He moved past the door. I grabbed the shirt around me and couldn't stop myself from speaking. “Where are you going?”
He stopped then just chuckled. “You don’t want to know.” With his back to me, it was hard to guess what he was thinking. I couldn’t see his facial expression, but I bet he was far from amused.
“I think I do.” When I came closer, his back tensed, but what he said sent cold shivers down my spine.
“I’m about to lure my victim and play with him.” With those parting words, he left me standing there dumbstruck.
His latest victim.
Oh, God!
He would bring a man here and torture him? The thought alone made me sick, and I quickly ran back to the room, closed the door, and leaned against it, trying to steady my breathing. I felt as though I was shielded and safe in this room. But I had to face reality.
He was a killer, right? Which meant he would continue doing it despite having kidnapped me. Apparently, he didn’t enjoy monogamy in his sociopathic behavior. Suddenly, I felt dirty for letting him touch me this morning, for allowing him access to my mouth, and for how I tried to work myself on his leg as if I was some kind of cat in heat.
Killer.
How could he make me forget everything but the chemistry between us in one moment, and then destroy it with his harsh words? I wished I’d never met him; however, I decided not to question the terrible pain in my chest at that thought.
After taking a long shower, I put on a t-shirt and sweatpants I found in the closet and wandered to the kitchen. The table had tea ready, along with chocolate-chip pancakes, which unfortunately happened to be my favorite. Clearly, Sociopath had everything covered. Starvation brought nothing, so I indulged. I dug into the food on my plate and sipped the tea. I was wondering what the hell he meant by leaving a gift for me, when I heard a moan of pain coming from behind me. Confused, I spun around, but no one was there. The sound came again, and then I located the source of it.
A laptop on the table was on, and some kind of movement was happening there. I sat in front of it, food forgotten. My eyes widened as Damian came into view with a knife in his hand as a man sat on a chair nailed and chained to the wall. They were in the dungeon, where I originally woke up, although the chair and all his equipment visible from the camera’s angle stood far away from the mattress where he put me.
When I thought about it, the mattress didn't suit the mood of the room at all. He must have placed it there specifically for me. I ignored the pang in my heart at that thought, focusing all my attention on the video. All this reminded me of watching a bad horror movie. It was so horrific I couldn't keep my eyes away from it, even if I tried.
“Who are you? What do you want? Money? I have money,” he pleaded, and something about his voice sounded familiar. Damian laughed, and his laughter chilled me to the core. He raised his hand and hit the man across the face so hard the man’s head whipped to the side. It stayed there for few moments as he cried out in pain and blood formed. The sound of something cracking made me almost sure Damian had broken the man’s nose.
“Fuck, I haven’t even played with you yet, and you’ve already pissed your pants?” Damian’s voice held disgust.
The bile in my throat rose. Eating breakfast before watching this hideous torture was a big mistake. Damian ripped the man’s shirt open from the front and slowly, as though he was writing something, moved the knife, marking the man’s skin from the left to right side. The man screamed in agony, started to cry, and struggled to get away, but it just earned him another hit from Sociopath.
“Who are you? What do you want?” the man repeated, but Damian was too busy with his task. After seven minutes—I counted—he faced the man again and made sure their eyes held each other’s.
“I must say, Ken, you weren't even on my radar. I had no clue you were part of the organization.” My breathing stopped, as a gasp of shock left my mouth. Ken? He was torturing Ken? “But then you made a big mistake, exposing yourself. Foolish. You know what your mistake was?” Damian asked harshly as Ken shook his head. “Touching what was mine. Hurting her. Betraying her. Making her suffer. No one harms what’s mine and doesn’t pay for it.”
For me.
He was punishing and killing Ken for me. My hands fisted from the deep thrill in my chest for what he was doing, avenging me for the hit and all the other emotions, which were part of my life since the fated day of the masquerade ball. However, it spoke to the crazy and unreasonable part of me.
The normal, human part of me couldn't stand the idea of him killing someone on my behalf. We had no right to decide who lived or died; the privilege solely belonged to God.