Torture: Siren, #2

By Katie de Long

Love is pain.

Calder Roane has always been the spoiled youngest son, and is struggling to seize the reins to the family business following his mother's death. But when he wakes up imprisoned in a rusted death trap with several others, it's gonna take everything he has to get out alive. As the mystery unfolds and he tries to discover why he's there, a vulnerable and resourceful fellow prisoner could be the key. If he can win Milla's heart.

Under other circumstances, Camilla Greenwich would've grown up as Winchester royalty, born to a life of politics and privilege. But when the Roane family took her family's place, their actions corrupted the entire community, and cost Milla everyone she loved. Now, she has the chance of the lifetime: the chance to punish the heir to the Roane family empire, and those who've abetted him. But seizing that chance could well be her undoing. She'll have to get far closer to her enemy than she dreamed possible, and risk exposing herself. She'll have to become prey, alongside him.

As her war goes on and the collateral damage mounts, they're about to discover how deep the conspiracy runs. Each past sin is exposed, and in the end, they may be the only people who can redeem each other.

Torture (Siren #2)

At first, it seemed easy. Capture those who've profited from our suffering, and let them suffer. Let them starve, or fall, or burn. But ever since I entrapped Calder Roane, my plans have gone to shit. He's too clever by half, and unless I pretend to suffer by his side, his death will be meaningless, unwitnessed. But how can I stay by his side when he's so close to seeing through me?

Maybe it's an urge to lead, his urge to comfort. But with his attention on me more and more persistently, I'm walking a knife's edge playing to his expectations. If I push him away, he might discover I'm the reason he's in this deathtrap. But do I dare pull him closer, when his gentlest touch inspires revulsion?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katie de Long
• Release date: Jul 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536533781

Katie de Long

USA Today bestseller Katie de Long lives in the Pacific northwest, realizing her dream of being a crazy cat-lady. As a kid, Katie flagged the fade-to-blacks in every adult book she encountered, and when she began writing, she vowed to use cutaways sparingly. After all, that's when the good stuff happens. And on a kindle, no one asks why there's so many bookmarks in her library. For more information on Katie's work, visit delongkatie.com.

Book preview

Torture (Siren #2)

Katie de Long

––––––––

Love is pain.

Calder Roane has always been the spoiled youngest son, and is struggling to seize the reins to the family business following his mother's death. But when he wakes up imprisoned in a rusted death trap with several others, it's gonna take everything he has to get out alive. As the mystery unfolds and he tries to discover why he's there, a vulnerable and resourceful fellow prisoner could be the key. If he can win Milla's heart.

Under other circumstances, Camilla Greenwich would've grown up as Winchester royalty, born to a life of politics and privilege. But when the Roane family took her family's place, their actions corrupted the entire community, and cost Milla everyone she loved. Now, she has the chance of the lifetime: the chance to punish the heir to the Roane family empire, and those who've abetted him. But seizing that chance could well be her undoing. She'll have to get far closer to her enemy than she dreamed possible, and risk exposing herself. She'll have to become prey, alongside him.

As her war goes on and the collateral damage mounts, they're about to discover how deep the conspiracy runs. Each past sin is exposed, and in the end, they may be the only people who can redeem each other.

––––––––

Dedication

For the crazy bastard who side-eyes me every time the answer to What'd you do today, is Wrote mechanically assisted murder masturbation, and who hasn't DIY lobotomized me yet. For the Divas who didn't look at me like I was crazy, and for Sera, who encouraged me to at least draft the darkest, most warped version possible of any given scene, just to see if it worked.

Torture (Siren #2)

At first, it seemed easy. Capture those who've profited from our suffering, and let them suffer. Let them starve, or fall, or burn. But ever since I entrapped Calder Roane, my plans have gone to shit. He's too clever by half, and unless I pretend to suffer by his side, his death will be meaningless, unwitnessed. But how can I stay by his side when he's so close to seeing through me?

