Page 81 of The Player
ChapterThirty-Five
WILL
“You know, I’ve had a lot of fun these last few weeks, but this… I think it’s the most fun I’ve ever had,” Isaiah sneered as we dragged him down to the chapel.
“Get him to shut the fuck up,” Adam snarled back, but Isaiah just laughed.
“But if you shut me up, how will you find out why I did it? And you’ve gotta admit, that’s the part you’re itching to get at.”
He was right, and every word he spoke made the urge to torture him in the cruellest way possible burn deeper inside me. Every smirk, every tease, just him breathing the same air as us made me want to tear him apart limb by limb.
“It’s such a shame you didn’t join us in our last game.” He tried to look over his shoulder at Adam, but Colton smacked him in the face, forcing his head back. “Maybe next time.” He mocked, chuckling as he gave Colton the side eye. “I’ll reserve a special bunker just for you,Adam. I think you’d like taking part in my games.”
“If it involves disembowelling you and stringing your intestines up like fucking Christmas decorations then I’m all for it,” Adam spat back.
Isaiah wasn’t showing any signs of fear. In fact, he was relishing the fact that he’d been caught. He wanted to come here today, be seen, taunt us and get taken to the chapel. We were playing into his cold, sadistic hands. But soon, he wouldn’t be laughing.
We pushed through the old wooden doors into the chapel, and Devon, who was busy gathering his weapons, turned to face us. When he saw us hauling our prisoner in, he dropped the knives he was carrying onto the altar and came straight over to us.
“We’ll fill you in later,” Adam stated. “But Will’s kidnapper is going to be spending some time in here while we prepare for his stay. We’re gonna give him the kind of welcome he deserves.”
Devon’s steely eyes glared at Isaiah. “Perfect timing,” he said. “I’ve just sharpened my gutting knives.”
“Or poor timing,” Colton shot back. “I think a blunt knife would be much more fun.”
“You wouldn’t know how to gut a fish properly, let alone a human,” Isaiah said, earning him a hard punch in the stomach from Tyler.
“You need to watch your mouth when you speak to us,” Tyler hissed. “You see those cuffs and chains on the wall?” He pointed up at the shackles, waiting for their next captor. “You’re going up there, but whether its upside down, stripped naked, or with a few strategic cuts to make you bleed out as slowly as possible is entirely up to us.”
Isaiah sniffed, blood streaming from his nose, but his head held high and proud.
“Do your worst,” he said, baring his blood-stained teeth. “That’s what I’m here for. I’m gonna enjoy making you work for the answers you want. I’m more than ready to play your games.”
“Just get him chained up,” Adam commanded, growing irritated. Then he turned to me and whispered, “Call your mum. Find out if that children’s home has a link to you. I’m guessing it does.” He glanced back at Isaiah, who was being restrained by Colton, Tyler, and Devon. “He won’t spill easily. The more we know, the more we can taunt him. He likes having power, and what he knows is his power. Let’s try and take that away from him.”
I faltered, instincts telling me I should stay here, help to string him up. Be the one to inflict that first wound and smile as I did.
Reading my mind, Adam assured me, “We won’t touch him until you’ve spoken to her. This one is all yours. We’ll follow your lead.”
“Thanks,” I said, and taking one last look at him, I turned and left, taking my mobile out to call my mother.
I wandered down the corridor and out into the main hall as I tapped my phone to call her. After three rings, she answered.
“Hey, Mum. It’s me.”
“Will!” she called out, surprised to hear from me. “Either someone died, or you need money, which is it?”
“I never ask you for money,” I replied. “And no one’s died… yet.”
“Well, now I’m intrigued. What are you ringingmefor? Because the last time you called, you were about fifteen and needed me to pick you up from the police station. Have you been arrested?”
“Not yet.” I sighed. My relationship with my mother wasn’t the best. I didn’t see her or my little brother very often. I felt awkward talking on the phone, but I needed answers and I was desperate to get back to the chapel, so I cut right to the chase. “I need to ask you about when we were kids.”
The line went quiet, and then, in a suspicious tone, she said, “Okay. Why?”
“I want to know if we were ever sent to a children’s home called Clivesdon House.”
She huffed, and I was sure she was going to shoot me down, give me a vague answer or refuse to answer at all, but she didn’t.
