Page 24

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

ERIN

I look into Three’s masked face. A balaclava with slits for eyes stares back.

His long-sleeved black Henley is tight, hugging toned biceps, and his black leather gloves are pulled up to his elbows.

I can’t see any hint of his skin aside from a tiny opening around his neck, where his collar ends and the balaclava begins.

I focus on that. The only thing separating him from a shadow.

“Are you real?” I whisper, unable to trust my mind.

He tilts his head to the left. “What do you think, Little Ghost?”

The motion makes his mask twitch, exposing more of his neck. Pink raised scars cover his skin. Burns.

“What…” My tongue feels too large for my mouth. “Wh…”

I wanted to see them again, but not as a mute mannequin. So many unanswered questions sit on the tip of my tongue, starting with what happened last night. Yet, I can’t ask them.

He chuckles. He appears to be alone. Out of the three men, he makes me the most nervous. A dark energy engulfs him, and I know he wants to make me scream.

“Your daddy’s medication doesn’t interact well with ours,” he says. “But you want to be used, don’t you? That’s why you let Gilsmear’s dirty hands taint you. You put on a show for us like the filthy slut you are.”

I shake my head, and slur, “I want?—”

“That’s your first mistake, Little Ghost.” He holds up a finger.

“Thinking that your wants matter. You thought you could get us to do your bidding by bending over for another man. It was foolish to believe you could summon us at will. Remember, you’re not the one in control.

We are. We decide what happens to you and when. That’s how this works.”

“Sarah…” I murmur. “What?—”

He sighs, sauntering closer and sitting on the edge of my bed. I’m tempted to grab his mask and see the man underneath, but his intense stare holds me captive. His hazel eyes are flecked with bright amber, like tiny flames.

“I’m not here to talk about your sister.

” He picks a strand of my hair. “I’m here to remind you that actions have consequences.

You toyed with us. The others already have their souvenirs, but I need you to be awake for what I want.

Although…” His voice trails off and takes on a new hard edge.

“Your father has made that more difficult.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m going to make you beg,” he says. He takes a lighter from his pocket and flicks it on. “You’re going to scream until your throat is hoarse, and you can’t make another sound.”

He waves the flame in front of my face, heating my cheeks. I yelp as he swipes it across a strand of my hair, and it catches at the end. I pat it down as a horrible, singed smell fills the room.

“This is only the beginning, Erin,” he warns, standing up. “We’re just getting to know each other. Now, get on your knees.”

I shuffle to the edge of the bed, swaying from side to side. “I…”

“Do it!” he roars.

I slide off and land on my knees before him.

He nudges me with his foot like I’m a dog, forcing me to crawl into the middle of the floor.

“Take off your robe,” he orders. My momentary hesitation makes him more irate. “Off, now!”

I do as he asks, slipping the soft material from my shoulders and letting it fall.

“Look at their marks on you,” he admires, walking around in circles while I keep my chin lowered, avoiding eye contact.

“You may not remember them touching you, but your body loved every second of it. Your body needs us. It craves us. And, as you like games so much, it’s time we played one together. ”

Terror builds in the pit of my stomach.

“Get on all fours for me,” he commands. While I position myself, he acts fast. A rough leather band crushes my windpipe as he pulls it taut around my neck and fastens it.

He gives the leash a tug. Adrenaline brings me out of my hazy, drug-induced state, knowing danger is here, and there’s nowhere to hide.

“This is how they used to chain us up in Sunnycrest.”

He yanks the chain attached to my collar. The metal links rattle and jerk my head upright.

Although I’ve been in the asylum many times, I’ve never been on the wards. However, I’ve heard Dad talk about how they pride themselves on gentle rehabilitation. Three must be lying.

“You’re our pet, and we’re your owners, Little Ghost,” he says. “I want you to remember this whenever you have another thought about letting another man lay their hands on you.”

“I just wanted to speak to you,” I breathe, realizing how stupid it sounds as I say it.

“Enough,” he hisses. “All I want to hear from your mouth is pleading for me to stop.”

He ruffles around with something. Clinking crystals chime, then pressure from the leash builds.

He forces my head up at an uncomfortable angle, drawing a choking sound from the back of my throat.

I reach for my neck, struggling to breathe as it tightens.

I move from all fours to a kneeling position and then onto my feet as the lifting chain manipulates me like a marionette.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “On your feet.”

