“August.” He waves me over and puts his hand on my shoulder. I want to shake him off, but I clench my fists instead. He introduces me to the group, “This is my son.”
They nod in approval. I fake a smile, but it’s unnatural and hurts my jaw.
“You’re here for your birthday present, aren’t you?” Dad says, then turns to others to add, “I promised him something special for his eighteenth. Something to turn him into a man.”
They guffaw. A guest’s dirty hand slaps me on the arm like we’re old pals, and I resist the urge to break every bone in his wrist to stop him from touching any child again. I don’t know what Clemmie has planned, but I hope she makes them all fucking suffer.
“Well, shit.” Another grins widely, exposing his new veneers. “Look who has just arrived.”
I follow their gazes and open mouths to see Clementine.
She glides into the room like a princess. She’s wearing a white ballgown with a tight bodice and floaty skirt. I swallow hard as my heart skips a beat. She’s stunning. She always looks beautiful, but now she seems otherworldly.
Her skin is flawless. Her eyelashes are black and thick, framing her sparkling green eyes, but it’s her mouth that I can’t look away from. Her pouty red lips could obliterate a thousand hearts with a smile. A smile that makes me want to tear out the throats of all the guys whose shriveled dicks are getting hard looking at her. She is all fucking mine.
“Darling,” Father greets her, “why don’t you make our guests comfortable? I’m taking your brother somewhere special for his birthday gift. I’ll be right back.”
“Of course, Daddy,” she agrees as her eyes meet mine. I see a steely determination looking back at me. “I’ll make sure our guests are comfortable.”
“Good girl,” Father purrs. The stupid fucker is oblivious as he turns to me, “This way.”
I walk rigidly after him, ignoring every instinct telling me to stay by Clemmie’s side. As much as I want to protect her, I need to trust that she can take care of herself. She kept a pet shivering and living in his shit, after all.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we pass through the sex floor. Clemmie’s laughter gets steadily further away as I try to ignore all the toys mounted on the walls. There are hundreds of them. I don’t want to think about how many of these he’s used on my Clemmie.
“It’s time I teach you the most important life lesson: how to be a real man,” he says. “I need you to carry on our family business, August. I thought it was time for us to bond as father and son.”
We head to the room where he kept Clemmie prisoner for a few days. It’s his dungeon of sorts. His special personal playroom. There’s only one way in and one way out. This is perfect, even better than my original plan to lure him upstairs.
He bends down, and a glassy panel scans his eyes.
The door clicks and swings open to reveal a trembling young girl staring back. The color drains from my face. We’ve never met, but she looks familiar; then I realize the obvious similarities between her and Clemmie. They have the same dirty blonde hair and similar green eyes, but this girl can’t be older than twelve or thirteen.
Where did he get her from?
Dad claps me on the back in encouragement. “You can go first.”
“Go first?” I stammer, needing to hear him say it.
“Fuck her, August,” Dad orders. “Prove to me that you’re a real man. Prove that you’re my son.”
The girl’s shoulders shake, and snot drips down her face as she cries. My heart aches for her, imagining this is how Clemmie must have felt before he conditioned her to respond to his touch. But this girl isn’t strong like Clemmie. Clemmie looks weak, but a darkness has grown inside her while she’s lived in this place, allowing her to thrive in a twisted way. Her lookalike was likely abducted or sold into the hands of a monster.
“I-I-I...” I stutter, trying to lull him into a false sense of security.
“Don’t make me regret this, August,” Dad warns, his voice a deep threatening growl. “I’ve brought you a virgin, and it cost me. They’re hard to find at that age.”
“How old is she?” I ask.
Dad ducks down to stroke her cheek. “Why don’t you tell us, sweetheart?”
The girl cowers away from him, and I don’t blame her.
She sobs harder, and he strikes her hard across the face, making her wail. “You answer when I speak to you.”
“Twelve,” the girl manages to say between hyperventilating.
She looks at me with pleading eyes.