Maybe it's an urge to lead, his urge to comfort. But with his attention on me more and more persistently, I'm walking a knife's edge playing to his expectations. If I push him away, he might discover I'm the reason he's in this deathtrap. But do I dare pull him closer, when his gentlest touch inspires revulsion?

Chapter One

Milla Greenwich, Present Day

I never saw myself as a killer. My low voice doesn’t rouse Calder. He’s out of it. I’m safe enough for honesty.

"I never meant it to go this far. I never meant to learn the give of a knife sinking into flesh. I never saw myself watching a man’s face as the light in it died, as his eyes went sightless and glassy. I saw myself as, well, not a tool of god, persay, because god has better things to do than fuck around with the little people, but close enough. An agent of fate or karma, working from a distance, pulling the strings, but never seeing her hands dirtied and slick with blood.

"I’d expected to feel... I don’t know... something. Guilt, or remorse. Even adrenaline. But instead there’s nothing. The only time something bleeds through is when you touch me. When you touch me, I know the enormity of it. All of the pain, and the horror, and the disgust. The frustration of deceiving you.

"You think you care for me, but you don’t know me. You don’t know where I’ve been. How can you love someone who’s more a reflection of you than a complete version of themself?

"Only seeing myself through your eyes, seeing where you went wrong, could I truly know who I am. I am a monster. I am exactly who I chose to be. Exactly what I wanted to be."

Calder’s breath hitches. He’s having a nightmare again. I only have a few minutes left.

"I’m not going to ask for your forgiveness. Even if you could give it, it wouldn’t help. For what I’ve done—what I will do—I deserve to bear some remorse. Because my ability to feel guilt, my ability to torment myself, it’s what separates us. Did you ever wonder what you were doing or why? Did you ever look at your family, and say ‘I have to get away from these people before they poison my soul?’ No. You kept quiet, and played your role.

"I may be a monster stained by her victims’ blood, but I’ll let you in on a secret: you aren’t any different. The only difference is your hands are clean." And pretty. With callouses and quiet strength. Calder’s got the kind of hands to set a woman’s blood alight, and make her body hum with joy. I rest my hand over his.

"I wish you were always the man that you were with me. I wish I didn’t know what was beneath the surface, and could believe in your goodness. Sometimes, I see these flashes, and I just know—you’re a man a woman could love. Die for. Kill for. Go to hell for. It’s a charade. We both know that you belong here, same as me."

I slide away from him, bracing his head with my hands so I can ease my leg out from under him. He can’t see me alive, can’t see the full picture that I whisper to him in the wee hours of the morning, as his companions sleep and he tosses and turns with nightmares.

"It’s kinder that I’m dead to you. That you never know who’s pulling the strings. And it’s kinder to me. This—us—it shouldn’t exist. We both deserve all the pain I can heap upon us. And mark my words, Calder—there will be pain."

Chapter Two

Milla, seven months ago...

Of all the emotions boiling under my skin, I can't decide which takes primacy. Every time I turn, Calder Roane's eyes are on me, and I have to fight harder to hide the range of them. Fear, anger—sure, he'll expect those. Detachment or depression he could expect too, were I inclined to pretend I felt either. But the things he won't expect to see are joy, exhilaration, or pride. And those are the hardest to conceal.

Their shrieks, the fast patter of their voices, as they fought to find a way out of the trap I'd built for them. I'd given them one hint, which was unavoidable since I hadn't originally planned to be there. But once I had a vantage point where, unless they pulled me down from it, I wasn't gonna die, there was no reason to prompt them more. Only Calder's reasoned leadership got them out intact. Or, mostly intact anyways. I'll have one corpse to clean up off the floor if I want any quiet strolls through the area again. But it's a tossup whether it's worth the effort. After all, it's a tiny dead-end room that I'm probably not in a hurry to venture into anyways.

Speak of the devil, he's staring at me again, his pale eyes unreadable.

I face him down as I would any creeper fresh to the work crews, crushing on the fairest of the old hands: directly. You got a problem with me?

