Chapter 17: Back to Hell (And a New Prison)

Cady's POV

The car pulls into the driveway of Tate's mansion. My stomach turns as I look up at the towering structure. Right. Back in this hellhole. I can't believe I'm here again. It feels like I'm being dragged further into a nightmare I can't wake up from.

Ronny's words echo in my head. Wait. He told me to wait, to be patient, and that he'd come up with something. I hold onto that hope, but it's slipping through my fingers the longer I stay here. What would life have been like if we hadn't broken up? If we had just stayed together, would I even know who Tate Mercer is? Would I still be living in the same town with my family, worrying about normal things instead of this insanity?

Tate's voice snaps me back to the present. He looks pissed. His face is twisted in annoyance as he watches me step out of the car. "Take her to one of the chambers," he orders his men. The way he says it makes a chill run down my spine.

Chambers? What the hell does that mean? I want to ask him, but the men already start guiding me down the back passage of the mansion. I glance back at Tate, and for a moment, our eyes meet. He's staring at me, his face blank, like I'm nothing more than a burden he's been forced to deal with.

We walk through the long, dimly lit hallway. I hadn't realized how big his mansion was until now. It's like a maze, twisting and turning, with rooms I've never even seen before. We pass what looks like the maid's quarters, the air getting colder as we move further away from the main house. The walls become bare, the luxury fading into something... different. Something unsettling.

The men lead me into a room that's barely decorated, almost empty. There's a bed, if you can call it that, and a small table. It's segregated from the rest of the mansion, yet somehow I know I'm still within its walls. It's like being in a different world, isolated from everything.

One of the men steps forward, speaking in a low, gruff voice. "You're to stay here until Sir Tate says otherwise. Your food will be passed through this slot," he points to a hole in the door. "There are spare clothes in the corner if you need to change. The bathroom is through that door. You're to take your medication, which is left on the table every morning. You'll sleep on the treatment bed. Don't move from here unless someone comes to get you. Understood?"

I nod, too shocked to respond.

The second man adds, "There's a phone over there, but it's for emergency use only. Don't think of using it for anything else. No one will hear you if you scream, so don't bother trying." He gestures to the corner where the bed is, looking more like a slab than something for humans to sleep on.

I stare at them, trying to process what's happening. This isn't just a room. It's a prison. My heart sinks as the realization sets in.

"What's this all about?" I manage to ask, my voice shaky. "Why am I here?"

One of the men grunts, looking impatient. "When Sir Tate is ready, he'll tell you."

Before I can ask more, they turn and leave, shutting the door behind them. I rush to the door, banging my fists against it, shouting for them to come back. "You can't just leave me here! Let me out!"

The silence that follows is deafening. My fists go limp, and I sink to my knees, tears burning in my eyes. What does Tate want from me? Why can't he just let me go? I press my hands to my face, trying to stop the sobs that rise in my chest. I'm back to square one, trapped in his twisted game, and there's no way out.

I pull out my phone, my fingers trembling. The battery is nearly dead. I search the room frantically and spot a socket near the bed. There's a spare charger plugged in, thank God. I plug my phone in, watching as it slowly comes to life.

Twenty missed calls. My heart jumps as I see they're all from my mom.

I press dial, waiting as the line connects. Her voice comes through, worried. "Cadence, where have you been? Oh God! I've been trying to reach you all day!"

I choke back a sob, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm sorry, Mom. I've just been... busy. Work's been crazy."

"Are you okay? You sound off."

"I'm fine," I lie, my throat tight. "Just working overtime."

We talk for a bit, about nothing important. She asks when I'll visit, and I bite my lip, my heart aching. "Soon, Mom. I promise."

She wishes me well, telling me to take care of myself, and then the call ends. I close my eyes for a moment, the pressure of everything crushing down on me. How can I promise her anything when I don't even know if I'll ever get out of here?

I scroll through my contacts, stopping at Ronny's name. Should I call him? I stare at the screen, debating. No, I can't. I promised I'd wait. He said he'd help, and I have to believe that.

I put my phone down and glance at the other phone the men showed me. The sight of it makes me uneasy. I look at the door, thinking about banging on it again, screaming for someone to hear me, but I know it's useless. No one's coming.

With a heavy sigh, I drag myself to the "treatment" bed. It's as uncomfortable as it looks, the thin padding doing nothing to soften the cold, hard surface. I lie down, staring up at the ceiling, my mind racing. How the hell did my life turn into this?

$$$

Tate's POV

I'm sitting in my office, staring at the two women in front of me as they lounge on the couch, barely dressed. One of my men holds up a tablet, Yolanda's face glaring at me through the screen. She's rambling on about something, her high-pitched voice grating on my nerves.

I massage my forehead, already done with this conversation. She's pissed I dropped her off at a hotel instead of letting her stay at the mansion. "I told you, Yolanda, the house is being fumigated. You can come in a few days."

"Fumigated?" she screeches. "Why didn't you do that before I arrived? You knew I was coming! I told you days ago!"

I barely manage to hide my eye roll. "I'm staying in the office for now. It's not a big deal."

She humphs, clearly not satisfied. She starts whining about the five-star hotel's "garbage food" and whatever else she can think of. I stop listening. My eyes drift to the women on the couch, and my mind starts focusing on something far more interesting than Yolanda's complaints.

"I have to take an important business call," I say, cutting her off mid-rant. I hang up before she can argue.

The man holding the tablet lowers it, and I ask him, "What about Samael?"

He reports that Samael has been making regular visits to the prosecutor. Of course, it's about that case—the one that should've stayed buried years ago. Our mother's death. Ruled a homicide but dropped for lack of leads. Samael's trying to dig up the past, to find the truth about what happened, and he suspects foul play. He's stupid if he thinks I'll let him uncover anything.

"Keep tabs on him, and drop a message for the prosecutor," I order coldly.

The man nods and leaves, and I turn my attention back to the two women. I use my finger to beckon them over, my mind wandering as they approach. They begin to strip, but my body barely responds. It's been like this for years. Getting aroused has been very hard. It's like it's been replaced by... nothing.

I let them continue as my thoughts drift back to Samael, to the case, to the secrets I've buried. If he keeps pushing, he may end up exposing one truth, and that will set off a chain reaction I can't stop.

My mind flashes to Cady. In some ways, she's just like Samael—curious, stubborn, unable to leave things alone. And before I know it, I'm imagining her. Strangling her. Watching her beg as I tighten my grip, as I smile while the whores feed on my manhood, both completely oblivious to the sick fantasy playing in my head.

Yeah. I'm that depraved.

And I fucking love it.