Torture (Siren Book 2) (13 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Milla

The drop's surprisingly long, and my lungs are almost at the point of burning by the time my feet hit the water.

With no light to guide me, I trust my instincts to float me to the top, and heave a gasping breath. But so far so good. The air tastes
awful
, like mold and algae. There's a tinge to it, too, an unpleasant smell of decay and rot, from the contents of the tank next door. I swim to the far edge, knowing that the sooner I start this, the sooner it's done.

I dive down, keeping a hand against the side of the tank to keep my bearings, and feel along the wall until I find the duct connecting it to the next tank. Bubbles escape my lips as I propel myself along, praying that in my weakened shape I'm still okay to make this swim. I'm certainly not the girl who earned awards on the swim team anymore.

But my breath holds, and I pop out at the other end, and shoot up like a cork. My trip to the surface is impeded by something, and even knowing what to expect, it takes me several seconds to recognize it past the bloating. The weeks haven't been kind to the bodies I threw down here. They're hardly recognizable as human, with all the swelling and texture. I shove the foot out of my way, and come up for air.

The reek and rot chokes me until I'm not sure whether to retch or scream. While I try to buy myself time to decide, Janice's corpse bobs against me, rolling slightly in the waves I've created, and her limp arm flapping against my side takes on a life of its own, like something out of a zombie movie.

The scream comes naturally, at the top of my lungs, from the bottom of my heart. It keeps coming, long past any assumptions about my lung capacity or volume.

If I look too close, I'll imagine the corpses moving. Imagine them grabbing me, telling me my work is done, and it's time. I try to pretend I'm surrounded by driftwood, though the smell drags me back to earth.

Uncertainty overwhelms me;
can I really do this
? Is this a good idea? Am I gonna die down here with
these
shitbirds?

I scream louder, my desperation growing.

Chapter Twenty

Calder

A scream cuts through the air, loud enough to be heard, even from our original room. The tone of it cuts me to my gut, and despite my aching balls, and somewhat less sore pride, I'm through the door before any of the others can caution me. I should've listened to my instincts, and held her down, if need be, to keep her where we could protect each other.

Allen follows on my heels, and the other two follow reluctantly.

I'd let myself think Allen was right, and that Milla just needed some space to let go of whatever feud had begun between her and George. His weak explanation about her interpreting some offhand remark as a come-on made both too much sense, and not enough. He's never known when to stop, never cared to take anything less than an outright “no” as an answer. But Milla'd have happily given him that; fuck knows, the woman's not shy about making someone listen to her. What makes more sense was that George went after her to make it plain that seniority counts for shit, he's in charge. And she wouldn't let me touch her—he must have said something about us, something that upset her. It's weighed on me every second that passed after her abrupt exit.

Still, Allen said we shouldn't risk her lashing out at me again, somewhere we didn't know the room and pitfalls. And he may have even had a point. But now, Milla's the one his logic's hurt.

The screaming starts again, but as my eyes adjust to the dim, I still can't place where it's coming from. “
Milla
?”

I hate the note of weakness in my voice. I should've been here, I should've protected her from... whatever. I can dimly make out rows of waist-high circles, and as I lean over one, the smell of it confirms what I've long guessed beyond
any
shadow of a doubt. We're
definitely
on a boat. There's
no
reason for that kind of water storage otherwise. But the academic interest's sidelined—Denise's flashlight was on the floor when I woke up, though my attention was largely elsewhere.

I shove my way back to the front of the group, flashlight in hand, and call for Milla again. “Are you alive?” It's a morbid question to ask, but if she went over one of those lips, I don't know how big the tanks are, or how much water is in them. I shine the light in, trying to guess how deep they are, whether they all have water. She
must
have broken her neck when she fell, or drowned, or something. “
Milla
?”

As the seconds stretch on, my certainty that she's dead grows. “
Milla
?”

She answers back, frantically. “Here,
here.
”

“Keep calling. Where are you?”

The first tank I peer in is empty, and the vertigo nearly makes me tumble over the side. I'm too fixated on that panicked voice to pay more than a little attention to Marquel pulling me back from the edge. The second tank is empty, too, but there's a soft click, and all the lights come on.

I blink spots out of my eyes, as George nods at me ruefully. “There's a generator up here. I heard it humming, and figured maybe the lights were okay.”

I curse myself for not having come up here earlier, to know the layout of the place. Then Milla calls again, her voice choked with fear.

I flash the light into the next tank, and Marquel grabs me to keep me from leaning too far. He puts himself between me and the next tank like he's telling me not to bother looking. But I have to find her. When George steps in to help, I don't hesitate to punch him. He's my brother; he's taken worse. And if he hadn't been trying to get his dick wet, or to make sure everyone knew
he
was in charge—if he'd taken things
seriously
, an innocent woman wouldn't be trapped in some hellish hole.

