Prescott continues, “We met under the worst possible circumstances, I’m sure you remember.”
“Yes,” I say, recalling that night. It feels like another life — it must be, what, twelve, thirteen years ago?
“Lance’s life could have been ruined because of you.”
I want to say,That’s not what happened, and you know it, but I bite my tongue. It’s ancient history, and I’ve accepted that. Still, it stings when Prescott dredges up the lie and acts like it’s the truth.
“But I forgave you,” says Prescott. “I decided to give you a second chance. I didn’t have to stick my neck out for you, but it was the right call.”
“And I’ll never forget it,” I reply, rising to my feet. “You can count on me, Mr. Prescott.”
He smiles, the tension on his face draining like he’s flipped a switch. “I know, son. And when it comes to breaking whores like Quinn Harris, I know you’re still the best man for the job. After all, your record speaks for itself.” Prescott gets up and strolls to the end of Byron’s office, stopping in front of a closet door. He opens it, revealing a familiar site: Amber Erickson, naked, hands chained high above her head. Standing on her toes, she moans as she struggles to stay balanced. A thick, red ball gag keeps her mouth open wide, and drool drips from her lips, pooling on the floor.
My cock hardens at the sight, an automatic response to seeing her so thoroughly helpless. Before meeting Quinn, I considered breaking Amber to be the crowning achievement of my career. I drank in her screams every single day. Byron and Prescott told me what she did — they showed me video from her trial. She was stone cold. They were all dead, and she didn’t care at all. She was proud of it, in fact. It’s no wonder Quinn reminded me so much of her.
For two years, I felt, with complete conviction, that Amber deserved every second of her torment. Now, though… Is this a glimpse of Quinn’s future? Does she deserve to be locked in a dark hole in Prescott’s mansion, at his mercy? And what about Amber?
No, she wasn’t defending herself, I recall.And it wasn’t an accident.
But does that matter?
“There she is,” Prescott taunts, taking in the site of Amber’s body. “Byron, her skin is so pale and clear — barely a mark on her! Have you been spoiling her?”
“Quinn’s stolen the spotlight a little,” Byron laughs. “But it’s okay. Amber’s not going anywhere.”
Prescott nods, flashing the same smile he gives the TV cameras. “How long is her sentence?”
“Five years. Two are gone already.”
“And it was going to be twenty?”
“That’s right,” says Byron, stepping into the closet with Amber. “But it probably feels like twenty already, doesn’t it, pet?” he asks her, brushing back her hair.
Amber nods her head slowly.
Prescott chuckles. “I bet by the end of five, it’ll feel like a hundred.”
Byron slaps the girl’s ass a few times, but she barely reacts. “God willing,” he says.
She’s a monster, I repeat in my head.She brought this on herself. It was true a month ago, it’s true now.
Prescott tickles Amber’s side and frowns when she doesn’t respond. “She seems a bit sluggish this afternoon. You didn’t drug her, did you?”
Byron grins. “Nah, she’s just tired. Reed, think you can get her to perk up?”
I get up, but back away, smiling. “I’d love to, but I should really return to the workshop. If my boss found out I wasn’t at my post,” I joke.
“Oh, relax,” says Byron, pulling a flogger from a desk drawer. “They can make do without you a bit longer.”
Not seeing much choice, I take the flogger. The men make way so I can get to Amber, who opens her eyes slightly as I approach. She bucks against her bonds, fear awakening in her heart.
“That’s what I thought,” Byron muses. “It’s like an animal instinct. She smells him, or something. Just incredible.”
“Reed, think you can do that to Ms. Harris?” asks Prescott.
“That depends on her,” I say, giving the flogger a practice swing. “And how much time I have.”
“No,” he replies, moving in to brush me aside. “I want Quinn like this by election day. Got it?”