Hope Restrained (Estate Series) (20 page)

The woman approached
him and knelt down, he looked up at her not knowing if she would help him or
hurt him. “May I take your sister from you, Xander, I promise I won’t hurt her.”

He didn’t know if he
could believe her, but she looked so nice that he nodded yes, his body quaking
with fear as he reached up to hand her the small baby bundled in a blanket. She
opened the blanket and he noticed that her eyes widened and a tear escaped to
roll down her cheek. She closed the blanket again and placed his sister on the
floor beside her. Looking back at him, she said, “Xander, your sister is going
to be okay, my husband just wants you to meet our son, Aaron. You’ll like him, I
can tell already that you two will have a lot in common, don’t be scared, okay?”

He nodded, his fear
paralyzing him to a point where he wouldn’t speak. His tiny hand in hers, the
woman led him quickly from the room. He didn’t know if he should go with her
and he didn’t want to leave his mom who continued to cry on the table. The
woman tugged at his arm and he followed, worried about why they were leaving
his sister behind. When the doors closed, he heard his mother scream again. He
turned to go back, but the woman picked him up and ran down the corridor and
away from his family.

The last thing Xander
remembered seeing was the look in his mother’s eyes when his sister had gone to
sleep and when he was being removed from the large room. It was a look he’d never
seen before and a look that scared him. He couldn’t understand why, but he
hated that man on the stage — hated him because of the look he caused in
his mother’s eyes.

~
   
~
   
~

Xander opened his eyes one last time, the sounds in the room
were jumbled together, indistinguishable if they were words, or cries of pain,
or pleasure or both. He looked up, barely able to see beneath the fall of thick
lashes.

Hope hung limply from the chains, crimson trails streaking
over her skin, forming a puddle on the floor beneath her. Her eyes said nothing
— they didn’t contain fear or pain or heartache — they were dead,
lifeless, blank slates that no longer contained the spirit of the girl who’d
longed to be broken.

Forcing his eyes to Patrick, his mind played cruel tricks
and the face he watched shifted between that of Patrick — and that of
another man who’d destroyed the people he loved. Keeping his eyes on Patrick,
Xander realized that, although Joseph Carmichael had died years before, the
evil he created was still very much alive.

Looking back at Hope, a tear escaped his heavy eye to find
that she’d finally gotten what she thought she wanted all along — death
had come to collect her. He closed his eyes again, his breath leaving him and
his heart slowing down until it barely moved within his chest. He allowed the
long dark tunnel to finally overtake him, dragging him away from the horrors
and atrocities of his life and delivering him to a place where The Estate was
no longer his prison.

The dark was disorienting. Waking up to what could be day or
night, heaven or hell, death or life. She didn’t know. Moving her limbs, she
felt it — her skin shredded from a razor thin chain, areas that had
barely begun to heal, opening again from her movement. Her eyes had opened
first and she was delivered into nothing. No sound, no sight, no motion —
nothing. Her chest hurt, the slices opening there from her intake of breath,
from the stretching of her skin. Burning and sticky, she opened her mouth,
desperate for any type of moisture but knowing she wouldn’t receive it.

Her leg kicked out, her muscles regaining life and moving
involuntarily over her bones. Striking against the metal bars, pain shot from
her heel up her leg and her body jerked in response to the sudden sensation. The
cage rattled from the strike and a small voice pierced the nothingness within
which Hope had awoken.

“I thought you were dead.”

Hope startled, the small voice unexpected. She blinked
repeatedly, shaking her head as if that would chase away the thick sludge that
was smothering her mind. Opening and closing her mouth, she finally found her
ability to respond.

“Where are we?” It was a bare whisper against the silence.

“In a side room of some sort. I’ve been in here longer than
you. They dragged you and the entire cage inside. I was surprised. They’ve
never moved the cages in here before.”

