Collins takes hold of my chain and snaps it in two, separating me from the ottoman like it’s a mere paper chain instead of a thick iron one.
My survival instincts kick in. I thrash and scream as he tries to lead me into the lounge. But he’s phenomenally strong and barely struggles against my efforts. With my arms still cuffed behind my back, I don’t stand a chance. But I can’t not try to get away. When we reach the door, I slam my foot against the frame and refuse to budge. He looks down at me as I shake my head and sob, pleading with him not to take me in there.
‘Come on, now. Don’t make this difficult.’ As he takes another step forward, I lift my other foot. ‘Miss…lower your feet.’ Again, I shake my head and plead with my eyes for him to let me go. ‘You’re going in that room with me, and that’s all there is to it,’ he says. ‘I know you’re scared. That’s wise, but fighting us will only make it worse for you.’ He returns my feet to the floor and places his hands gently on my shoulders. ‘Listen to me closely and do as I say. Keep your head down. Speak when you’re spoken to, and mind your manners. Grayson has a real thing about manners.’ He throws a nervous smile my way as I whimper. ‘You’ll be okay. Just be honest, answer Grayson’s questions, and he won’t hurt you. Come on. He’s waiting.’
The lounge is precisely as I remember it, despite not setting foot in here for over two years. It’s big and filled with way too much stuff, all of which is pretentious, garish and unwelcoming.
Just like my captors, Harry and Christa.
The walls are covered in a hideous red and gold paisley wallpaper with a massive painting of Harry’s precious racing horse above the marble fireplace ahead of me. In an L-shape are two sofas that match the walls, and above our heads hangs an enormous golden chandelier. The large oak panelled window to my left is nestled between two glass cabinets that usually displays the crystal and silver. But they’ve been stripped bare. The drawers to the large wooden antique oak desk are now lying broken on the floor. Paper and books are strewn all over the place, and the shelves that line the walls each side of the enormous marble fireplace straight ahead of me have been emptied.
In front of the fireplace, tied to two red velvet armchairs, are Harry and Christa. Harry’s a big man with a nasty face, no hair and a grey moustache. Christa is a third his size. Her bleach blonde hair is usually neat and wavy. But now it’s plastered to her face by blood and tears. Neither share a look with me for too long. Their focus seems to be on the tall man with dark hair standing in front of them, with his back to me. He’s in a white pressed shirt, smart black trousers, and holds himself easily.
When he begins to turn, I lower my head and look at nothing but my feet which stumble over themselves. Collins stops in the centre of the lounge and steadies me as I stagger to a halt, keeping my head down as instructed.
The slow, purposeful footsteps making their way towards me across the wooden floor bring with them the same sensation of energy I felt with Collins. I have to close my eyes to focus on my breathing and hope I don’t pass out with dread.
He stops in front of me. ‘You found her, Hendrix. Yes?’
‘Yes, Boss. Chained to the wall in a hidden room down in the cellar,’ Hendrix replies in an incredibly respectful tone. ‘His manservant was trying to kill her. He had that chain wrapped around her neck. Good job I found her when I did or-’
‘Was she in this condition when you found her?’ he interrupts.
‘sir?’
‘Did you hurt her in any way, Hendrix?’
‘I found her exactly as ya see her. But look here…’ Hendrix grabs my hair and yanks my head back suddenly. I snatch it away keeping my eyes closed and my head down, terrified to face anyone.
‘Alright, Hendrix. Let’s try and be a little bit gentler with her.’ He places a finger under my chin and slowly lifts my head. As soon as he touches me, I flinch, and he lets me go. ‘It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you. Open your eyes. Let’s get a look at you.’
My body’s shaking as adrenaline and terror courses through me. I couldn’t open my eyes even if I wanted to. I give the slightest shake of my head.
Please, just leave me alone.
‘I said open your eyes, Miss.’
