Flesh Factory: An Extreme Horror Novel by Sam West Page B

to the touch, which surprised her.
    “Don’t shut the door,” Mick barked as she began to pull the door to. “We have no secrets, do we, Hope?”
    Hope looked at Rohan who still had that irritating smirk on his face. “No,” she said.
    “Good. Now hurry up.”
    Hope urinated naked under Mick’s watchful gaze, hating him in that moment with every ounce of her being. Resolve hardened in her heart; she was going to kill the bastard or die trying.
    “Don’t keep him waiting,” Rohan said, sticking his head round the door as she was brushing her hair with a comb she had picked up next to the sink. “Don’t be dumb. Play along and do as you’re told. We’ll find our time, but it isn’t now.”
    “Stop talking to me,” she hissed.
    “What did you say?”
    Shit, she hadn’t meant to speak aloud. She froze with the comb halfway down her waist-length hair. For some reason she didn’t want Mick to know that she was seeing the ghost of the man she had killed. That was… private.
    “Nothing, just talking to myself.”
    Mick chuckled softly. “Is little Hope losing her mind? Maybe you’ll find it at my party.”
    Hope quickly finished up in the bathroom and entered the bedroom once more.
    “Put this on.”
    She looked dumbly at what Mick held in his outstretched hand, not understanding why he was giving her a regular-looking, dog collar and lead.
    “It’s a BDSM leash,” Rohan piped up helpfully. “Doms and subs use it a lot on the club scene, it’s more for show than anything.”
    “Do I have to crawl on all fours like a dog?” she asked Rohan.
    “Yes,” said Mick and Rohan in unison.
    “But not until we’re downstairs, at the party. The lead is more for show, than anything,” Mick said. “Just to let people know that you are mine.”
    “See, told you so,” Rohan said smugly.
    With trembling hands, Hope placed the black leather collar around her neck.
    “Here, let me.” Mick did up the buckle at the nape of her neck like a lover fastening a necklace, gently lifting her red mane out of the way. “There. Beautiful. Come on, it’s time to go.”
    Hope looked helplessly over at Rohan.
    “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll be right there with you every step of the way, I promise.”
    She threw him a ghost of a smile.
    “What are you grinning at?”
    Mick was regarding her in a mix of amusement and irritation.
    “Nothing,” she said quickly, “just preparing myself.”
    “I have something to prepare you. Open your mouth.”
    As soon as she realised his intent, she shrivelled inside in horror. He had produced a little blue pill from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and was brandishing it under her nose between thumb and forefinger.
    “No, please, not that. Anything but that.”
    Her heart smashed against her ribcage at the mere thought of tripping again. Briefly, she thought about knocking it out his fingers, but good sense prevailed.
    “Just do as he says, sweetheart,” Rohan whispered in her ear. She flinched when his cold, dead fingers wrapped around her upper arm. “I know it’s awful, but if you don’t, he’ll hurt you bad. And then you’ll still have to go the party all broken. Remember, I love you. I’m here to protect you, you won’t have a bad trip like last time.”
    Hope’s eyes flitted from the pill to Mick’s stern face. Knowing she didn’t have a choice, she opened her mouth like an obedient dog.
    “Good girl,” Mick said, popping it on top of her tongue. “Now swallow.”
    Without another word they left the bedroom.
     
    As soon as the bedroom door opened, music  drifted to her ears – Soft Cell’s Sex Dwarf – It sounded deep and echoing, like she was one door away from a night-club in full swing.
    “Walk,” Mick said, tugging on her lead.
    This landing was small with just one other door opposite hers, the staircase before them narrow and winding to the left.
    “We are at the top of the West Wing, this is where I throw my parties.”
    “Yeah, you