Page 103 of Brainwashed

“Uh, yes. Sorry. I’ll be back at the mansion in five minutes.” I pick back up walking to the SUV, where Kent hops out and opens the door for me to climb in. “Should I just meet him in the dining room, or…?”

Yari chuckles again. “I think we can do a little better than that, Doctor. Take your time getting dressed. Kent will bring you up to the roof at eight.”

“The roof?” I ask, my eyes flinging to Kent, who’s jumping back into the driver’s seat and driving away.

Yari already hung up.

Taking in a long breath, I hold it for a moment, then release it slowly as Kent drives us along the stretch of road parallel to the ocean. Looking out the window, I watch the waves crash up along the stone that separates us from the sea. It could easily be overwhelming, thinking about how far away we are from the rest of civilization. How close we are to open water, surrounded by it on all sides.Trapped.

Honestly, I don’t mind it much. I try not to consider the fact that Manuel Blanco controls the only means off this island. And that if he’s pissed about what I did, I’m basically a sitting duck.

Squeezing my hand into a fist, I dispel that thought. I need to remain confident in my work. That’s the thing about doing what I do; about studying in this fashion, using unconventional methods. You have to hold firm, even when other people scoff at you, or especially when you piss them off. The second you show any kind of doubt in yourself, they’ll pounce.

I’m not doubting what I’m doing here. This is the research I’ve been wanting to do since I was much younger. Since the desire to study the human mind was nothing but a spark in my own thoughts.

My hand lifts to my throat, fingers grazing the rugged skin.

“Lemuel, you’re best bet would be to forget about it all and move on.”My father’s voice echoes off the walls of my mind.

“Put it behind you,”my mother had said.“Don’t dwell on what you can’t change.”

I scoff out loud, my eyes springing to the rearview mirror to see if Kent is paying attention to me. He’s not.

I wonder what my parents would think about the research I’m doing here. I can only imagine how much they would complain. How little they would understand. I can almost hear it…

You’re living on a secluded island amongst a herd of psychopaths?? How is any of that beneficial to your career?

What kind of job requires you to watch a serial killer have an orgasm??

Felix pops into my brain. The image of him with his head tipped back, writhing on the couch while he—

I push away the memory. No time to think about that right now. I’ll listen to the tape later and take some notes for my assessment. Because that’s what it was.Work.

It was nothing, really. Just a different form of a session. Truth be told, I’m learning a lot about Felix, and observing him while he jerks himself off is just as helpful as sitting there talking to him, like I have been since I got here.

Of course, there will be awkward moments during any form of sexual research or sex therapy. It’s inevitable. It’s only natural for me to feel tense watching him stroke his erection and bite his lip to contain his little moans. Especially knowing that he was thinking about me…

I rub my eyes hard with my fingers. Felix’s hyperactive drive for affection is inconvenient for me. I don’t need him hitting on me constantly while I’m trying to work, and I definitely don’t need him feeling like we’re in some sort of relationship. It will make things even more difficult for him when I eventually finish this job and leave.

An odd lump forms in the back of my throat and I swallow it down while Kent parks in front of the mansion and gets out to open my door.

“I’ll come to fetch you in a few hours, Dr. Love,” he tells me as I walk toward the white marble steps leading up to the mansion’s front door.

“Very good, Kent. Did you get those new clothes to Felix’s cell?”

He nods. “Yes, sir. It’s all taken care of.”

I nod to him in thanks while entering through the giant brushed bronze doors. But then I come to a skidding halt in the foyer when I almost run right into one of the guards.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” He fumbles, jumping back.

“No trouble,” I say, only because he looks very upset.

This one officer I haven’t dealt with much. His name is Harley Samuels, but they call himRook. He doesn’t come down to the East Wing often. I only know who he is because he’s brought food to Felix a few times. And I’ve tried to make a habit of learning all the guards’ names since I arrived, whether I deal with them frequently or not.

Even if you didn’t know about his nickname, you could probably easily tell that Harley is the new guy. He has this air of innocence about him that none of the other officers possess. They’re all visibly jaded from doing this job for so long. And not that I understand the circumstances surrounding their employment here, but based on the files I have access to, none of them are exactly on this island bychoice.

It seems to be a tactic of Manuel Blanco’s. Keep dirt on your employees, whether it’s blackmail, limiting their abilities to work elsewhere, or keeping your thumb on the people who matter most to them. He traps them here, holds them under the influence with the parties, the sex and drugs, then forces them to give up hope.