Free 11 by Kylie Brant Page B

Unconsciously her wrists drifted together. “Fur lined, so as not to leave abrasions, but a metal exterior. If our transgression wasn’t too great, we’d be hoisted to a pipe overhead like this. For worse offenses we’d be suspended by our ankles.”
    “Why the tarp, Mia?”
    “He was…an enthusiastic disciplinarian.”
    Repeat your lessons! Who do you belong to? The words swirled across her mind, leaving ice in their wake. “But he didn’t like to leave marks. We were no longer perfect if he left marks. So we were wrapped in layers of sheeting first. It was held in place by…” Her mind blanked. “Those thick elastic stretch cables with hooks.”
    “Bungee cords,” Jude murmured.
    She looked down at the photo. Only one showed the body bound in the sheeting, but she could make out a familiar cord holding it in place. Mia shook her head, gathered the pictures in a pile and handed them back to Raiker. “He doesn’t kill. At least he never did while I was held. We heard over and over again the time and effort he put into choosing each of us. Successfully snatching us away from our friends and family was part of the thrill for him.”
    The room was silent for several long moments. A thought occurred then and she asked Raiker, “What kind of shape was the body in when it was found?”
    Obviously choosing his words carefully, he answered, “The state of decomposition…”
    “No. I mean, was she…broken? Was the body dropped down the shaft? Or…somehow preserved. Like placed there or lowered inside.”
    “Why do you ask that?” The man’s voice was sharp.
    She rose, suddenly unable to stay still another second. “Because he idolized perfection. He talked about it all the time. We were chosen because we filled some fantasy he had. The perfect beauties.” Bitterness filtered the words. There had been a time when she’d taken her looks for granted. Had even used them to get what she wanted. Chin, eyes, mouth, nose, cheekbones…all put together by some random lottery of genes. An arbitrary collection of features that had somehow drawn a monster to her.
    “I don’t think I’m following.”
    She picked up her still full glass and took it to the ornately carved table and set it down with the decanters and glassware. Although she thought she was guarded enough not to get her hopes up, she couldn’t help a feeling of disappointment. It likely wasn’t him. Almost certainly wasn’t.
    “I’m just questioning whether a man like that could drop a body—part of his collection, chosen and groomed to his specifications—down a mineshaft without any consideration to what the fall would do to it.” As brutal as he’d been, there were never any broken bones, or disciplines resulting in scars. Nothing could mar what he saw as perfection.”
    “Maybe they ceased to matter once they were dead. Dead is the height of imperfection.”
    She glanced at Jude as he spoke. “Maybe. I just…” Shrugging, she crossed to stand behind her chair. Clutched the back of it. It wasn’t like she was an expert on that monster. He’d regularly shocked her with the heights of his sexual depravity. He’d proven over and over again that there was little he wasn’t capable of. And any curbs on his behavior stemmed from what he wanted.
    “Bishop’s probably right. But I’ll give you a sample of the ink on my scalp. As soon as you like.”
    Raiker inclined his head. “I appreciate that, Ms. Deleon.”
    “Caro will take you home.” Jude walked with Mia to the office door. “I’ll let you know about the arrangements for the sample.”
    He opened the door and she saw the woman he’d chosen for her protection detail rise in the outer office. For just the briefest moment her step faltered. “I want to hear what you’ve found out. About Hoa. About…Four.”
    “There have been some developments. We’ll talk soon.”
    Hardly satisfied, she walked out with Caro. She was already feeling confined and that didn’t bode well for