Falling back against the bars, Hope’s head pounded, her
skull feeling like it would split apart from the pressure inside. Memories
rushed back at her, images of her sister standing in front of her — her
eyes completely flat, without emotion or comprehension. Her breath rattled in
her chest while her heart sped to suddenly remember. The fog lifted slowly,
each image coming back and striking against her as razor sharp and deadly as
the chain her sister had used:

Her sister’s eyes …

Patrick’s cruel grin …

The laughter of the men in the room …

And then — then she saw something that she couldn’t
stand to remember. She saw something that took the world she knew and twisted
it, perverted it. Reality fractured and reformed, came back to life and left
her stranded in a shadowed wasteland with her mind splintered and her heart
broken.

She saw Xander — unmoving and lifeless in his chair. His
hair was slicked back with sweat, his broad shoulders had fallen limp against
his seat and his hands hung from the chains that encircled his wrist.

Her eyes suddenly burned when they struggled uselessly to
forms tears. Her breath left her chest in quick, strangled gasps and her heart
beat with pure rage. Twisting over itself, her stomach heaved, and every muscle
in her body tightened when she lurched forward, retching so violently that she
convulsed.

No … no … fuck … NO!

She screamed inside her own head, the sound ripping her
insides apart, bouncing off her skull and drowning out the sound of her
pounding heart and the rushing blood through her veins. She fell back against
the cage, balling over herself and shaking — quaking — from the
torrent of heartache and loss that consumed her. Desperately, she tried to
breathe, but air was only entering her body in quick gasps, her throat closing
from grief.

“Are you still with me?”

It was a disembodied voice that Hope couldn’t understand. The
waves of nausea returned and she rolled over, dry heaving to a point where the
muscles of her stomach had cramped, leaving her locked in a fetal position on
the floor.

“Are you okay?” The voice was quiet, but carried the small
hint of concern.

Hope nodded her head, but couldn’t voice her response. She lay
still on the floor of her cage, curled around herself, hugging her abdomen in
her arms and crying so pitifully, she hated herself for it. She was a murderer
— a killer. She faced death every day, never bowing or buckling at how
ugly or soul crushing it could be. At six, she’d stared into the dead eyes of
her mother when they’d found her raped and beaten in a dirty alley and she’d
gone absolutely cold. She’d sought death, bathed in it and danced around it,
never allowing it to touch her or affect her even though it was something she
wished could finally take her.

And now that she was balled over herself, wallowing in her
own sweat, blood and vomit, it finally did — just not in the way she’d
always imagined it.

She wanted to shrink away, wither and melt into the rusted
metal base of her cage. Every time she felt herself slip, felt her mind fall
into a thoughtless void, her body worked to keep her awake and aware — trapped
in the insufferable knowledge that the man she wanted so badly to despise had
not only captured her heart, but crushed it when his own ceased beating. Her
lip trembled and her face scrunched up when she thought about how he’d been the
only one — he’d defeated her by taking her body, he’d defeated her by
taking her strength, and he’d defeated her by taking the stone cold heart that
existed within her chest, only to breathe life into it once again and leave it
mangled and shattered, useless for anything else but to force blood through her
body.

Hours — it could have been hours or days that she lay there
catatonic. Every once in a while the other woman in the room would move or
talk, her chains rattling from wherever it was that she sat.

She was falling into a void of resignation and loss. Eventually,
the memories of Xander slipped away, replaced instantly by visions of her
sister. The woman they’d brought out of that room, looked like Honor — but
what Hope had seen in Honor’s eyes made it frighteningly apparent that Honor
was no longer the woman Hope had known. Her once vibrant eyes were dull, her voice
weak and timid. She obeyed the men, didn’t ask questions and would only talk
about some fucking angel that couldn’t have existed in the nightmare of The
Estate. Tears finally forced their way free of her eyes when she remembered how
she’d reacted to the pain her sister inflicted. It was wrong and it was sick
— she was, for once, disgusted and afraid of the part of her that had
always scared and repulsed the people who knew her. Her body found release
while her mind splintered, small shards tinkling against one another like
crystal broken and crushed. The only solace she had was that she couldn’t
remember anything but bits and pieces, the intoxicating waves once again
stealing her from reality, only to replace her long enough for her to
comprehend was happening around her.