I hold the collar, clawing the material as it cuts into my skin.

Above us, my chandelier jingles, and realization hits.

He’s created a pulley system—wrapping the chain around a chandelier arm, then back to his hands, leaving just the right amount of slack for me to stand.

He tightens the chain, wrapping it around his fist to force me onto my tiptoes. It’s the only way to breathe.

“If you try to escape, those crystals will shatter your skull,” he says.

Why did Mom insist on placing chandeliers in every room in the house?

He swaggers forward with his lighter and holds the flame in front of my face, dangerously close to my eyelashes. “Are you scared, Little Ghost?”

I swallow hard and goosebumps spread over my skin.

“Yes,” I whisper.

I’m hanging like a carcass, completely at his mercy, wearing nothing but panties.

“Good.” The balaclava stretches across his face to form a grin as he flips the Zippo lid down. “You should be.”

His index finger skims along my cheekbone, then down the curve of my chin and neck. My breathing deepens, my bare breasts heaving. He stops behind my ear, resting on my pulse.

“It’s racing, Little Ghost,” he observes. “The others are sad they can’t be here, but they have other plans.”

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Lex,” he replies with no qualms. Sensing my shock, he laughs coldly. “Knowing my name changes nothing. You can’t trace someone who should be dead.”

“You’re a ghost too,” I say.

“Something like that.” He yanks the leash. I squeal, teetering on the very tips of my toes. “What’s wrong? Is that too tight?”

“I can’t…” I gasp. “I can’t…”

“If you can speak, you can breathe,” he snaps. “I need to retrieve my supplies.”

He leaves me dangling while he searches a black briefcase balanced on top of my dresser. I’m not sure when and how he got inside the house, but there’s no use in questioning him. They have their methods, and nothing can keep them out.

His case reminds me of one a Victorian doctor may carry. He unscrambles a scratchy combination lock into the right position, and it opens with a pop. His back shields my view, so I can’t see what’s inside properly, but his hands float a few inches over the objects while he makes his selections.

“This will do,” he says, picking a mystery item.

He takes slow, deliberate steps, building anticipation as he moves behind me. I try turning, but it’s too hard to hold my balance. I have to stay in the same spot, or I’ll cut off my oxygen supply.

Heat radiates from his looming body like a burning fire, but his breath tickling the back of my neck makes me shiver. He tugs my panties loose and lets them fall to the floor.

“Spread your legs wide for me, little slut,” he orders, loosening the chain slightly to give me room to move.

I step out of my panties and oblige as his palm slides down my spine, gliding over my lower back arch and down to my ass. His touch is fleetingly tantalizing, skimming the surface, like a breeze that’s barely there but still chills you.

He notices me wince.

“What’s wrong?” he mocks. “Don’t you like being touched?”

I bite my lip and stay silent.

He spits on his gloves.

“You need to be punished,” he purrs, sliding his hand between my ass cheeks.

I groan, expecting them to stray to my pussy, but I tighten instantly when I realize that isn’t his intention. My thighs clench as soon as his wet finger rubs my asshole. The stitching of his glove caresses my entrance, and I pucker under it.

“You’re going to take what I give you, Little Ghost.” He tsks. “I never said I’d play nice.”

He spits again, a wet sloshy sound, before returning.

He’s not gentle. He probes, pushing his finger into my ass.

My eyes water. It’s the first time I’ve had anything inside it, and the sensation is alien.

He circles, stretching me, before pushing back and forth.

In and out. I have no choice but to stand as still as possible while he fills me.

“Filthy whore,” he chastises. “This is what happens when you allow old men to grind against your pretty ass. You need a reminder of who owns it.” He withdraws from me. “You’re ready now.”

“Ready for…”

I yelp as he inserts a lubricated cylindrical object into my ass. It’s smooth, silky, and a little bigger than his finger. He slides it in deeper, one inch at a time.

“That’s it, Little Ghost,” he compliments. “Let me see your ass eat it up.”

He fucks me with the object, twirling it around. As I get more comfortable, it actually feels… kinda good. I arch my back but stay quiet, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing this isn’t all bad.

He laughs, like he can read my thoughts, and stops abruptly, leaving the object buried inside me.

“Where are my manners?” he asks. “I’m sure you want to see.”

He dismounts my mirror from the wall and lays it flat on the floor between my legs.