embarrassment, the deep wound on her soul that the one thing that was hers, all hers-her choice-had been ripped from her. And she’d never have it back.
She had never felt helpless before, not like this. When she was seven and Justin was killed she had known what had happened-her parents never lied to her about it-but she hadn’t seen Justin dead, she hadn’t been physically hurt. The pain from that time was emotional, mostly from an overwhelming sense of loss, like part of her was missing.
Now death was a reality, the defiling sex, the humiliation of the film. Her rape was going to be replayed for everyone, even after she was gone. It wasn’t fair. She hoped that her family never saw, that they didn’t know what had happened to her. She didn’t think she could look them in the eye again.
More than anything, she wanted her mother.
Tears escaped from her eyes, and she hated herself for showing her pain and fear. She didn’t want Trevor to know how much she hurt inside. She tried to keep a straight face, blank, block everything out, but it was getting harder and harder the longer she was restrained.
“Don’t cry.”
The man on top of her, the man she’d been able to block out while he kissed her neck and breasts, had noticed her anguish and she froze.
She tossed her head back and forth, trying to avoid his lips. Avoid his eyes. In the background she heard Roger say, “Fuck her already. People are paying for a show.”
She heard his zipper. Felt him against her leg. He buried his face in her neck, his hands on her hips.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I sent for help. You need to trust me. Watch carefully.”
Trust him? Her rapist wanted her to
“Get off me!” she screamed as loud as she could.
From the door, “Do it already. Spread her legs. Show the camera.” Then, muttered, “Amateurs.”
“Please trust me,” her rapist whispered in her ear. Then he raised himself up, looked down at her.
She closed her eyes.
“Cut!”
It was Trevor’s voice.
Roger intervened. “What? Come on, we’re just getting going. Mick is a little slow to the task, but he’s finally getting into it.”
“Change of plans.”
The red eye of the camera was off. Lucy’s eyes widened. What was happening?
The man, Mick, stood up slowly. He turned to Trevor. “What the fuck?”
“You’re pathetic,” Trevor said. “Any other red-blooded man would have taken what was offered. Seven minutes to get that dick hard? What are you, a fag?”
Mick reddened. “I, I-”
“Just go. Monitor the cameras. Now.”
“What’s going on?”
“None of your business,” Trevor said and watched him leave. “Denise!”
The woman who hated Lucy came into the room. She wore a business suit with a short skirt, heavy makeup, and her hair had been styled and teased.
To Roger, Trevor said, “You and Frank play out the rape game with Denise.”
“Aw, come on, what happened?”
“Are you questioning me?”
“No, but-”
“Lucy will be back onstage in just a few hours. But I need to leave the island. I don’t want any down time from here on out.”
“You never leave in the middle of a show. You need to tell me what’s happening.”
“I need to tell you nothing.”
Lucy listened to the exchange, unsure what was going on, but seeing this as an opportunity. Both Trevor and Roger sounded angry.
Something was happening.
And she would definitely be watching carefully.
For the first time, she felt a tickle of hope that she might get out of here alive.
SIXTEEN
“WHERE’S LUCY?”
Dillon walked into her room and Kate jumped, still uncomfortable having people around after so many years being alone.
He stared at the muted computer screen where Denise was being raped by two men. Kate had almost forgotten it was on. She’d been so intent on planning how to get off the mountain without alerting Dillon or his brother.
“I don’t know. The screen went blank, then Denise came on. I’m not worried about her. She’s doing this willingly.”
“Are you sure?” Dillon frowned at the sick perversion playing out on the screen.
“I’m sure,” Kate said. “She faked her own death and attacked Lucy. She helped set Paige up to be killed. You have any doubts?”
“I-”
“Trask Enterprises’ biggest moneymakers were their rape-fantasy scenarios. That’s where Denise got her start. Don’t feel sorry for her.”
Dillon couldn’t help but wonder how Denise had gotten to this point in her life. What had happened to make her feel that her only choice, her only option, was to be used in such a vile, sick manner? She had no self-esteem, no self-respect.
Someone had destroyed Denise’s ego years ago, and Dillon couldn’t help but feel compassion for the abused woman, regardless of the crimes she’d committed.
“Why?” Dillon said.
“Oh, she probably has some tragic story in her childhood.” Kate rolled her eyes as if she didn’t believe it. “But that doesn’t justify her actions.”
“No, what I mean is why did he take Lucy off air?” Dillon feared he wouldn’t have the next full twenty-four hours to find her. Though he didn’t want to see her on the Internet, there was some comfort in seeing her alive. Now he knew nothing of her fate.
“I don’t know,” Kate mumbled.
Dillon stared at her. She was lying. He knew it as surely as he knew his name.
“Has he done this before?”
“He intersperses his ‘best-of’ shows with his live action. Maybe he was losing ratings because Lucy wasn’t cooperating, so he pulled her off to lie to her, to convince her that if she played along he would let her go. How am I supposed to know?”
Dillon frowned. Something wasn’t right. He hadn’t met Trask, but he knew enough about his process to know that for him, it was about the end. The murder. Everything else-the money, pretending rape was consensual sex, even the legal online pornography he’d been associated with-was nothing compared to his need to control, rape, and kill women.
He wouldn’t let one go. Ever.
