Page 60 of Our Little Dove

“Did you really feel so confident that we won’t turn on you after you’ve been keeping us here. Torturing us, for who knows how long? What do ravenous, caged predators do to those who turn their back to their cages? Baby, why did you let us off our leashes?” Kieran asks while tilting her chin up, so she is forced to meet his eyes while he increases the pressure around her throat. His voice is deep and his tone sarcastic, dripping with resentment.

“You thought it was wise to let our chains slip while you use your body to manipulate us?” I ask, picking up the flogger and twisting it around in my hand, the leather strips swooshing in the air.

“Your leashes are still very much intact boys,” she says with no emotion. Fear and anger are no longer present in her tone or features and that sets off all kinds of alarms in my head.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Kieran sneers in confusion before he looks at Fintan with his brows drawn and turns back to me.

“I must give you boys credit. You are stronger than I thought. Resilient and clever,” I say, quickly lifting my knee, careful not to touch Kieran, and reaching into my boot when they glance at each other again.

Holding the syringe in my fist, I continue, “Sweet pets. No one is missing you, I made sure of that, and it was easy considering the limited records I managed to dig up, show that you didn’t exist a few years ago. Fintan and Kieran Wilde. It has a nice ring to it.”

“You don’t fucking know anything about us,” Fintan yells, and clearly, I struck a nerve.

“Hmm, let’s play another game then, shall we? If you know more about me than I know about you, I’ll consider letting you walk free.”

They look at me, their eyes almost twinkling with hope and anticipation for a brief moment. “Fine. Give it your best fucking shot!” Kieran concedes.

Giggling at how cocky they seem. “Go ahead, pet. You start,” I say, shoving Kieran away from me and heading over to take a seat on one of the chairs.

Each of them grabs a chair and drags it on the ground until they take their seats facing me. The sound of the metal legs scraping against the concrete floor still echoes off the walls when the three of us sit facing each other.

I lean over with my hands on my knees as I wait with a bright smile for Kieran to tell me exactly how much he thinks he knows.

“Your full legal name is Alexandra Peterson, but you go by Alex. You are twenty-eight years old. You work in I.T. and you live at 57 Westwood Road in Lakeview. Your family is out of the picture except for your cousin Joel Hanley. Your best friend is Molly Bensen.”

I clear my throat. “Hmm, anything else, or should I go next? Fintan, do you have anything to add?” I ask, playing with the syringe in my hand.

“What are you doing? What’s that?” Fintan asks, staring at my hands.

“I believe I asked if you had anything to add to Kieran’s statement, not make an observation.”

He huffs out an annoyed breath. “No, I don’t.”

“Well then,” I say, leaning back in the chair. “You boys have quite the interesting background. God, I don’t even know where to start.”

Clearing my throat as I look at them, they grow more impatient and annoyed every second I let them hang in suspense. Fintan hasn’t taken his eyes off the syringe and Kieran is staring daggers at me.

“You have the same last name, but you are not related. Your identities go back twelve years and before that it seems you didn’t exist—on paper that is. Kieran, you are twenty-nine yearsold, and your birthday is on the eighteenth of August. Fintan, you are a year older, and your birthday is on the third of June.”

They remain silent while I speak, which I find surprising, but I continue as I play with the syringe again.

“You grew up in a catholic orphanage in Ireland. Raised by nuns until Fintan turned eighteen and you both disappeared. Until you resurfaced here a few years later, two days after Kieran’s twenty first birthday when you two got arrested for drug possession and theft.”

I breathe out a whispered laugh. “I admit, that’s all I know about your childhood but let’s fast-forward a few years.”

They cross their arms, looking angered by the knowledge I have been able to dig up. “Neither of you owned a car until last year. Fintan bought the black SUV in cash on April third and soon after, you both signed a lease for two buildings. I assume that by this time, you have already started posting your disgusting videos,” I say, my voice laced with judgement and disapproval.

“The first building you live in, and you opened Clover Ink on the ground floor, but the second location you left nearly abandoned. Well, that’s what you wanted it to look like from the outside. I assume you use that dump to film all your content. I also know you used some of the money from Hush—the money you made by humiliating me—to pay your ridiculous rent upfront for a year a few weeks ago.”

They seem stunned as I fiddle with the tranquilizer in my lap.

I am nearly vibrating with anger at the mention of the orphanage.

How the fuck did she find those records?

Those people are the reason I am the way I am. One of the nuns noticed that Fintan and I developed a fondness for another boy in the orphanage when I was fifteen and reported it to the rest of the staff. We were fucking tortured. They kept me bound, lashing me until I was too afraid to have those feelings.

Fintan on the other hand, endured the beatings as best he could. Never allowing them to see his pain. I have admired that about him since the day he got caught kissing a different boy about a year later near the garden they were tending to. The priest whipped him so badly that day, he needed stitches.

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