Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
“You invited it in,” the monk accused.
The muscle along my jaw clenched as the next clip played. I watched as the video version of myself got on one knee and worked to unlock the padlock on the creepy guy’s cock cage.
“Did you ask yourself why he was locked up?” he asked. “That man couldn’t stop touching himself in public. He exposed himself countless times, forcing it on others . . . and you set him free.”
I didn’t think I could feel worse until a new video appeared, and my stomach dropped. It filled me with fresh shame to see how cruel I’d been.
Please, no.
“That poor girl begged you”—his tone was heavy with judgement—“and what did you do?”
Everyone watched as I took the lantern from the wall and walked away, leaving the naked girl trapped alone in her cell and in the dark.
He spun the chair back around so they could confront me, and their disapproval was nearly intolerable. I was breaking down, physically and mentally exhausted, too weak to use skepticism or rational thought anymore. I felt . . . susceptible. Vulnerable.
“We can still save you,” another monk said in a soothing voice, “but only if you want it. You want to be saved, don’t you?”
I stared at him, trying not to be triggered, and said nothing.
Unsatisfied, they were suddenly helping me out of the chair, shepherding me toward a door I’d assumed led to another room, but instead it was the entry to a winding stone staircase.
Up and around the stairs we went, the people moving like we were late for an appointment. The stone stairs were well-worn and uneven, and the whole thing was poorly lit, making it extra precarious.
When we reached the top floor, the stairwell dead-ended at a door, and the figure who’d reached it first gave a short knock in warning before pushing it open.
My eyes widened as I peered into the room. It looked like a hospital from the 1940s, with sterile colors and tile that traveled halfway up the walls. Everything was ancient and outdated, from the lighting fixtures to the equipment. My gaze landed on the bloody fabric screen that sectioned off one side, and from behind it, I heard moans of pain.
I didn’t like this at all and dug in my heels, resisting when the monks pressed me forward into the room, but I was horribly outnumbered. It only took one good shove for them to make me stumble forward, and when I turned, I was just in time to watch them retreat and the door slam closed behind them.
The sound of it caused the other man in the room to flinch. He’d been standing to the side and motionless, facing one of the walls, and I hadn’t noticed him right away because he wore a white hospital gown that blended with the wallpaper.
The moans behind the screen grew in pitch and volume, rising to a painful scream that abruptly went silent. It was so convincing, a shudder rattled my frame. Then a nurse materialized. She was older and barrel-shaped, wearing an old-fashioned nursing uniform, complete with the white hat pinned in her graying hair. Her short-sleeve shirt was blue with white cuffs, and the front of her white smock was bloodied.
Tension held me stiff as she approached, carrying a small band of plastic in her hand. Her face was severe, and her bedside manner matched it as she grabbed my wrist and fashioned the ID bracelet on me. She wasn’t gentle and barely looked at me. Like I was more cattle than a person.
“Line up there.” She pointed to the empty space beside the guy in the hospital gown. “Face the wall and wait your turn.”
Chapter 8
My shoulders were tight as I marched to the spot and turned to face the wall. Her footsteps carried her away, and I glanced down at the medical ID band she’d put on me. It had my full name on it. Seeing it printed in a Courier-style font was just another detail to help sell the scene and deepen my unease.
I waited in awkward silence next to the guy in the hospital gown, who was either shivering or trembling, and kept my gaze fixed on one of the tiny flowers on the faded wallpaper.
Someone else was in the room, rummaging through metal or possibly cleaning surgical tools behind the partition. What was going on back there?
The nurse reappeared. “Are you finally ready to behave?” she asked the man beside me. When he frantically shook his head, she sighed. “All right. You’re next, Quinn.”
Then I no longer had to imagine what was happening on the other side of the screen.
A heavyset doctor loomed over a steel procedure table and was lit by the large retractable light overhead. Both his surgical apron and gloved hands were glossy with blood, and splatters decorated his cap and face mask.