George doesn't take it quietly; he punches right back, and I tackle him, barely mindful of keeping my momentum
away
from the tanks. We fall backwards, and I land on top of him, still pummeling him. Marquel yells something, Allen, too, but I can't make myself focus on either of their voices enough to understand. All that matters is George
de facto
exiling Milla to die, turning her against everyone, even me. Making
this
somehow better than letting me comfort her and protect her. I want to kill that asshole with my bare hands.

It's good having someone to take the anger out on, even if there's probably
more
of it than just my anguish at Milla's screams. His flesh gives under my fists, with wet slaps, until Marquel and Allen seize my arms and haul me off him. Every inch of space gives me a mile of calm, an extra stretch for Milla's voice to echo, reverberating in my head until I remember that I'm still
trying
to help her.

If she dies...

Allen lets me go, and hurries to pick up the flashlight, continue inspecting the tanks.

Milla yells again, and he calls down to her, beckoning us over, as he shines the light in.

Distorted shapes bob in the water below, and it takes me several seconds to recognize Milla among them, crying and treading water. Her shirt clings to her, and her hair's plastered against her head.

Marquel leans away to throw up, and a moment later, I realize why. Those shapes around her, they're greying, blackened, swollen flesh. We'll be far,
far
from the first to die here. My heart aches for her; she must be terrified, looking at what
any
of us could become.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm reaching for my undershirt, and unfastening my pants, eager to jump down, still operating under the assumption that I'll need them dry when we're out of the water and safe. There's gotta be some way to get out of there, and she needs
help
. There's no way I'm gonna let her stay trapped there.

George holds me back, and I try to punch him again. This time, he's smart enough to duck, and Allen and Marquel are ready for it. “
Cal. CAL.
”

He leans down, and yells to Milla. “Is there any way to climb out?”

Her response echoes so loudly that it's hard to distinguish the words. “Fucking
hell
, do you think I'd be
down here
, pigfucker, if there
was?
”

Marquel titters nervously, obviously hiding his fear of the situation. Once again, I start to strip, to go see for myself, and George shoves me back. Before I've recovered,
he's
jumped in with her. She shrieks as the water splashes her and a few bodies are pulled under, only to pop back up to the top.

The light can't illuminate much, and George calls out to her. She lets loose with a torrent of swearing, obviously not having forgiven him for
whatever
he said earlier, and the next time he talks, it's to call out to me. “She's right, there's
nothing
in here. There's some spots where handholds might have been here, but they probably rusted away, looking at the condition of this thing... Wait—there's some there, about fifteen feet above my head. What the
shit
did you get us into, asshole?” For the first time, a panicked note emerges in his voice; I didn't think my brother knew
how
to feel fear.

“Fuck you!”

He pauses a second, then yells up again, “
Shit
, I can't see your girl. Did she go under when I got in?”

“
What
?” My heart stops beating.

“I don't hear her splashing, and I don't see her. Just, lots of horrorshow props.” Some part of me wonders if that flippancy is dissociation, or if he genuinely isn't bothered to be swimming in corpse stew.

“
Milla
,” I scream, waiting for her to respond, but he's right; there's nothing.

Allen lets out a hoarse sob, the softest emotion I've seen from him yet.

Still no answer. We all let the quiet ring a minute, waiting for her to yell again, but there's nothing. Soft splashes reach us—George diving again and again, seeing if Milla got dunked under the water and entangled with a corpse, unable to reach the surface.

But every time, he comes up empty. Still, he keeps trying, and each time he goes under, I swear I can see a flash of a tanned limb, and pray he swims toward it.

Several minutes later, he heaves gasping breaths and treads water, instead of swimming down again.

The silence echoes through my skull, already accustomed to screams, and a flood of emotions that I'll have to face later pours over me, leaving me breathless and empty. Marquel and Allen ransack the room, probably looking for a rope or something to get George out, but return empty-handed.

“Wait,” Allen says. “These've gotta be ballast. That means there's a mechanism to take on water.”

“If it works,” Marquel says, dourly.

“If it works,” Allen agrees, dully. “But if you've got a better idea...”

“Do you know
how
it works?” My gut says the idea is worse than nothing. “Is it gonna pour in from the top, drive him under?” A more macabre part of me imagines George going down under a wave, a mountain of water forceful enough to break his neck before he has the chance to drown.

“How should I know? I'm flying by the seat of my pants here, too. But it might be our best bet for getting him up to the handholds.”