Hope became angry and a spark burst inside her. From that
small spark, rage ignited, building itself into churning fury against the man
who’d broken Honor, who’d killed Xander, and who’d attempted to break her.

Pushing up weakly, her foot struck the side of her cage, the
sound ringing through the dense silence of the dark room.

“So you are still with me.” The voice sounded weak and
bitter. “To be honest, I really couldn’t care less whether you were rotting or
still breathing — considering you’re the reason I ended up here.”

Hope was confused. “I don’t know you, I’m not sure how any
of this is my fault.”

The woman laughed humorlessly. “You know me, although, our
meeting was only for a second. I opened the door to peek outside and there you
were — dressed in black, like a shadow. I didn’t even have time to scream
before you hit me and left me outside completely defenseless for the assholes
who came along to find me.”

Hope closed her eyes when she recognized the woman suddenly.
She’d only seen her face, so she wasn’t surprised that the woman’s voice wasn’t
familiar. “You’re the woman who let me into the mansion.”

“Yes.”

Shit.
Hope let out
a frustrated breath. She didn’t feel bad for what she’d done because she would
do it again if it meant she could save her sister; but at the same time, she’d
never meant for the woman to end up in a place like this. “They’ve had you
since that night?”

“Yes.” She sniffled; the soft cry of hopelessness echoing
softly throughout the room.

“I didn’t intend for this to happen. They had my sister, I
had no choice.”

The woman laughed, the sound harsh and judgmental after
hearing Hope’s words. “You could have chosen to leave me inside.”

Hope grinned, the futility of their situation finally
driving her to a point of madness. “You wouldn’t have turned out much better
inside that mansion either.”

“I may have turned out better if I’d remained conscious. At
least, then, I could have run.” Her words weren’t bitter any longer, just an
observation made without emotion or ulterior purpose.

It grew quiet between them, Hope thinking of all the
innocence lost in the world in which she’d been raised. Her heart hurt, but she
pushed the emotion aside and focused on the anger that had sparked within her
just moments before. She wondered if her sister was still alive, wondered if
Xander’s body still existed so she could see him to say goodbye. Pondering how
long she had before she joined him, she thought of the ways she could kill the
bastard that had created this mess. Imagined his angry eyes, his lewd grin and
his repulsive laugh. She allowed her anger to fester and grow, to awaken each
nerve ending in her body and to replace the strength she’d lost by forcing
adrenaline through her veins. She focused on her hatred and her deep-seated need
for vengeance.

“Sometimes, it takes
patience and cunning to free yourself … it might be the only thing that saves
you and your sister’s life …”

Maddy’s words replayed — the same advice Hope had
failed to take before. Her decision to fight, to mock Patrick while he
attempted to break her apart — it was a decision that led to Xander’s
death and that almost destroyed her when Patrick used Honor in his sick games
against her. But Hope wasn’t dead yet. She remembered Maddy’s words and she
decided that there had been wisdom behind them after all. It wouldn’t be easy
— she’d never been the type who didn’t fight back with everything that
she had, but fighting had only ended in heartache. If there was any chance at
all for her to, at least, save Honor, she’d have to endure the misery of
Patrick’s torture until the opportunity presented itself for her to finally end
the bastard’s life.

The decision renewed her, replacing energy in her body, and
easing the pain of everything she’d lost.

 
“What’s your
name?”

The woman didn’t answer her immediately, but eventually a
small voice responded. “Erica.”

Hope rolled her shoulders back and moved her limbs and neck
to stretch out the sore and cramped muscles. “I promise you, Erica, I’ll get
you out of this place. If I have to kill every man in this house, you will
escape.”

