His Indecent Revelations (Bound and Shackled to the Billionaire BDSM Erotic Romance) (5 page)

Alia ignores him. Doesn’t even look at him.

The guards push Susan into the cage and bolt the door firmly behind her. She can only cling, frightened, to the bars. The guards work a series of rotating levers – set in the cogs of a medium-sized wheel – embedded partially between the wall and floor. A creaking sound ensues, like the groaning of a thousand undead souls. Her cage is pulled up and over the stone balcony. She almost loses her balance as her new metal prison shivers and dangles over the black pit.

The floor of the cage is solid iron, but she can peek through the bars at the sides and discern the pit’s black turbulence. The blackness is not opaque but rather a gradual darkening as it descends into unknown depths.

Something within those depths chills her soul. She imagines the cage breaking off from its treacherous ropes and pulleys and falling . . . plunging into those unfathomable depths. She’s certain that is what Alia and Hugh have in mind for her.

No, no, don’t panic.

She won’t kill me. That’s what Channing says. I’m a bargaining chip. I’m a pawn. The least I can do is help Channing do whatever it is he has to do without panicking.

But oh God, why does everything feel so final? So futile?

With her cage precariously hanging over hell itself, she watches as the main doors open again to admit a procession of dirty, bound men in shackles and rags. They are a mixture of white, black and Hispanic nationalities. In horror, she recognizes several of them from the escape boat in the Caribbean.

These men are Channing’s mercenaries, now captured and brought here to the east of Baghdad like prisoners of war. There are a dozen of them.

Channing stands fierce and proud in his bound state as his men are brought to the other iron cage. The guards push them in, all twelve of them, and bolt the door. Then the cage is strung up and over the balcony, pretty much like hers. The ropes and pulleys strain and creak with the considerable weight.

She can only imagine how much more precarious their situation is compared to hers. After all, they are twelve burly men. Their combined weight must be more than a ton. Fearfully, she observes the pulleys. Anytime, the taut, taut ropes stretching that fragile iron cage can snap and send them all plunging into the pit. This is a world she doesn’t know. A world so far removed from corporate shenanigans and Leonard Drake that she has no clue how to operate here.

She doesn’t want to play damsel in distress. Far from it. But she doesn’t have a choice. Any which way she turns, she’s going to land Channing, herself, and the whole lot of brave mercenaries into trouble.

She can only observe, hope and pray.

God, if you will grant me one request. Save Channing, please. I love him so, so much.

Now that the sinister tableau has been set up, Alia moves to the edge of the balcony. The guards push Channing forward. Hugh has his arms folded. He watches the proceedings with a slightly amused demeanor.

Alia faces Channing. Her voice rings out clearly, magnified by the acoustics of the tower.

“I have long waited for this moment of retribution. Many years ago, you robbed me of all that I held dear – my family, my home, my wealth, my beauty, my innocence. And now I would claim but a small fraction of the pain you caused me.”

Susan’s heart sinks. She knows where this is heading.

Alia says, “For I would give you a choice. The choice that you have never given me. I would have you choose. The life of the woman you love . . . against the lives of your twelve loyal men.”

A hush passes through the guards and the prisoners in the other cage. Susan bows her head, even though her brain is throbbing against the casing of its skull. She knew this elaborate setup would come to this.

“I have little doubt you love this woman, Channing. My experiment has proven that. Why else would you have risked your life and come all this way to save her if she means nothing to you? So now you shall choose. The lives of one . . . against the lives of many.”

The gravity of the situation settles upon everyone present. Even the guards seem terse, uneasy.

“Choose wisely, and I will spare the one you choose. The other will be sent plunging into the abyss, dashed against the jagged rocks far, far below.”

8

Susan has to grip the bars very hard to keep from fainting. Yes, she knew this would happen, but knowing was one thing. Hearing her death sentence meted out to her was another matter entirely.

There’s a finality that hangs in the air, together with the miasma of hopelessness. Her stomach turns, and she feels like throwing up into the very abyss that she may be plunged into. For there is no way a sane, rational man like Channing would choose her one life against the lives of a dozen men. It is not a fair choice. There is no comparison against the greater good.

She sinks to her knees, trembling. Her pulse is a thunderous hammer against her throat, and the roaring of blood in her ears crowds out most of the sounds that are echoing in the tower. Not good. She needs to hear what is going on. She needs to listen to his
choice
.

Don’t look at him. Don’t meet his eyes. Don’t make it more difficult for him than it already is.

Her heartbeat steadies. A dead calm descends upon her like an icy veil.

Goodbye, Channing. I love you and I know it’s because you didn’t have a choice. I understand.

I forgive you.

Channing is speaking. She almost doesn’t catch his words.

His voice breaks as he tumbles over his words, “I have done many things I am not proud of. I took the gold buried in the vaults of the proud citadel that once stood here. But I did it for a reason. When your father found out about our trysts – yours and mine and yours with Hugh – he flew into a rage. We had dishonored him as guests. He threw us into the dungeons. He tortured us and our men. And that was when he gave me a
choice
.”

He pauses. Susan looks up. Her vision is blurry with tears. Channing’s face is so pale as to reflect the light of the torches.

“I was the ranking officer. He asked me . . . your father asked me . . . to choose.” He turns to look at his brother. His eyes brim with unspoken sorrow. “Only one of you may live. Either his daughter . . . or my brother. You were dead already to your father because you had dishonored him. So I had to choose. Your life or Hugh’s. If I did not choose, all our lives, including those of my men, would be forfeit.”

Hugh blanches. “No,” he hisses.

Alia is as still as a statue. It’s as though she has gone into a trancelike state.