"What? No." He breaks eye contact, and shrugs apologetically.

Denise and Allen, our remaining companions, both look up, concerned about the escalating tension between us.

What I want is to whoop, to make my way back to the room Alex died in, inhale the smoky air, now that the torches would have run out of fuel. But I have to wait until they're sleeping to show my true self. And Calder seems to found a renewed devotion to his role as makeshift leader; he's done his damndest to get us sleeping in shifts. Someone always breaks, here or there, during my watches, and those have been the moments I've stolen to drug them and sneak food in here. I called in sick to work again—I might have to call in sick with Mono, if it stretches any longer, to explain the longer-than-average absence. No one's looking for me out there, but I still don't want to be gone too long. If this group wakes up and I'm not there, it'll lead to questions, at best, or violence, at worst.

I don't dare come in here unarmed, though I'm careful to let none of them know I have a switchblade with me.

They have plenty of reason to kill me, if they even suspect I'm the one behind this; after all, there's no doubt now that their faceless enemy's been trying to kill them. I don't think any of them have the balls for it; they prefer to hurt people whose faces they never have to see.

But it's not the nature of the conflict.

Calder's making an effort to not look at me, now, only that aversion leads him to stare above my right shoulder. His eyes widen, and he reaches for the little first-aid box, needing something sturdy.

Allen follows his eyes. I don't need to look to know what they're seeing, but I remind myself I should, anyways, as part of the act.

High on the wall, atop a different pipe, a beady red eye—how I originally thought I'd be watching their fight for survival.

But not the first one they've found and destroyed. That's why I'm here. And so long as they keep disabling them, I have to stay here, where I can witness with my own two eyes. It's not what I'd prefer, but given the choice between spending some more time pretending to be one of these parasites and witnessing their comeuppance, and waiting safe in my control room, in my own hungry company, and missing every detail of their deaths... There's no choice.

The others are preoccupied throwing everything they can find, from the cooler and first-aid kit, to their own half-burned shoes. I need an excuse to avoid participating.

Calder notices me again for a moment, as the first-aid box crashes near me, having failed to dislodge the camera. So I seize on the first suspicion-defusing measure I can think of: playing the victim.

I clench my hands, tightly enough that my wrists and arms shake, and widen my eyes, jumping with every impactful noise. For safe measure, I widen my eyes, and fixate on the camera as the next shoe knocks it loose, and they scramble to where it falls, to make sure it's duly broken.

Calder lets them finish the destruction. Apparently my act worked, because he hooks his arm around my shoulders, and rubs my arms until I let the shakes ease. You okay, Mil?

I want to slit his throat for shortening my name that way—it's only one step up from the hated Millie, which only my family and one privileged mentor were allowed to use, but which almost all of my coworkers have used since, over my objections. But I put the emotion aside—my feelings are the least important in this. So long as he pays for the lives his family has bankrupted, ended, or cast aside, I can deal with a few casual irritations.

I'm—I'm fine.

"You've been snapping at everything."

"And you haven't been? Fuck, you're freaking me out, staring."

He moves a strand of hair behind my ear, and his proximity spurs me to glare, need to blend in or no. Sorry—I just, I worry about you guys. The others, well, I see how they are. It's kind of hard not to. Denise's hands haven't stopped shaking, and her limp is fairly pronounced. And Allen, well, he's taken to staring at me with a fierce hunger that makes me extremely glad for my secret blade. I know the look of a man craving a woman's touch when I see it, and I know well that how hard I've pushed them has removed some of the social restraints. I sincerely doubt Calder would be okay touching a strange woman as much as he touches me, in any other circumstance.

Still, it's a line of questioning he shouldn't pursue. So—what—you think I'm the weak link? I jerk myself away from him, and storm to the other end of the room. Barely visible around the pipes running through the center of the room, he shakes his head in bemusement.

It won't keep him away long; there's no such thing as privacy here, although there's one corner designated as the no spy zone, for... personal matters. Not that it prevents everyone else from hearing it,