The door opened and a light was turned on above Hope’s head.
It burned her eyes, immediately destroying the darkness in which Hope had been
trapped. She blinked to keep her eyes open, noticing the silhouette of a man
enter the room and look between the cage and the two women who were chained in
the room.

Erica shrunk back and Hope kicked her feet against the
interior of her cage attempting to pull the man’s attention to herself. He looked
over and smirked. “You want to come out a play, bitch?” Stepping towards the
cage, Hope glared up at him, bound and determined to distract his attention
from Erica. Reaching through the cage, he grabbed Hope’s hair, wrapping his
fingers tight into the base and pulling her up so that her body was pressed
tightly against the bars. His eyes looked black against the red rage in his
face.

Hope smiled, the pain of his hold on her only driving more
adrenaline into her body, waking her up despite how badly she was injured. She
had no energy left — the lack of food and water only serving to weaken
her further, but she used the adrenaline to keep her alert.

“Yeah, baby. Why don’t you take me out of this cage and show
me how a real man treats his whore.” She winked knowing she would kill him if
he pulled her from her cage.

The smirk on his face curled into a lewd grin. Her eyes
flicked to Erica and she noticed how her body shook where she’d pressed herself
into the corner of the wall. The man’s voice brought her eyes back to his face.

“I’d love to, beautiful; but the boss man has other plans
for you. I’d lose my dick if I touched you before he’s done with you.” He
gripped her hair tighter and she hissed from the jolts of pain shooting across
her scalp. “But when he gets tired and throws you to his dogs, you can bet I’ll
be at the front of the line.”

His hand opened and she fell back to the floor of the cage,
her bones striking against the metal base, more pain shooting up from her hips
into the back. He turned and approached Erica, his boots hitting against the
floor with portentous thuds. Her body convulsed, it shook so hard, and when he
reached down to grab her arm, a small shriek escaped her. Lifting her from the
floor, the man gripped into her small arm but her legs gave out beneath her.

She fell, her head falling back against the wall and the man
laughed before reaching to grab her again.

The door opened.

“Get your ass to the upper level. We have a visitor and I
want to the front room heavily guarded until he leaves.” Patrick’s blue and
green eyes were rimmed red with anger.

The guard appeared stricken, obviously fearful that he’d
been caught away from his post. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know our guest would be
arriving so soon.”

Patrick moved aside from the door indicating that the guard
should leave. While the man moved out of the room, Erica wept where’d he left
her. Patrick glanced down at her and smiled. “Well, well, aren’t you the lucky
one.” He chuckled. “For now, anyways.”

His gaze moved to Hope and his hands folded in front of him.
“I’m glad to see you are still with us Hope. I was concerned that you’d had a
bit too much fun during our earlier game. I do hope you learned that being a
good
girl is in your and your sister’s
best interests. I’d hate to have to have you whipped again.

Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from telling the
fucker where he could stick his whip, she forced herself to appear docile and
afraid. She peered up at him through her lashes, allowed her bottom lip to
tremble as if she were holding back tears. Her voice shook when she asked, “Where’s
Honor and Xander?”

Patrick’s expression became mock sympathy. “Oh, I’m so sorry
you haven’t heard. Your boyfriend had an unfortunate reaction to the drugs we
gave him.”

Her heart fell into her stomach and smoldered in the
vengeful fire that burned inside. “My sister?”

He grinned. “She’s alive. We’ve been very impressed with
her. She makes an incredible slave; especially now that her mind has been lost.
She will do anything she’s told; especially for
her angel
.”

His words caused memories to trickle back and Hope
remembered hearing her sister say them. “Who’s her angel?”

“Tsk, tsk, Ms. Delacroix. You ask far too many questions.” Kneeling
down, he pulled a key from his pocket. “I’m taking you upstairs. We’re going to
clean you up and then I intend on having some fun with you. You’re not going to
fight me and you’re going to do everything I tell you to do with a smile on
your pretty little face. Any disobedience on your part will lead to punishment.”

She blinked up at him, completely disgusted by every word he
said.

