When the Dark Wins

Drawing in a slow breath, he released it and pushed up from the desk. Calmly lifting the phone from the floor, he tucked it into his pocket and tugged his sl

eeves into place.

It was time to get his world back under control.

Walking to her room gave him enough time to solidify his expression into neutrality, to even out his breathing so that he was as composed as he needed to be to do this properly.

The act of unlocking and opening the door had woken her. Eyes open, she simply stared at him, unmoving, and he felt a much more familiar urge overtake the strange flickers he’d felt before. He was going to make her suffer, to tear out whatever shreds of hope she had left, and watching this one finally break was going to be the greatest enjoyment he’d had in years.

“Get up.” They were the first words he’d said to her in days, but he had not expected her to obey. When she slid the blankets back, sitting up on the edge of the bed, it almost caught him off-guard.

Her lithe form stretched out as she stood, her legs steady, and he reached back to press in the code for the door, opening it wide.

“Come here.” Anthony felt a hint of satisfaction when she walked towards him in careful steps, a passing taste of her obedience that he knew wouldn’t last, so he grabbed onto the back of her collar. “Have you decided to submit?” he asked as he pushed her into the hall.

She stayed silent, but she didn’t fight him as they walked towards the punishment room. Perhaps she felt it too, this inevitability of their interaction, the coming conclusion. When she was silent like this, pliant, he could almost imagine her becoming a good slave, but he knew her compliance wouldn’t last.

Not when she saw what awaited her. Understood it.

Walking into the punishment room, the girl finally jerked against his grip. The new furniture in the center of the floor had her complete attention, and he allowed her a moment to stare. She would never discern its use — if she did she’d start screaming. “Get on the table.”

This time her obedience wavered, because when he released her she stood completely still. The snap of the door shutting made her muscles jump, and she was aware, coherent, but not moving. Not obeying.

Fisting the tangled mess of her hair, he forced her forward until they stood beside the shiny metal. Dark cuffs already installed and waiting for her, she whimpered quietly, and he could feel her leaning back from the table — as if that would stop him. “Up.”

Increasing the strain, he pulled her onto it when she didn’t obey. Normally, he’d punish her with a shock, but it was best not to distress her before he began, and it didn’t take much effort to push her flat and then drag her down the table to strap her ankles into the cuffs.

When he looked at her again, her eyes were glued somewhere on the ceiling, head subtly moving from side to side like she was saying no. It brought a smile to his lips.

So quiet now, and soon there would be so much screaming.

Save your energy. Save your energy. Save it.

You won’t win anyway.

It took more self-control than Beth thought she had, but she let him maneuver her body into place on the cold metal table. Cuffs at ankles and wrists brought back flashes of the drawer, but her collar wasn’t attached to anything, and there was light. Plenty of light.

She was directly under the camera in the ceiling, unable to avoid staring into the dark, glass eye. People would see this, whatever it was, and she focused on the promise she’d made to herself.

No matter what he does, I won’t give him my mind.

If he wanted an audience for this, then she was going to make sure he failed in front of them. It was the only choice left for her, the only shred of power, of control. The table shifted and she lifted her head to see him turning some kind of handle out of sight. As he continued, the end of the table started to rise, but the cuffs held her in place as the angle increased.

What the fuck is this?

When he finally stopped she realized the incline wasn’t severe, head slightly closer to the floor than her feet, but it was enough to make her uncomfortable. Then he was there beside the table, trailing his fingers over her stomach, between her breasts, catching her chin so that she had to look at him. “You know what I want you to say. Do you want to avoid all of this and just obey?”

“Fuck. You.” Beth lifted her chin away from his touch as she enunciated each word, staring into those empty blue eyes that did nothing to hide the monster inside him. He was pure evil, a psychopath, and giving in wouldn’t stop this — he had told her over and over that she was never getting free.

The bastard smiled. Satisfaction coating the razor sharp edges of his expression, and despite her best efforts fear still bloomed in her stomach. “Since that vulgarity is your answer, we will begin.”

He turned away, walking to the table against the wall as he unbuttoned one sleeve and rolled it up. The second sleeve was adjusted with quick jerks of his hand as he stared down at the metal table. It was almost empty except for a frosted pitcher, which he picked up, along with a cloth. She twisted her head to keep him in her sight as he moved to the waterspout jutting from the concrete. The loud sound of the spray hitting the plastic made her swallow, trying to understand what he had planned.

Was he going to electrocute her again?

As soon as the water cut off he raised his eyes to hers. “You only have one purpose, slave. You understand that, correct?”

“No,” she spat, glaring at him, refusing to back down. No matter what he does. No matter what.