Firethorne

Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Maya

M y head was swimming.

I felt sick.

I was confused, disorientated, and I had no fucking idea where I was or what’d happened to me.

I lay still, taking stock of my surroundings before I dared to open my eyes. My head was on a soft pillow. The room smelt fresh, and the mattress I lay on was comfortable. There was a duvet over my body, but I was still wearing my T-shirt. Apart from a pounding head and a little soreness from escaping, I wasn’t hurt. Not in the way I’d feared I would be.

Slowly, I opened my eyes, squinting slightly from the light, even though the blinds on the windows were closed. I’d never been in this room before, and thinking of the dangers that lay in wait for me here made my heart rate spike and fear flood my system. I needed to stay alert.

The room was all white, like a generic hotel room... or an asylum. The bed where I lay was covered in white cotton sheets, clinically crisp and foreign. There was a door opposite the bed, and another door to the right. As I peered around, I noticed a bottle of water on the bedside table. I couldn’t hear anything, so I pushed myself to sit, wincing as my muscles groaned and my bones ached. I was thirsty, but I was wary of drinking anything here. But when I reached for the bottle and saw it wasn’t tampered with, I twisted the cap off and drank like I’d just crawled out of the desert.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and placed the bottle back down. Then, on shaky legs, I stood up, my feet sinking into the plush white carpet as I began to walk hesitantly over to the windows. I pushed the blinds to the side to peer through, but all I saw were fields. No other buildings, no people passing by below that might be able to help me. I was in the middle of nowhere.

I knew this wasn’t Firethorne, but was I still somewhere on the estate?

I had no idea, but not knowing where I was made the undercurrent of panic and the ripple of fear grow inside me like a tsunami.

I checked to see if the window would open, I pushed the frame and banged on the glass, desperation growing with each second that passed, but it wouldn’t open. It was as if I was sealed shut inside this room, a prisoner, and my only way of escape would be through one of the two doors behind me.

I turned to face the room, my prison cell, and I headed for the door opposite the bed.

Pushing it open, I found a simple white bathroom inside, with a toilet, sink, and a basic shower. But no window. Just a vent that was so small I wouldn’t stand a chance at breaking through it or climbing out to safety. I scanned the bathroom, then started scrambling around, looking under the sink, around the toilet, searching frantically to see if I could find anything I could use as a weapon, but there was nothing. Just like an asylum, this place had been secured and locked down. All I needed now was the straitjacket, and right now, I felt so trapped, so constricted, it was like I was already wearing one.

I stepped back into the room and took a deep breath, staring at the final door. Knowing that what lay behind it was going to be my downfall.

Firethorne’s words echoed in my ears.

If she thinks this is bad, she’s not going to last five minutes when we do the handover.

She’s not going to last five minutes...

Not five minutes...

This had to be the handover he’d talked about.

I’d officially arrived in hell.

I swallowed. My body didn’t feel like my own as my ears rang, and I struggled to breathe.

What kind of monster was waiting for me out there?

And how was I going to defeat it?

I could’ve waited for them to come in here, stayed in the room and tried to formulate a plan. Bought myself extra time. But I didn’t. I wanted to know where I was and what was going on. I wanted to face whatever this was head-on. Show them I wasn’t a pushover. I would fight back.

I approached the door with caution, turning the handle like it was a bomb ready to detonate, and I was responsible for diffusing it. And then, I pushed the door open, holding my already ragged breath, trying to listen out for anything over the pounding beat of my fearful heart.

I had to stay alert and ready.

There was a small, narrow corridor outside the room with white walls and carpet, just like in the bedroom. I crept down the corridor, each step harder to take than the last. Like a walk to the gallows, I knew I had to get there, but I wanted to prolong the inevitable. My stay of execution.

I stopped when I came to an open-plan living area.

Not what I’d expected at all.

There was a wide-screen TV on the wall, floor-to-ceiling windows that ran along one side of the room, looking out over the rolling fields below. The sun shone brightly through the windows, casting a beautiful glow on the room, like it was tricking me into thinking this was a safe space, not a torture chamber. A picture-perfect heaven to mask the depravity of hell that lurked beneath.

In one corner was a small dining table and chairs, with four placemats on it, ready for a meal. Another trick to fool me into thinking this was a home for civilised people.

A family.

A haven.

But it wasn’t.

And the fear I was fighting began to choke me in its vice-like grip when I glanced down at the square set of sofas in the middle of the room... sofas with one person sitting on them. Feet up on the coffee table that sat in the middle, his back to me as he sat in silence, gazing out of the window.