The heavy breathing of Hendrix gets louder as he positions himself close behind me. Collins squeezes my arm slightly, reminding me of his warnings. I open them but keep them down. I feel that when I see him, I’ll be seeing death. My death.
He steps closer. My body feels like it’s shrinking, trying to make itself smaller as these men surround me. I’m trembling and almost hyperventilating. Tears start spilling down my cheeks as I begin to openly sob.
‘Easy. Calm down, Miss. There’s no need to cry.’ He bends his knees ever so slightly and lowers his face. Again, he rests his finger under my chin and lifts so I have no choice but to see him.
Our eyes meet.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. I begin to calm, feeling like no one this serene and gentle looking could ever hurt me.
‘Hello,’ he says with an easy and confident smile. ‘My name is Grayson. Nice to meet you.’
Withdrawing his hand, he takes a step back to look at me, and I, in turn, look at him. He must be in his late twenties. His dark brown hair curls ever so slightly in a neatly styled way and falls just above his equally dark brown eyes. He has the slightest bit of stubble over a strong jaw, and everything about him is stunning. I’m astonished to see such beauty in amongst such horror. I almost don’t notice the blood on his clothes and hands. The smudges of it on his cheek.
But as I look at him, there’s something off. The way he smiles. It seems genuine, but the kindness in his features doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s unsettling.
The weakness of my body from a severe lack of food, exhaustion and shock hit me. The room spins, my legs buckle, and I fall.
‘Whoa,’ He catches me before I hit the floor and keeps me on my feet holding me close as I slump against him. He’s solid. I feel his muscles through his shirt, and he holds me with ease. I lift my head which lolls ever so slightly and try to push him off, but he won’t release me.
‘If I let you go, you will fall,’ he insists, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me to one of the sofas. The room continues to swirl around me as he sits me down. ‘You’re not going to be sick, are you?’ he asks, kneeling on the floor in front of me. I shake my head as everything shifts in and out of focus, and I take a few deep breaths. ‘That’s it. Try and keep calm. I don’t want you fainting.’
He’s looking at the dryness of my lips and the thinness of my body. ‘Hendrix, fetch some water and something for her to eat from the kitchen. This poor girl is half-starved and extremely dehydrated.’
Hendrix turns and leaves as instructed, returning with a glass of water and a bar of chocolate a moment later.
Grayson raises his hands making me violently flinch. ‘It’s alright. I just want to take that thing out of your mouth so you can have some food and water before you faint. You are hungry, dehydrated and no good to me unconscious.’ He has his hands an inch from my skin and is waiting. I shrink back, scared to death. ‘Let me put it this way,’ he says with a twinge of exasperation. ‘It is better if you do as I ask, then force my hand to persuade you. I need you awake, so please, let me take it off. I will not ask again and I would hate for things between us to turn unpleasant.’ He watches and waits as I look between his bloody hands and his dark eyes. ‘I promise. I’m just going to take the gag out of your mouth. That’s all.’
I nod. I don’t want him close, but getting the gag off will vastly improve my situation. He lowers it from my mouth so it falls around my neck, and then quickly lowers his hands. But he doesn’t remove it entirely.
‘Here…’ he lifts the water and holds it to my lips. I lean over, not taking my eyes off him for a second, ready to try and run if he attempts to hurt or touch me. I take a sip, but my throat is so dry, I cough and splutter, despite how desperately thirsty I am. I shuffle away, lower my head and just hope that he leaves me be.
‘Mr Hooper. Why on earth do you have a young woman tied up and gagged in your cellar?’ he asks.
But Harry doesn’t speak a word in reply.
Grayson gets to his feet and rests his hand on my shoulder making me twitch, but he doesn’t take it away. Instead, he squeezes it affectionately and strokes me with his thumb back and forth, making me uncomfortable with his familiarity.
‘I am afraid I have to insist that you answer my question, Mr Hooper. Or I will hurt her.’
