Evan hung on her words, wondering where in the world she was taking this. “When I first woke in the dark, I thought about praying to die. But each time the words began to form, even in my mind, I stopped myself from saying them.”
“Why, Noelle?” Because he thought maybe there’d come a time when he said that very prayer. Wouldn’t it be better to fade into nothing than to live in untold suffering for who knew how long? How long could a person endure being caged the way they were before their mind slowly rotted anyway?
“Because a prayer like that felt like an affront to God,” she said, her eyes moving around the room, maybe searching for the cameras they’d just been wondering about. “And if there’s any chance God exists, we need him now more than ever.”
He looked up at the top of his cage, gripping a handful of hair and giving it a gentle tug. It already felt longer than it’d been when he’d left the gym that night . . . “God put us here,” he finally said.
She breathed out a laugh. “God didn’t put us here. Some person did.”
“God didn’t stop them. He didn’t intervene.”
“No, I guess not.” He turned his head and met her eyes and saw that tiny spark again. “But I can’t seem to give up on the hope that maybe he still will.”
He was amazed by her. She was in a cage after having just been raped, with unknown tortures in front of them, no possible way to get free, and there was still the flickering ember of hope in her eyes. And if she could manage it, so could he. “We can use all the help we can get.” He smiled. “But God helps those who help themselves.”
She smiled over at him, and for a moment he was able to linger in that tiny light of hope. It was abruptly interrupted when the door clanged open. Evan jerked, sitting up, and Noelle did as well, pushing her hair back from her face.
The same man in the black suit with red shoes entered the room. A spike of adrenaline speared through Evan’s system, his breath suddenly growing shallow. The man headed directly to Evan’s cage. “You’ve been rented,” he said, bringing the Taser from his pocket and holding it in one hand as he keyed a code into his lock with the other. Evan’s throat swelled, and for a moment, he had trouble catching his breath.
“For what?” he demanded.
The man laughed. The sound was squeaky and mean. “I don’t possess that information. All requests are unique. You’ll have to wait to find out.” He leaned his head on the top of the open door. “The choice, of course, is yours. You may opt out for the small price of her ear.”
Shock radiated through him, and he glanced over at Noelle, who was holding herself completely still. “Her . . . ear?”
The man grinned, nodded. “She has two, after all.”
He looked over at Noelle again, who had brought one hand to her ear. She blinked, her hand dropping away. Their gazes lingered; her lips parted, though she did not speak. She did not ask him to spare her ear, just as he had not asked her to spare his fingers. She didn’t need to. “No,” he said, his eyes held to hers, “we stay whole. We leave here whole.” And then he crawled toward the man at the front of the cage, who stood back to let him exit.
Noelle crawled forward hurriedly, gripping the bars on the front of her crate as he stumbled by, his legs already weak from constant sitting. He couldn’t look at her right then. His body vibrated with fear. We stay whole repeated in his mind, a mantra to give him courage.
But distantly it occurred to him that they’d already begun to be carved up. Noelle was no longer whole. She’d already had something taken from her. And he was all but certain that’s what awaited him too.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Collector watched Evan double over as the paunchy man’s fist connected with his midsection. No rape. This time anyway. The predators on the other side of the screens had so many reasons for renting the prey. The short man with a curved spine and toothpick legs swung again, hitting Evan in the jaw as Evan’s head whipped back, spittle spraying in the air.
Yes, the motivations could be varied, but some—like the one he was watching—were so predictable, so boringly trite.
Despite the older man’s success （and he had to be successful to afford this sport）， inside he was still the ugly, gawky kid who’d once been pushed into lockers. And he’d never moved on. He likely wore a three-piece suit most days, commanded some boardroom in a luxury zip code, and dined in the finest restaurants. In that life, he didn’t need a mask to hide his face. The Collector would bet he had a penchant for young prostitutes and especially enjoyed hurting and humiliating them. Because now that he’d amassed power, he was bent on revenge.