Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

AMETHYST

My stomach lurches as Grunt pulls me into his broad chest. I wriggle in his grip, trying to break free, but his arms tighten.

As he carries me out of the cell and into the derelict hallway, I cry out, “This is sick. You can’t just inject drugs into people’s vaginas.”

Locke sidles up to me, his blue eyes glimmering with amusement. “Not people, just yours.”

Dolly’s tinkling laughter follows me through the hospital’s arched corridor, making every fine hair on my body stand on end. Will she be there while Locke violates my body?

Panic surges, hot and thick and stifling. My cries echo off the stone walls as I thrash back and forth, my breath coming in desperate gasps, but Grunt’s grip is ironclad.

We pass open doors, revealing rooms containing contraptions I’ve only ever seen in my nightmares. Tarnished metal tables with leather straps, rusted cages, bathtubs filled to the brim with mossy water.

Ice fills my veins, and my imagination spins through a carousel of torturous scenarios. What if I get cut? What if I get infected? I choke on a sob, my mind racing desperately for answers.

“I’ll take the pills,” I scream. “I’ll eat from the dog bowl. Just don’t do this.”

Grunt carries me through a set of double doors and back into the large hall from the night before, which is now arranged into multiple sets to resemble some of the rooms we passed. Four new men in overalls who weren’t there last night carry pieces of old equipment into the compartments, adding touches of authenticity.

My stomach roils. I don’t know if I should be revolted that the strangers don’t give a shit that a woman is being brought here against her will or relieved that I’ll be tortured with new props.

Grunt walks to a set lined with browning paper that mimics the hospital’s crumbling walls. In its center is a gynecological examination chair with stirrups.

Adrenaline surges through my veins as he tries to place me on the apparatus. I ball my hands into tight fists, my nails digging into my palms.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice already hoarse from screaming.

Locke chuckles. “She likes you.”

With a disgruntled noise, Grunt grabs my hands and squeezes, forcing me to release his shoulders. I drop onto the cracked leather chair with a thud.

The two other men from last night crowd around, blocking out the light. Seth, with the black hair and penetrating eyes, grabs my arms, while Barrett, with the hawkish face and messy brown hair, wrestles my ankles into stirrups.

I thrash like my life depends on it because it does. As the men place my limbs in restraints, I glance at Locke, who’s turned his back to speak into Dolly’s camera. It looks like he’s explaining the impending procedure, but I can’t hear him through my screams.

“Cut,” Dolly yells. “Someone put a gag on this bitch.”

Grunt lumbers forward, holding a ring gag. With his free hand, he cups the side of my face and eases open my jaws. His touch is gentle, almost apologetic, but that doesn’t stop him from placing the hard silicone circle in my mouth and buckling it around my head.

The men back away, leaving me tied to the chair. I stare up into the harsh studio lights hanging from the rigging above, not knowing if my heart will burst. It’s beating so furiously against its cage that it muffles Locke’s speech.

Xero steps out from behind the false wall, his eyes frantic. A sob catches in the back of my throat. Where did he go?

“I’m here, little ghost,” he says, his fingers curling around mine. “Look at me. Can you do that?”

With a shaky nod, I focus on his pale blue eyes. Up close, they’re whiter than usual, with flecks of varying shades of silver.

“Action!” Dolly yells.

Xero flickers around the edges. “Focus on me, Amethyst.”

I whimper.

Locke drifts into my line of sight, wearing a white mask and a scrub cap. “Grunt tells me you’re being a very naughty girl and not taking your meds. That won’t do, Dolly.”

“I’m not Dolly,” I scream, but the gag distorts my words.

He wags a gloved finger. “Enough excuses. You’ve given me no choice.”

“Look at me,” Xero says.

My gaze snaps back to his pale eyes.

Xero gives me an encouraging nod. “That’s right. Don’t play their game. They want to see you fighting.”

Harsh fingers unbuckle the crotch of my straitjacket, making me flinch. Xero’s words of support fade into nothingness when Locke fondles my labia and rubs a circle around my clit.

“Grunt also tells me you’ve been a very dirty girl. Now I’ll have to cleanse your filthy cunt with a sterile solution before inserting the pessary.”

The large man enters the scene, holding a colonic irrigation bag filled with clear liquid. At its base is a plastic tube, which he passes to Locke. The cylindrical object pushes into my opening, making me shudder. Before I can even adjust to the intrusion, Locke turns a valve and cold liquid enters my vagina.

I squirm, try to push away, but the straps restraining my limbs are too tight. The muscles of my vagina clench, expelling the fluid.

Locke taps on my clit. “Pay attention, Dolly. The more water you push out, the more times we’ll have to repeat this cleansing.”

“Stay with me,” Xero says, his voice a beacon of sanity. His fingers tighten around mine with a pressure hard enough to crush the bones. “Breathe and relax.”

My breath deepens, and I focus on Xero. His arched brow. His regally straight nose. The way his cheekbones curve, creating a dip that leads down to his strong jaw. He’s the personification of masculine perfection and was all mine until I ruined everything by setting him alight.