Smiling, he added, “However it won’t be you who is punished,
do you understand?”

Nodding, she bit the inside of her lip again. She would have
to play the part to get to her sister and she fought to control her instincts
and not resist the man she knew she would eventually kill.

“Good to see you are learning to be more
cooperative
. I suspected you were an
intelligent girl. It appears I was right.” The metal key struck the lock
followed by a small click. He opened the door slowly, the hinges groaning with
the movement. “Crawl out to me. When you reach the door, put your hands behind
you and bend over so your forehead touches the floor.

Hope complied and felt where he handcuffed her hands in
place behind her back. He slipped a leather collar around her neck and she
recognized it as the one Xander had used. Clenching her teeth, she fought not
to feel the devastation of his death. She needed to think clearly to escape and
thoughts of him would only distract her from her task.

“I never did get the chance to thank Xander for this leash. It’s
a magnificent toy.” He chuckled and her muscles tightened along her spine at
the sound.

Pulling her from the cage, his shoes clicked against the
ground in time with the pads of her bare feet. She struggled to stay upright
and walk behind him. Focusing on her breathing again, she followed him through
hallways to a back staircase. They climbed steps to the third floor and Patrick
pulled another key from his pocket. He turned back to look at her, his
mismatched eyes shining brilliantly against the tan of his skin. Black hair
fell over his forehead and his cheekbones gave him the appearance of a cat. He
could have been handsome if he wasn’t so fucking psychotic.

“You’ll love what I have set up for you. I must admit, I was
extremely surprised to see how you got off on being whipped. It was
extraordinary. It is rare to find woman so turned on by pain. People would pay
good money for a woman like you.” He ran the tip of his finger down between her
breasts, stopping just above her navel. “I always knew you’d be the more
interesting twin.” The tip of his tongue flicked out to run along his lip and
Hope fought the urge to rip it from his filthy mouth.

Turning back, he unlocked the door and opened it to unveil a
large room with black-tiled floors. Candles were ensconced on the walls, and
were spread over every available surface — except for those surfaces that
held the knives and other tools. She sucked in a deep breath, calming the rapid
beat of her heart.

Patrick turned back to take in her expression. “Is that
excitement I see glistening in your gold eyes? Because I’m sure you can see it
in mine.”

She didn’t flinch at the implication. Remaining impassive,
she trained her gaze over his shoulder, refusing to look the bastard directly
in the eye.

His eyes traveled over her body, her skin prickling in
disgust at the gesture. He tugged on her chain. “We’ll need to clean you up
first.” He sniffed at the air around her. “I’m going to want you nice and clean
for what I have planned.”

She entered the room at his back, wishing her hands weren’t
bound so that she could grab a knife and shove it into his black heart. They
moved to a side door that he opened to reveal a small bathroom. There wasn’t much
room to move once they’d entered and he shoved her in the shower stall and turned
on the water. She cried out when the ice-cold water met her skin and her eyes
watched the blood and dirt wash down the drain at her feet.

“Look at your beautiful skin.” He traced his finger down a
scar on her abdomen. “They show up so well against your natural tan. Are they
battle scars?” His laugh was sickening. “Or, given your
perversion
, did you do these yourself?”

She flinched away from him, tried to appear timid and small.
She needed him to drop his guard, to give her one second, one chance to kill
him so she could find her sister.

He pulled his hand back to his body and stepped back, still
gripping the chain. Reaching to the counter at his side, he grabbed soap and a
cloth. “I’d tell you to wash yourself; unfortunately, you’ll need your hands to
accomplish that. That’s not a luxury I can trust you with quite yet.”

He wrapped the chain around his wrist a second time to
secure it and moved back. He touched her everywhere, his fingers rough and
crude above the cloth. After he’d finished, he dropped it to the floor,
choosing to use his hand on her skin. He cupped her breast, pinching the tip,
sending a jolt of sensation through her body. She bucked at the feeling,
willing her body not to react, but losing against a man who’d discovered her
weakness.