“You were out for a lot longer than I expected,” he said, taking his feet off the table and pushing himself slowly to stand.

Then he turned to face me, hands shoved into his trouser pockets like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like this was fucking normal.

Damien.

I should have fucking known.

“You,” I growled, balling my hands into fists and glaring daggers of fury at him as a hint of a smirk appeared on his face. A smirk that made my blood boil. “Doing your father’s work, I see. Or should that be the devil’s work?”

He cocked his head and grinned back at me.

“What makes you think I’m working for anyone?” He lowered his gaze and glared at me through his lashes like the fucking devil I knew he was. “I can plan things on my own, you know?”

“And I can fight back. You can’t keep me here.” I glanced around, trying to find a door to escape, but he just tutted back at me.

“I know you’re looking for a way out, Maya. But trust me when I say, this place is impenetrable. There is no way out for you. Every window, every door is locked, and I’m the only one that can open them.”

“To keep me prisoner?” I goaded, knowing I’d spend every waking moment trying to find a way out of here.

“To keep you safe.”

I huffed an ironic laugh.

“You’re the one I need to be kept safe from. You and your sadistic father.” I glanced around again and asked, “Is he here?”

“My father has no idea where you are, and I have no intention of telling him. As I said, Maya, I can work on my own sometimes.” The way his eyes crackled with a glow of wicked intent didn’t make me feel any better about that fact.

“Where am I?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“A safe place.”

“It doesn’t feel very safe... with you here.”

He laughed.

I wasn’t being funny.

“Didn’t your father ever teach you that sometimes it’s better to trust the devil you know?” He tapped his chin like he was thinking, then grinned to himself. “Ah, no. He didn’t. Because your father is a spineless little shit. A waste of fucking oxygen.”

“Fuck you,” I snarled back. “Just let me go. Open the door and let me fucking leave. You can’t keep me here.”

“I think all things considered, it’s best you stay here,” he retorted, and I flew across the living area, charging for him, ready to fight for my survival. But he was stronger than me, and he grabbed my arms as I tried to hit him. Then, pushing me onto the sofa, he leered over me. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“What? Fight for my life?” I glared back at him as anger rolled inside me.

“I’m not the one you should be fighting,” Damien replied, standing back with so much ease I wanted to hurl myself out of the chair and launch myself at him again. “I’d save that fighting spirit for when you need it.”

“And when exactly would that be then?” I cocked my head now, poisonous venom on my tongue ready to lash him. “When I’m tackled in my own bed in the middle of the night by a fucking mad man? Or when I’m shackled to a fucking torture chair and assaulted? Or maybe when I’m pinned down in the mud and someone sticks a fucking needle in my neck and drugs me?”

“I had no choice with the needle,” he replied, his jaw suddenly clenching. “I had to get you out of there.”

“You fucking drugged and kidnapped me,” I hollered.

“I fucking saved you!” he shouted back.

And we were silent for a moment. Panting out our breaths. Him standing a small distance away from me, watching me, and me, sitting on the sofa, my rage a red mist clouding every rational thought.

Eventually, the silence became deafening. I had to speak.

“He’ll find me, you know.”

“Who?” Damien asked.

“My father.”

His responding laugh made me even angrier, and he shook his head to tell me ‘no’, then added, “It’s just us. Just you and me. Your father isn’t coming. Your father doesn’t care.”

“Yes, he does,” I hissed. “I won’t listen to your poison. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“To save you?” he answered in his cocky manner.

“To brainwash me.”

Another wicked laugh and then he said, “I don’t need to brainwash you, Maya. Your father did a good enough job of that.”

“Fuck you,” I snapped.

“Yes, you already said that,” he replied plainly. “But maybe you should start asking yourself why I brought you here.”

I wasn’t going to fall into his trap or play his mind games.

“Your father sexually assaulted me,” I blurted out.

And his eyes widened, the muscles of his jaws twitching as he asked in a hushed tone, “He raped you?” The cockiness had gone now, replaced by seriousness and sincerity, or at least, that’s what it seemed.

“No. But a doctor was in the room, and they examined me... there. He assaulted me to check that I was still a...” I didn’t want to say the word, but as he nodded and looked at the floor, I knew he knew what I meant.

“That was my fault,” he said, and I waited for him to elaborate. “If he hadn’t seen us at the party... if he didn’t think that I’d...” He couldn’t speak the words either. “He wouldn’t have done that if I hadn’t touched you.”

“It’s a bit late to be remorseful,” I snapped. “The damage has been done. By you.”

