I reach for the door knob again to find it still shut tight, and I make up my mind. I can’t leave, and I’m not going to turn around in fear. I walk toward her. She screams and tries to warn me, but I’m going to find out who the hell is behind this. I’m going to defend myself if they hurt me, and then I’m going to call my husband.
“Don’t come nearer,” she pleads. “Please.”
I don’t heed her warning. Where else am I going to go? I’m not the girl who cowers in fear in a fucking hallway. I walk past the bathroom, march straight into the room, and the second I do, sharp pain erupts across my skin. I scream, raising my hands as if to ward it off, but I can’t do anything to stop it. My skin’s on fire, everything in my world blinding, searing pain.
I drop to my knees when it stops as suddenly as it started. I’m braced on the floor, my hands in front of me, panting in relief, when a cold, hard, nasally voice I recognize sounds behind me.
“Aileen.”
I look up from the floor to see Blaine sitting placidly in a chair, one foot crossed on his knee, his hands clasped.
“Blaine.” My words are tight with anger. He brought me here. He lured me.
But she just said it wasn’t my brother.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him. “What have you done? Who made you? I know you’re not capable of doing anything on your own.”
“Fuck you.” His lip curls in a snarl and he’s on his feet. He hits a switch in his hand and pain explodes in my senses once more. I’m twisted in pain, my own screams drowned out by the other woman’s. The sadistic son of a bitch. I’m writhing in pain, my whole world blackness and vivid agony, as if someone’s found a switch to my nerves and set them on fire.
“Enough.” A sharp command comes somewhere in my periphery. The pain instantly stops.
I look at Blaine, whose face is still contorted in anger. Someone told him to stop. Who?
I look around the room. No one else is in here, yet somehow, someone just commanded him.
“You weren’t supposed to go to the McCarthy clan,” the woman pants from her restraints. I freeze, staring at her, afraid that one more word will have her tormentor torture her again. But maybe this was part of the plan. “They had me come to you, had me get you in the shops and lure you here.” More tears. “I couldn’t let them get my mum. Please forgive me.”
“Who?” I demand. “Not my brother, then who?”
“The man who was supposed to marry you,” my brother says. “You don’t pay attention, do you? Not the fucking man who’s name you carry. You were promised to another, and Martin fucked up. I tried to stop him. I warned him.”
What the hell is he talking about?
Another voice carries through the room as if spoken through overhead speakers. The voice behind the curtain, as it were. “Did you get the McCarthy’s attention, then?”
“Aye,” Blaine says. “But I’m not letting them in to get her quite yet.”
“You’ll do whatever the fuck I tell you, or you know what happens.”
Blaine winces and rubs a hand across his nose. How could I have not noticed before? My brother’s a goddamn addict. Does the man who commands him now get him his fix?
I was so damn ignorant. And what does he mean, Martin promised me to another? I stare at the mirror, at my own reflection, Blaine’s twisted face and the other woman’s naked, tortured form. Something’s wrong with it. I blink, trying to understand what’s off about it, and it finally dawns on me. I’d bet anything it’s a one-way mirror. This room is meant for voyeurs, the exhibitionist’s delight. On the other side of that mirror sits the man talking to Blaine.
“Who are you? Are you too cowardly to show your face, then?”
Pain shoots through my limbs. They’re sending some type of electric shock. I remember with a sudden stab of fear that I’m pregnant. What if the pain they’re causing me will hurt the baby? I begin to tremble but try to hide it.
I close my mouth. I can’t provoke them.
How will I notify Cormac? How do I alert the men of the clan where I am?
First, I have to stop the pain. The controller in Blaine’s hand is like a switch. When he flicks it, I’m in agony. I have to get to that first.
“Fine,” I say, dropping my head to the floor. “Please, stop. I’ve done nothing.”
“Nothing but play along with every fucking order Martin sent you.”
“Then your gripe is with him, not with me.”
“Believe me. My gripe is with both of you. McCarthy knew you were promised to another and he acted on it anyway. Said it would bring peace to the clans.” Cold rage takes over his voice. “Fuck him and the cart he rode in on. Fuck his brother. Fuck all of them. Blaine, start recording.”