In the hours that followed, Belle learned the true meaning of terror. It brought cold sour sweat to your whole body and hot burning bile to your throat, bile you had to choke back because you couldn’t, you didn’t dare, show how frightened you were. Because he’d love that. He would feed on that. He’d taken her down to the reptile house. Now that they were in here, he was watching her, that mocking half-smile on his face. She wanted to lunge at him, to damage him, to make him pay, but she couldn’t. Nipper and one of Harlan’s other men were holding her still. They were Harlan Stone’s boys, and they would do exactly what he said. She had no power here. None at all.
‘I bet you’re thinking, round about now, that you wish you’d been nicer to me,’ said Harlan.
Belle stared at him with hatred in her eyes. Sweat trickled into them, making them sting. Outside, thunder rolled. Rain battered the roof. Inside, it was a jungle, wet ferns brushing her legs, humidifiers roaring, the heat crushing and damp, the trickle of small waterfalls a constant noise. And in the centre there was a large pond, black, brackish. Things moved in there, but she wasn’t going to think about that.
Water torture.
Yes, that was what this was. Belle’s legs were trembling. Her brain was in a panic, like a rat caught in a trap. There had to be a way out of this.
But there was no way.
I’m going to die.
The thought popped into her brain like gas rising out of a bog, bringing a fresh surge of terror with it. She was perched on the edge of the pond, standing on big ornamental rocks, the men holding her there. Water from the domed roof dripped, ran down her face. So wet and hot in here. Hot as hell. Stifling. She thought of her parents then, and pain roared up through her stomach, up into her throat. She was going to be sick.
‘Pretty little Belle,’ said Harlan, shaking his head. ‘Bet you wish you’d played ball now, eh? Been nice?’
Belle glared at him, standing there so elegant; so handsome and calm and in control. While she was barefoot, wearing a tattered rag of a dress, soaked in sweat, her blonde hair plastered to her head. She was scratched and bloody from where they’d dragged her in here. If the men hadn’t been holding her, she would have collapsed to her knees.
‘So go on,’ he said.
Belle gulped and stared at him.
‘Beg me for your life.’ He was smiling, but his pale eyes remained emotionless as ever.
Belle looked down at the water. There were things moving in there. Something long slipping in from the opposite side. Eyes, she could see eyes, reptilian and cold. The powerful swish of a tail. Her mother’s words came back to her then: ‘Keeping bloody snakes and lizards and caimans! Only weirdos do that.’
Caimans.
Charlie had fed them on live rats, whole chickens. But a caiman was like a crocodile, it would take a pig. They were plenty big enough to do that. They could also take a human being. No bother at all.
Oh Christ help me . . .
‘Waiting,’ said Harlan. ‘What do you say, Belle?’
‘I know what you did,’ said Belle.
‘Did?’ He frowned. ‘About what?’
‘Beezer. Jake. And the business. The manor. I know what it is.’
The smile dropped from his face, leaving it cold and blank.
‘Throw her in,’ he said.