“I’m going to have fun with you.”

Pulling her from the shower, he ran a towel over her body
and walked her into the larger room. The table in the center was a smooth wood
and there were no shackles stuck to its surface like the other table. He backed
her to its edge. “Sit down.”

She did as instructed. He kneeled at her feet and she
fantasized about kneeing him in the face. When the chains attached to the table
legs secured her ankles, he moved around her, locking her wrists to chains
attached to the legs at the other end.

“Tell us what you
know!”

The sound was faint, but a man yelled from another room. Her
eyes widened to realize the space hadn’t been soundproofed and she could hear
somebody being interrogated on the other side of the wall. Patrick’s expression
grew annoyed.

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Your screams will drown theirs
out very soon.” He pulled a black cloth off the table to his side. Folding it
over itself, he held it out for her to see. “I’m going to blindfold you. It’s
more exciting when you don’t know what toy I’ve selected.”

Her stomach churned and bile shot up the back of her throat.
She would kill him slowly when she finally had the chance. A quick death was too
good for the vile piece of shit that stood above her. He tied the cloth around
her eyes delivering her once again to darkness. Her other senses came alive
when her sight was stolen. She listened intently to Patrick move about the room
and she jumped when she heard a crash on the opposite side of the wall.

Patrick’s phone rang a few seconds later.

“Yes … tell me you are fucking lying to me right now because
I’m about to come in there and rip your balls from your fucking body if you are
not lying to me right now!” His voice darkened, menace dripping from his words.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”

He was suddenly next to her, walking so quietly that she’d
not noticed his approach. “I’ll be back for you shortly.”

The door clicked behind him when he left and Hope was left
bound and exposed atop the table. She heard more shouting from across the hall
and she struggled to understand what was being said.

“Rebellion … The
Estate … mansion … Aaron …”

Her heart leapt into her throat and she choked on her own
intake of breath. She laid her head back on the table and listened carefully,
couldn’t allow herself to believe what she thought she was hearing. They were
interrogating someone, alternating between screaming and silence. But she never
heard another man answer and she wondered whom they held. Tears formed in her
eyes and slid down the sides of her face. Crystal blue eyes flashed in her
thoughts, but she forced away the hopeless idea that he could still be alive. She’d
seen him die in that chair, the life leaving his eyes and body, the breath
leaving his chest for the last time.

The door clicked open and her eyes opened beneath the
blindfold. Her body tensed, her skin tingling from the anxiety coursing through
her veins. Another click and footsteps, slow and heavy, approached. She braced
herself for his touch and was surprised by the size of his hands.

She could tell immediately that he wasn’t Patrick. There was
something darker, more evil, rolling off his skin and she became physically ill
when he ran his hands over her body. He didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound
except for the brush of skin over skin. He moved slowly over her, as if he was
studying her.

When he’d moved to her feet, she heard the sound of a latch before
the table broke apart. Her legs spread to the side, held in place by the
chains. A shudder rolled over her and she fought back the desire to fight. His
large hands gripped her ankles, sliding up her legs, over her knees to squeeze
around her thighs.

Her legs jerked beneath his hold, the tips of his fingers
digging into the tense muscle. He was silent except for his breathing that was
loud but even. A finger slipped inside her suddenly and she bucked against it. Another
hand smoothed up her abdomen, pausing over her breast before moving further and
encircling her neck. He pulled out of her and she heard belt unbuckle and his
pants fall to the floor.

Within seconds, he was inside her; the width painful against
dry skin. It burned and she clenched her jaw in reaction to the pain. The hand
around her neck tightened cutting off her ability to breath. He moved inside
her, skin slapping against skin when he sped his pace. It was strong, angry
strokes — a man taking a woman freely. The way he moved made it obvious
that this wasn’t about sex; it was about having power over her, taking
something from her against her will. The fact that she didn’t know his identity
only added to the insult. Laid out and bound, she was nothing but meat, a whore
meant for every man’s use.