Channing takes in a torturous breath. “And so I made my choice. You must understand, Alia, that Hugh is my brother. Although I loved you and treasured what we had together . . . he is still my brother. My twin.”

His chest heaves with effort.

“And so I chose Hugh. Your father let me and my men go, but he reneged on the deal. Hugh was alive, but he was still being kept prisoner. Your father informed me coldly that he had you murdered. Something in me snapped, and the next thing I knew, we were storming the citadel and killing all the soldiers. There was an all-out war and a fire. Not just a fire, but an inferno.”

He turns to Hugh, whose entire body has gone rigid.

“I tried to find you. I combed the dungeons, but the fire was too intense. I passed out from the smoke. It was Peterson who carried me out. When I came to, the citadel had burned into a charred husk. Only its blackened walls were left standing.

“I went back amongst the ruins, mad with grief. I tried to find you . . . or at least, your body. I owed you that much. But the bodies were plentiful and their remains were indistinguishable from one another. And so I mourned you for dead. It was the only thing I could do. But the vaults, deep, deep under, were intact. As retribution, I ordered them to be looted. We took the gold bullion we found there for ourselves. So we were thieves. But we thought it was small measure for what your father put us through.”

Channing pauses once again for breath.

“It’s the truth, brother. Look into my eyes and see for yourself.”

The air around them is charged with particles of electrified shock. Susan’s chest swells with the enormity of it all. Yes, she can understand why everyone is so fucked up now, believing in fallacies they have imagined for themselves . . . all because they were divided from the truth.

Hugh grips the balcony. His rigid shoulders have collapsed, and he now dissolves into a series of shakes. He does not say anything.

Channing says, “For the love of God, Alia, please let them go. This is all borne of a misunderstanding between us. It doesn’t have to come to this. I’ll do anything you want. Please just let them go.”

Alia trembles. She does not look at him. “Everything you said just affirms what I’d always known. You didn’t choose
me
.”

“It was not like that,” Channing replies brokenly. “I didn’t have a choice. I mean . . . ”

“I know exactly what you mean. And you did have a choice. You just didn’t choose me.” She raises both her hands and calls out in a clear voice. “Release the cages. Both of them.”

9

Everything happens in a split second. And yet she is able to break each occurrence down by moments, as though time itself has been stretched and compartmentalized.

The guards standing by both levers on either side of the gallery set to release them. Petrified, Susan clings to the bars as she gazes at Channing.

“I love you!” she calls out, her voice resonating eerily within the walls.

“No!” His voice is anguished.

Is it her panic-blurred vision? Or has the light dimmed somewhat in the tower? She thinks (but can’t be sure) that she sees silhouettes in the slit windows near the ceiling. But the mind can play tricks upon you when you are about to die.

The rat-tat-tat of gunfire slings through the air space. The sounds are unmistakable now. The silhouettes are in motion, rappelling down the windows as they continue to shoot into the morass of confused guards. A bullet takes the guard who is poised to work the lever that would send her cage spiraling into the abyss. He falls onto the floor, immobile.

A similar bullet takes out the guard attending to other cage. All of a sudden, the gallery swarms with men clad in black. She can’t be sure if these are more of Channing’s mercenaries, but they seem to be on their side. The broken tooth with its mysterious wire mesh dances in her fevered brain.

A brutal fight, riddled with gunfire and the screams of men, begins.

Susan has only eyes for Channing.

A red veil descends upon her vision as she sees – with utmost clarity and in slow-motion – Alia whip out a revolver from her black robes and aim it at Channing. But before the grinning barrel of the gun can spark with white-hot flame, a figure hurtles between Alia and her intended victim.

It is Hugh.

The gun goes off.

Something dies in Susan’s chest.

A movement catches the periphery of her vision. A black-clad figure wrestles with a guard near her lever. The scuffle causes the pair to stumble, dislodging the lever. The ponderous grind of machinery unravels and the ropes that hold her cage whip loose.

Susan plunges into the dark pit, her scream frozen in her throat.

10

They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die. But Susan experiences none of these things. Her entire life is compressed into strobe images of light funneling into darkness, and further darkness. No distant memories stream in ragged procession. No smiling images of her mother, father, or even Channing are present in the flotsam.

Instead, her mind is a complete blank.

It’s horrifying – this all-encompassing void. It’s as though her thought processes have all stopped. It’s as if she is already dead, and her soul has lost its ability to
exist
. She is snuffed out like a flame on a candlewick. Her life force ended . . . just like she has never existed.

There is no pain.

A sudden shock wave passes through her body. The entire contraption judders around her. She is flung up into space, and she lands on her side painfully. Her shoulder screams something fierce.

Wait. If there is pain, does that mean she is not dead? But there is only darkness around her. She cranes her neck upwards. The circle of light is a long, long way up.

She stays this way for a few minutes. Up there, she can hear the faint sounds of gunfire echoing down the rocky walls of the tunnel.

Then her cage starts to move upward in fits and starts.

All her hope of being able to survive this had plunged with her descent, but it is now surfacing again, like a sliver of light after a storm. Up and up she travels, subject to someone else’s will, her life hanging by a literal thread. Her pulse is beating rapidly again. Ta-thud, ta-thud – in tandem with the labored pull of her cage.

Meanwhile , the circle of welcoming light draws nearer and nearer, as though she is approaching an epiphany.

She finally surfaces from the pit. Channing and a black-clad mercenary are manning the rotating lever that controls her cage. Their arms and shoulders heave and strain with effort. She has never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Channing in particular looks extremely pale. All around them are the strewn bodies of the fallen. The gallery is devoid of life and the iron doors of the tower entrance are flung wide open.