Not knowing what else to do, I call down to George with the option. He's alive, for the moment, and I want him to stay that way. I
don't
want to chance losing my last immediate family, too. Losing Mom, losing Denise, losing Milla... I'm sick of the train of death. I wish it was
me
bobbing in the water, not George. At least then, I wouldn't be helpless, waiting for the worst.

Chapter Twenty-one

Milla

As the argument above me turns to furious screams, layered back and forth, I know I've won. They can't just leave George, and he's dead anyways if they don't try
something
. It couldn't be happening to a nicer person. No, I guess that's not fair. He
did
jump down after me, in the end. It tickles me that it wasn't Calder, for all of his sweet talk about protecting me. Guess we see how sincere
that
was.

Right after George jumped down, I ducked under the water, and through the duct I used to get there.  I've only been periodically catching my breath, in between moving away from the tank they're fucking around with. Swimming quietly is a little difficult with my limbs trembling, and what I'd bet is mild hypothermia beginning to set in. But I have to get away.

I know what's gonna happen sooner or later, and I don't really want to be near it.

Three tanks away, when I know I'm a good distance away from them, I risk coming up the handholds. The rest of the tanks have them; I sawed those away from the other one, just in case. I'd thought it might be fun to shove someone over the edge, let them know their fate before it happened.

I clamber up the holds, pausing below the lip in case any of the men are moving around. I sneak a peek over the top, and make sure they're preoccupied, and there's no water dripping off me before I risk stepping over the lip and darting toward the side of the room, a section hidden behind five foot across piping.

The argument still rages. It's not safe to raise the water level, but George doesn't know the tank like I do. He can't find any of the connecting ducts to escape his soon-to-be tomb. Just the thought of him dying warms me up, and I sit there, smiling, as the men scream and bellow at each other, trying to find a better suggestion.

George's long since given up diving under. I'd lay good money that he's nearly as cold as me, that he knows his coordination is failing him, and he doesn't have much longer anyways. He's given up saying anything other than pleading with his brother to just fuck with the mechanism, take the shot they have.

But Calder is staunch. “
No
. There has to be
something
. Handholds on the other side? A rope? Let us look a little longer.”

Marquel's voice echoes in the room, but isn't quite loud enough to make it down the tank. “There's
nothing,
man; stalling won't help. If we're gonna act, we've gotta act
now
.”

There's soft footsteps, and then Allen chimes in. “I think I've figured out how the mechanism works, and the generator
should
be powering it. Whether it's enough power to work for long...”

“
We're not gonna do it,
” Calder insists, and Marquel swears.

“
Please,
Cal.” Despite its volume, George's voice is tired. I lick my lips hungrily, though the foul dampness on them tastes disgusting.

“How long, Cal?” Marquel asks, his voice breaking. “How long do we wait, watching him fade? We do this now, or
he dies
.”

“We do this now, and he might die sooner!”

“He might
not
. We don't have a
choice
.”

“
Do it,
” George cries again, and Calder lets out a broken gasp. I peep out from behind my pillow, drinking in Calder's hunched shoulders, shaking with sobs. I can't tear my eyes away, even though it's somewhat of a risk that they'll see me.

“
Fine
.” Calder capitulates, and Marquel and Allen exchange a look.

Finally, Marquel risks Calder's wrath. “Just, uh, just in case, do you want to, uh—” The way he stumbles almost makes me like him. You'd never know the bribes he helped launder for George's campaigns, the things they
did
for that money.

Calder sobs, steeling himself. Finally, he straightens and leans over to call down to George. “We're gonna do it. I'll be right here. Allen can—”

Allen nods, and walks toward the mechanism. I dodge behind the pillar again.

“Good. Cal—I'm, I'm sorry. I know I dragged you into a lot of shit, and I know this isn't the first time I've fucked you over—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Calder's voice breaks. “I'm sorry, too. I was a dick to you, at the—at the funeral.”

Marquel steps in, determinedly cheerful. “
No one's saying goodbye, boys.
” Such optimism.

I make myself comfortable, and wait for the fireworks to start.

There's a soft hum as the generator begins working
extra
hard, that turns to a hard buzz as Allen begins working the panel to adjust the water levels. Then comes a faint sloshing sound, that gets gradually louder. Then it all takes backseat to the floor vibrating beneath me as the pumps work. I listen as keenly as I can over the assorted noises, as the water flows into the tank.

“It's working, I hear it—” George calls, and Marquel whoops. Calder's silent, holding his breath, I'd say.

The noise accelerates, the vibrations coming stronger, and there's a slight lurch as the tank begins filling. A combination of dread and eagerness overwhelming me, I jitter slightly in my spot, only to realize that the vibrations catch my jeans perfectly to carry themselves up the center seam, over my clit, rapidly arousing me. It's so disgusting, taking something spiritual, rendering it purely sexual, but I can't resist, my finger creeping down below my waistband to tease myself further, direct the ship's touch where I need it, as the men work.