“Don’t think about that,” he snarls.

I focus on how handsome he looks in that tuxedo, and how he entered the Ministry of Mayhem with the swagger of a king. I think about how he sat on that leather throne and commanded the man from the club to get us drinks. Everyone wanted him, but he only had eyes for me.

“That’s right, baby,” he says. “Only you.”

Somewhere on the edge of my awareness, cold water fills my vagina, but I imagine myself in a stone bath with moonlight streaming in through stained-glass windows. Xero hugs me from behind, his strong arms wrapped around my waist.

A gloved hand slaps my thigh, and a voice orders me to release the liquid. I push it out, my head turned to the side so my gaze is still locked with Xero’s.

When something rubbery and thick enters my vagina, I picture myself lying in Relaney’s spare bedroom with Xero between my spread legs, inserting the toy.

“You know I strung you up to a light fitting because I knew it would break,” he says.

At the time, I thought I was going to die. Especially after I stepped out and found Chappy hanging from the ceiling hatch.

“Don’t think about that guy,” Xero says.

My mind skips to the red envelope containing Chappy’s tongue, complete with the ball piercing. His punishment for daring to offer me pleasure.

“Cut!” Dolly says.

Xero vanishes, leaving me alone again. There’s a camera in my face, another standing behind where Locke sits between my open legs, and another behind my head. All three men back away, giving Locke the space to rise.

He pulls off his gloves, making a show of disdain as he tosses them between my legs. That only makes Dolly giggle. When he removes his mask, he turns to Dolly.

“How was she?” she asks.

“A cheap imitation,” he replies with a grimace.

Laughter and applause fill the studio, and the few onlookers who had gathered to watch the scene walk away to finish working on their sets.

Revulsion trickles down my spine. Both at my inability to maintain Xero’s hallucination in Dolly’s presence and at Locke’s pathetic attempt to gain favor with his boss’s wife.

As the pair saunter toward another part of the set, Seth removes my gag, unfastens my restraints, and marches me across the hall and through another set of doors, into an unlit corridor.

His grip tightens on my arm. “I won’t carry you around like Grunt does. If you run, I’ll just tackle you to the ground and fuck your ass.”

The threat hangs in the air like a noose. I glance into his black eyes and nod, knowing full well he’s begging for an excuse to assert his dominance.

He stops at a door with light seeping through its edges, raps on it twice, and waits. I shuffle on my feet, my breath ragged, my insides on fire, and my head spinning from not having eaten in nearly thirty-six hours.

A draft meanders through the walls, chilling my legs, which are still wet from the water dripping from my vagina and gathering at my bare feet.

I bow my head, focusing every ounce of effort on removing the object lodged deep in my body, but it’s as useless as trying to push out a tampon.

“So, did you come?” Seth asks.

I flinch away. “What?”

“Dolly says she comes during every shoot. Are you the same?”

My jaw clenches. “Is this your idea of small talk?”

He leans into me, the tip of his long nose grazing my cheek. “Only Dolly gets away with that kind of attitude here. Cheap imitations like you get used up and discarded.”

I swallow hard, forcing down a surge of fear. He isn’t anyone powerful—just a lackey trying to flex his muscles, now that Dolly isn’t here to tell him to keep his hands off.

“Thanks for the tip,” I murmur, low enough not to be heard by whoever’s making us wait. “I’ll make sure to be myself.”

Seth draws back, his brow furrowing. Before he can respond, the door swings open to reveal a room filled with white fabric arranged around a structure of metal stands to form an open tent. Studio lights surround it, creating a giant lightbox.

Inside is a backless couch upholstered in brown leather to look cozy, but the metal structures behind it remind me of the type of furniture available for sale in the Wonderland Fetish Store.

Seth shoves me in the back, and I stumble inside. The door behind me swings shut with a click. I whirl around, finding it devoid of handles, and gasp.

What the hell kind of room is this?

Footsteps sound from behind, and I pivot to find a large figure moving around the back of the tent. Delta steps out, clad in a tweed waistcoat and his shirt sleeves, tailored to accentuate his broad shoulders and muscular physique. He’s styled like a 1940s gentleman, making him look even more sinister.

His smile is more like Camila’s than Xero’s but there’s no mistaking the coldness of his blue eyes. This is a master manipulator. The kind of man who destroys young lives while he sits back to reap the spoils.

And somehow, he’s convinced Dolly to be his wife.

“Amethyst,” he says, his gaze raking down my unbuckled straitjacket and settling between my legs. “You and I need to get better acquainted, since we’re family.”

I would say no thanks, but I have a feeling he might invite Seth back inside to teach me a lesson.

His stare infuses my spine with ice, and I try not to shiver. When he sweeps his arm toward the tent, I force myself not to flinch. Seeing him alone in this room makes me feel young and vulnerable in a way that’s familiar, although I can’t remember why.

With a soft smile, he asks, “Why don’t you lie on the couch?”