A whimper escaped her, and it almost had him pushing her down to the floor so she would keep fucking whimpering.
"Your kidnapper will do something...not mainstream."
She was out of the room in the next second, his Sara playing her role of captive to the hilt. And as he got back up to his feet, he was already thinking of ways to fuck her up because that was how they both wanted it. But he would do it gradually, of course. Give her time to know the worst parts of him one fucking mess at a time. It was a good plan, and he had every intention of sticking to it...until that call.
A call that only lasted for two minutes, but it destroyed his entire timetable for good and forced him to take the most drastic of detours.
He had planned to strategically alternate between being her dream and nightmare, but because of that call...
The Other Member
Finally. It's my first thought when a hand suddenly covering my mouth wakes me from my sleep. I can't believe I've fallen asleep like my Raaf predicted, but I did, and I'm glad. It's terribly exciting - emphasis on the terrible part - to wake in the dark, with your kidnapper's hand over your mouth. Or at least it is, to someone—-
"I'm sorry."
I freeze. I know my Raaf's voice like I know my own, and those words?
They were not uttered by my Raaf's voice.
It's male, yes, but it's high-pitched that screams more captive than kidnapper, and it's that which scares me.
I fight for my life, but it's too late.
My unseen attacker has already flipped me to my stomach, and tears sting my eyes as he straddles me. How ironic, how painfully ironic is it that I needed to have a second kidnapper - a second kidnapper, my God - just to realize that I only want things that are not mainstream from, well, my first kidnapper?
I struggle as hard as I can, but it does nothing to stop my attacker from snapping rings of cold, heavy metal around my wrists. I scream, but the sound is lost, with my assailant shoving my face into the pillow.
"D-Don't fight."
He sounds scared, and that scares me even more. You're more liable to make mistakes when you're scared, and in situations like these, those mistakes could cost lives.
My life.
"Please. I don't want to hurt you. P-Please."
I start crying in earnest. Aren't things supposed to be better the second time around? So why is it so much worse now? Unlike my Raaf, this man is completely deranged; he has to be, to beg me like I'm the one with the upper hand.
"You..." I hear him breathe hard and mutter something under his breath.
Something like-—
'Don't you fucking mess this up.'
I wish I could convince myself I heard him wrong, but I know I didn't, and it turns my stomach upside down. Is he even talking to me or himself?
"Get your shit together, Mickey!"
Oh. Shit. He's talking to himself. He really is crazy—-
"You need to wear a mask."
I don't even know what to think or how to feel about those words. The only thing I'm sure about right now is that there is truly no doubt this time. He really is crazy, oh God, and the moment I feel him pull my head back—-
I scream for help, and I scream Raaf's name. I scream and scream and scream, but all my attacker seems to care about is making sure that the half mask he's fitted over my face is tied securely at the back of my head.
He drags me off the bed as soon as he's done, and by now my voice is hoarse, and my hope has nearly dwindled to nothing. No one seems to have heard me screaming, and I don't want to think why that is. I can't. I just can't.
"Please stop fighting!"
He's actually begging me again, and it's almost making me feel sorry for him. And maybe I would've stopped fighting if I could afford it. But I can't. Because right now, fighting him off is all that's keeping my mind blank—-
Why can't anyone hear me scream?
—-and so I fight him every inch of the way, and I fight him even harder when he finally manages to haul me out of my room.
The sudden brightness is blinding, and by the time my eyes adjust we're already halfway to the steps, and I have my first look at...a boy.
The shock of it makes me unthinkingly desist from struggling, and he's able to drag me all the way up the steps unresisting.
He looks about my age, maybe a year or two older, tops. Spiky hair dyed a cheap shade of blond, and he even wears mascara. How can this child get to my Raaf's boat—-
We reach the lounge on the main deck, and I stop thinking because my mind has exploded.