“Mom?” I said, opening the door.
The masked figure from the hotel room stepped out from the hal way. “Not quite, whore.”
I had just enough time to see the flash of the Taser before the lights went out.
CHAPTER 23
Darkness.
I tried to open my eyes, but they weighed a mil ion pounds.
Arms hurt.
Whole body hurt.
I slipped back into the darkness.
Huh?
Where am I?
Opened my eyes but everything’s stil black.
Must be night time.
So sleepy.
Woke up again. The good news was I wasn’t dead.
That was pretty much it for good news.
Now for everything else.
I was blindfolded, so I couldn’t tel anything about my surroundings.
I was standing with my arms tied above my head.
My shoulders ached. The floor under my feet felt rough, like cement. The air was stale and smel ed faintly of leather.
One arm hurt like it had been jabbed with something. My guess was an injection of some kind.
The last thing I remembered was coming home and someone shooting me with a stun gun. It knocked me out. Whoever did that must have drugged me and brought me here.
Wherever here was.
I felt cool air on my skin which made me realize something else.
I was naked.
This was so not good.
I would have expected that my heart would have been pounding out of my chest, but I felt strangely calm. Whatever my abductor knocked me out with must have stil been in my system.
Good, I thought. Use that to your advantage.
Breathe. Relax. Listen.
Don’t panic.
Focus, Kevin, focus
Boy, did I wish I’d taken my medication today.
I heard someone in the room with me. Breathing.
“Uh, hel o?” I asked.
I felt something touch me on the bel y. I jerked away. “Hey!”
“Shhhh…” someone said. Something-a finger- touched me again, right under my neck. The finger slowly trailed down my chest, between my nipples, over my abdomen, stopping at my pubic hair.
“Shhh…”
It was al very Silence of the Lambs.
I knew I was supposed to be screaming or something, but I couldn’t muster the energy. The hand slipped down to my bal s, rol ing them between his fingers. Then around to my ass, tracing over my crack, lingering at my hole.
“Shhhh…”
I know it sounds weird, and it must have been the drugs, but my most prominent feeling at the moment was boredom. If he was going to kil me, I wished he’d get on with it.
“What are you doing, Michael?”
The hand smacked my ass. Hard.
“Ow!”
OK, maybe hoping he’d get on with it wasn’t such a good idea.
“I’m not Michael,” he answered.
And it wasn’t.
I knew that voice.
It hadn’t been Michael al along.
How had I gotten everything al wrong?
The brother I thought was the victim was real y the kil er.
“Paul,” I said.
“I’m not Paul,” he said.
Huh?
“Cal me Stryker,” he said.
OK, that was definitely Paul’s voice.
This time, he slapped me on the bal s.
“Oww!”
“I said ‘cal me Stryker!’”
“Fine, fine, you’re Stryker!”
I felt my blindfold being pul ed off. The room was dim, and it took a minute until my eyes adjusted.
Yep, it was Paul Harrington, al right.
He also was naked. Hmm, I thought absently, he real y does get better looking the more you see him.
I looked around. I was in a real, honest-to-goodness dungeon. The windowless wal s were padded with what I assumed was some kind of soundproofing material. Many had shackles hanging from them. There was a rack, stockades, and even a sling.
An open cabinet held a cache of chains, whips, and clamps. On a shelf was a col ection of dildos that ranged from dwarfish to Kong-like.
Welcome to Pervert’s Paradise.
I liked it better with the blindfold on.
Paul’s face looked fierce. His lips were tight and pul ed back into a menacing grimace. His nostrils flared with rage. His eyes were narrow and looked dead inside.
I thought he was unhinged when I met him at the bar, but just how crazy was he? Was this Stryker crap a pose or some kind of split personality?
Had he kil ed his father and those other men-the supposed suicides?
But why would he have had them leave their money to his brother?
And how had he control ed them?
Control.
That was the key.
I looked again at Paul’s eyes.
They weren’t dead, they were vacant. He wasn’t control ing anyone. Not even himself.
Oh Paul, I’m so sorry.
Suddenly, I didn’t feel quite so calm. I was angry.
“Michael, you son of bitch! Your own brother! What have you done to him?”
From behind me, I heard muffled applause. Then the deep, sensuous voice of Michael Harrington.
“Wel done,” he said. He came around to face me.