“He's close—I can almost—just five more feet—”

Then all hell breaks loose. There's a loud
crack
, that echoes clear through the chamber, even above the sounds of the water, and several choked coughs and retches—Marquel.

Marquel yells “Stop,” to Allen, then screams it louder, but Allen can't seem to hear it over the noise of the generator.

Calder's anguish wounds me like setting a broken bone, and I touch myself faster, teasing my body higher, feeding on the karmic retribution happening around me. I start to moan, only to stifle it at the last second. It nudges a memory to the forefront, one that's not especially welcome.

Calder's kisses trail along my neck, a million nerve endings crying out bundles at a time, a chorus of sensation and euphoria. He travels every inch of skin, tasting me, touching me, exploring my body as though it's his first time walking a new path, but one that he intends on knowing like the back of his hand for when he comes back. He guides my nipple into his mouth, and I bite a moan back, self-consciously.

All talk of safe words are gone. Forgotten. For someone who
utterly
dominated me, he's changed
completely
. He's entranced by my body, my little reactions, giving each one a power and weight that awes and frightens me. How can I fantasize about killing a man whose little moans echo mine, delighting in my pleasure? Who admits his own weakness and assuages it by making someone else feel good?

“George!”

Calder screams Allen's name again, and Allen hurriedly disables the mechanism, the noises stilling, the pressure building inside me stalling out with the vibrations. I sigh, to be so close, yet so far.

In the quiet, Calder's sobs echo.

It takes several minutes for Marquel to calm himself enough to tell Allen what happened. “The wave knocked him clear into the wall, broke his skull open.” His original nausea seems to have faded to a kind of juvenile gross-out bravado. “He found the handhold alright; left half his skull on it.”

Allen coughs, as though he's trying not to vomit, and there's a noise, likely him sinking to his knees. “
Shit
. You guys were right. If I knew how to slow it down... if I—”

Calder's finds his voice enough to soothe Allen. “That thing was
never
gonna be safe. It was never gonna work. But it was the only thing we could try to do. At—at least he went fast.” He doesn't consider that a mercy, from his tone, but he's doing his best to avoid upsetting Allen.

“Any... Any sign of Milla?” Allen asks, a surprisingly wistful note in his voice.

“
Fuck
, man,” Marquel says. “If she hadn't drowned before, she sure as
hell
did then.” It's painfully final, especially as Calder punches the floor, grunting from the impact.

Several minutes of silence, as they process it in their own ways, Calder pounding the floor, transferring his pain to his body, and Allen sobbing through his guilt. Only Marquel seems unfazed, talking as though he'll die if he stops.

“
Shit
; you guys were
serious
. I don't think I realized how... how
real
it was when you said you'd seen—I'm real sorry about your girl, Cal...” It tickles me that he apologizes for
me
, not for George.

Allen swallows, and looks at the angles of the floor. “Do, uh, do you mind if I work it again, even this out? This is gonna make me queasy. And we're all dead if I've fucked it up and the ship capsizes.”

Calder doesn't respond, lost in his own tears and rage. He punches the floor so hard my knuckles hurt for him, and Marquel consoles him in a low voice.

The mechanism kicks on again, and the vibrating resumes. I imagine it, the churning water, George's body tumbling through it lifelessly, his head bashed open like an exploded melon. Tears leak from me, too, sharing that moment with Calder. I know how it feels; over and over again I've felt it, cutting me apart piece by piece, each piece laid to rest under a separate headstone.

The vibrations seep into my hips and back like a massage, and my blood rushes through me a little more energetically, sharing Calder's pain, and experiencing such intense euphoria and relaxation. I grind my hips a little closer into the floor, adjusting my knees to press more of me down, and my finger creeps back down to my clit. My head falls back and my eyes shut as the ship vibrates my finger, vibrates my clit, and pulls me toward what's sure to be the solo orgasm that I'll compare all others to.

“Fuck,
” Calder yells, and hits the floor one more time, and though I know it's not physically possible, I can almost feel
that
on my clit, too, one last rough vibration that jerks my finger right
there
.

He hits the floor again, and I come, mouthing words soundlessly, fighting back my instinct to moan, to shriek, to laugh, to wheeze, to just
be
.

Two sets of footsteps troop out, but Calder stays. I shut my eyes, ready to fall asleep to the sound of him crying.

“
I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
”

The broken voice is his, but the words are both of ours.

I'm finally
free
, and the lesson is starting to stick. Maybe he
can
be redeemed.