as he cracked the whip, the loud sound reverberating like a gunshot in the basement.
“Love that fucking sound,” he laughed.
The whip rose again in my periphery, and I forced my eyes shut.
Crack!
My body jolted forward as the first blow came down, white-hot, blinding pain shooting through my body. I sucked in a breath I didn’t mean to take. “Is that all you’ve got?” I rasped.
Crack!
I jerked forward, teeth clenched so hard, I thought something might break. Heat bloomed across my spine again, but I didn’t give him the sound he wanted. Not fully. Just a strained exhale I turned into a laugh halfway through.