‘Do what you want,’ Harry says viciously, looking me up and down with disgust. ‘She’s nothing to me.’
I move away slowly from Grayson and his hand, watching it cautiously.
‘My apologies. I was not clear.’ He slides his hands instead into his pockets. ‘If you continue to refuse to cooperate, it will be your wife that suffers, Mr Hooper. Not her.’ Grayson gives the slightest nod in my direction and continues to smile that unsettling smile. ‘I am finding myself getting bored with her fingers. Maybe I should take something else from her? An eye perhaps?’
Looking at Christa, I notice the three fingers lying in a bloody puddle on the floor by her foot. Now I know what had her screeching. They’ve been torturing her. She’s slumped forwards, panting and sobbing, barely conscious. A spark of something stirs inside me. The fear and panic shift, making the slightest bit of room for something that resembles…justice.
‘Who is she?’ Grayson asks.
‘She…’ Harry begins, but he hesitates. He doesn’t want to say.
Should I answer?
I look at Harry and see the hatred he still has for me for just breathing, and I think…no. I won’t. Not unless I’m asked directly.
With a formidable authority, Grayson orders Collins to take another finger from Christa. I watch as Collins, without a moment’s hesitation, reveals the bloody blade from his pocket. With a lot of screaming and thrashing, he cuts off another of her fingers. I scrunch my eyes closed and fight the bile climbing up my throat as I hear her being mutilated a few feet away from me.
But still, I keep quiet.
Better her than me.
Harry roars as her finger lands with a small little thud on the floor joining the others.
‘Who is she?’ Grayson asks calmly over Christa’s screeching.
‘SHE’S NO ONE!’ Harry’s watching horrified as Christa continues to scream. ‘A MAID TURNED THIEF. THAT’S ALL!’
‘Your manservant was attempting to kill her rather than allowing us to find her. Seems drastic for nothing more than a thief. Who is she?’ Grayson asks again.
‘I TOLD YOU!’
Christa falls unconscious.
‘I’m sure.’ Grayson gives a small laugh before turning his back to Harry and instead, looks at me. His eyes shine with excitement as he sits beside me, looking at the gag still around my neck. ‘This word here, Nexasanguinum.’ He gestures to my gag and looks me square in the eye. ‘Do you know what it means?’
I shake my head.
‘It means, bound by blood. The word itself, is written in blood. Your blood.’
I remain silent and stare straight ahead.
‘Why would you be wearing this?’
I give a slight shrug and shake my head.
‘Hmmm. Curious. Maybe you don’t know. Tell me your name.’
I try to speak, I do, but nothing at all comes out. My voice has abandoned me completely. Through fear perhaps? Or maybe the attack from Mr Simmons. All I manage is little more than a squeak as I continue to shake all over. His eyes stare into mine as he reads me.
‘You are absolutely terrified, aren’t you? I wonder, is it me that you are afraid of? Or them?’ He gestures to Harry and Christa.
I can’t help but look at Harry. As soon as those nasty eyes meet mine, I look at the floor.
Grayson sees and asks, ‘What the hell have you been doing to her, Hooper?’
‘None of your damn business,’ Harry spits back.
‘You’ve kept her hidden. Kept her prisoner. Kept her secret. I demand to know why?’
‘Go to Hell, abomination.’
‘Careful. I warned you where your lack of manners would lead, didn’t I? You vulgar human being. Look at what you’ve done to this girl.’ Grayson looks at Collins. ‘Kill his wife.’
‘NO!’ Harry bellows, pulling at his restraints. ‘Please, don’t!’
‘Then tell me the truth. Who she is?’
‘I TOLD YOU!’
‘Fine. Collins, slit Mrs Hooper’s throat.’
Collins readies his knife. The blade rests on the nape of her neck, and he applies enough pressure to pierce the skin.
‘LILLY!’ Harry yells suddenly. ‘HER NAME IS LILLY HOOPER. OKAY? SHE’S MY NIECE!’