He lifted his head defiantly, a fire burning in his eyes as he said, “I own my mistakes, Maya. At the party, I had a moment of weakness. But it doesn’t change the fact that I saved you.”

“Saved me?” I couldn’t believe how he was trying to spin this. And I really wished he’d stop fucking lying. “How the fuck did you save me?”

He took a step closer to me.

“Well, I didn’t see your father burning down the world to save you. Or Lysander. How much help was he when you needed him?” He took a moment, then said, “All this time you never stopped to ask yourself why you were there.”

“I did,” I argued back.

“No.” He shook his head. “You really didn’t. And now you’re here, arguing with me, getting pissed at me. But I’m not the one you should be angry with, Maya.”

“I’m angry with all of you,” I barked.

“Then tell me why,” he pushed. “What was going on? Why the fuck did I have to bring you here? Use your anger, Maya. Get the truth you need.”

“Your father sold me,” I hissed.

“Yes... go on,” he urged.

“He took a video of the examination and said he was sending the proof to Edward. He sold me and then you drugged and kidnapped me.”

He took another step, getting even closer.

“He needed to prove you were a virgin because he got more money for you if you were. I took you because time was fucking running out. But in all that time, tell me, Maya, did you never wonder what your father’s role was in all this?”

“My father tried to talk to him. He tried to help me, but they kept him away.”

Damien threw his head back in exasperation.

“For fuck’s sake, Maya. Wake the fuck up. Do you really think your father is innocent? Are you really that fucking na?ve?”

Maybe I was, but I didn’t want to go down the thorny path he was trying to lead me. I knew that’d take me to somewhere so dark my mind wouldn’t be able to cope.

“You know what,” he snapped. “You’re not ready for the truth. Not yet. And when you get your head out of the clouds and are ready to hear what’s been going on, I’ll tell you. But until then, there’s food and drink in the kitchen, spare clothes in the bedroom. Make yourself at home and keep living in that bubble you seem so attached to. But when you’re ready to burst it, I’ll be here... ready... with the fucking needle.”

He went to walk away, but I shot up from the sofa and yelled, “Running away again? You’re pretty good at hiding, Damien, but it’s usually in dark corners, ready to?—”

“What the fuck do you want, Maya?” He spun around, holding his arms up.

“I want to leave. I’ve jumped from the frying pan into the fire.”

He moved so quickly across the room to stand nose-to-nose with me that it’d barely registered before I felt his hot breath on my face, and he snarled, “Really? You think staying here with food and drink, in the warmth, with clean clothes, being safe is the fucking fire ?” He tilted his head as he sneered, “No, it isn’t the fire, Maya. Shall I tell you what is?”

I swallowed, preparing myself for his onslaught.

“It’s being bundled into the back of a van with a sack on your head and cable ties around your wrists and ankles in the middle of the night. Being driven to an unknown location to be held in a fucking concrete basement with nothing to eat or drink. Left to soil yourself and wait for help to come. You scream, but no one answers. No one fucking cares. Then, after days of being locked in the dark, not seeing another soul, you meet the guy who actually bought you... and no, it isn’t Edward. He’s the facilitator. Your new master is known as The Butcher, and as he forces you down on your knees and starts raping you from behind, you suddenly realise how he got that name, The Butcher, when he takes out his knife and carves your flesh from your bones. He’ll fuck you and slice you up until you either die or pass out from the pain. Hopefully death comes first, because if you wake up, he’s doing it all again, only this time, he’ll use the knife in place of his dick. Am I getting through to you now?”

I couldn’t even bring myself to nod, let alone speak and say yes.

“And while we’re at it,” he added. “Getting some of these truths out into the open, maybe you should know what Lysander and Miriam had planned for you.”

“What?” I managed to gasp.

Damien took a deep breath, his gaze moving to the ceiling before they landed back on me.

“They knew you were a virgin. And they had a bet going. They wanted to see who could fuck you first. They wanted me to join in, but I said no.” His eyes narrowed. “I think their exact words were ‘let’s fuck her and leave her in the dirt where she belongs’. But then, I guess their twisted games pale into insignificance when you’re still picturing what The Butcher was planning to do.”

And without another word, he turned his back on me and walked towards the door.

“But why did he send me the warnings? Why did he leave me that sketch?” I found myself uttering.

Damien glanced over his shoulder and shook his head.

“When you finally wake up, let me know, because what I’ve just told you is only the tip of the iceberg.”

Then he pushed the door open, walked through it, and the door clicked shut.