This place must have been a warehouse at one point, but it's been remodeled, painted, and cleaned up. The white walls and polished white floor make it appear almost sterile. What does Mara do here?
The large windows farther down the long room begin to brighten. The sun is coming up. We left the house at eight last night, which means I've been gone for ten-ish hours. Automatically, my eyes begin to droop, and I struggle to stay alert. With my slowing pulse, the adrenaline rush has also smoothed to a tranquil stream. Exhaustion quickly seeps through every cell. Falling asleep is a bad idea. Not just for my safety. The throbbing in my head is also concerning.
I wiggle my arms against the cable ties, not applying too much pressure after seeing how deep King's cuts were. There is no way I can get out of this on my own. Every time I feel myself slipping into unconsciousness, I apply more pressure to my broken skin, forcing my pain receptors to fire up. Cold sweat pools in my pores while every cell of my body is a blazing inferno. I clamp my teeth and turn my wrist ever so slightly, slicing into the open wound. The pain forces me to grind my teeth to not cry out. But it's the only way to stay awake.
A pool of blood has collected on my legs and the floor when the telltale sound of Mara's heels alerts me of her return. My spine tenses, and I hold myself still.
"Where have you been?"Click, click, click."You made sure she is safe?"Click, click."She'll be fine. My sister is resilient."Click, click, click, click."Kingsley is more my sister than the little bitch ever will be," she snarls, and I suspect whoever spoke said something Mara didn't like.
Mara comes into view, her phone no longer to her ear and the Birkin bag she had carried at La Déesse hooked in the crook of her elbow.
"Good morning, Denielle." Her eyes drop to the crimson stains below my chair. "Oh, you already started without me. How rude."
Wha—?
"I've been looking forward to this for weeks." She huffs, then waves me off. "Oh well, I'll just make it more painful."
Swallowing, a thousand needles puncture my throat. I attempt to get rid of the excessive amount of saliva in my mouth, but the slicing sensation causes me to retch.
What is she talking about?
Mara puts her purse on the chair she sat in last night, ignoring the damage she did to it with the knife. She unclasps the locks and pulls the top apart. Reaching in, she pulls out a folded leather case.
I gag again.What the hell is that?
She strokes the wornskinaffectionately, and panic runs down my spine. I find myself watching her. Her movements morph to slow motion. My mind is playing tricks on me. The case is held together by a long leather strap. As she unravels it, she begins to hum to herself. The sound snaps time back to a normal speed again. She places the unfolded object on the chair next to her purse, which costs more than a small car. Something reflects the overhead light, and I squint.
Identifying the tools in front of me, my body begins to tremble. Please, no.No, no, no.Inside are different-sized scalpels and other instruments I can't name but recognize that they have no business outside an operating room.
Mara steps back and tips her fore and middle finger to her chin. Flicking her eyes at me, she scans my body, then reaches for one of the smaller objects in the case.
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth as I watch her pull out a thin scalpel. Mara regards it in the light before putting it back in and pulling out something else.
Oh, god.
She pivots in my direction, holding the scissor-looking instrument up. They're not scissors, though, more like…spreaders. "You shouldn't have done that," she chastises. "Now I have to work with what you started."
My eyes burn, and a fuzzy frame takes shape around Mara's form.No, no, no.
"Let's see." She steps closer, scanning my bloody arms. "Are you a lefty or a righty?"
"What?" I croak. I can't take my eyes off her torture instrument. I'm going to be sick.
"Actually, it doesn't matter. You won't be using either hand much longer."
She turns away, and I want to sigh in relief at the delay, but then she spins, and I notice she also grabbed the scalpel she put back earlier.
My heart thrashes in my chest, the increase in speed not gradual, but as if someone simply flipped a switch. I start pulling on the restraints, throwing my body back and forth, causing the chair to almost topple over. Mara steps closer, and my stomach rolls.
"Stop moving. You're just making it harder on yourself." She clucks her tongue. Her hand shoots out, and her fingers curl around my hair near my forehead. She leans in until we're nose to nose. Her warm breath fans over my mouth, and I can taste the coffee she drank. "You either stop moving, or I will start carving the skin of your pretty face first."
First?
I whimper as she releases me with a flick of her wrist, and the force makes my head snap back. My breath comes in bursts, and my lungs begin to cramp.
As if watching from the outside, I follow as Mara lines up the scalpel with the middle restraint. I brace myself for the cut, but then the pressure on the tie falls away. I blink and see that she has cut the plastic. The brief relief is replaced with the worst possible horror when she sticks her fingers through the holes of thenot-scissors, opening and closing the clasps in the front. She steps parallel to the chair, and all I can do is watch. I've lost all control over my body. My brain commands me to fight, to scream, to do anything but sit there. My muscles won't obey. They have locked up and won't budge. My thrashing pulse is the only conscious sensation left. I can see it rippling through my veins under my skin.
Mara's manicured fingers wrap around my wrist as she lines the spreader up with the cut. My heart thunders against my ribs, and a new sheet of sweat forms over the dried layer coating my forehead. She slowly lowers the instrument to my self-inflicted wound. As soon as the cool metal connects with the torn flesh, my brain short-circuits. Pain receptors explode all over my body, not just where Mara is starting her torture. She digs the edges deeper into the cut, and I can no longer hold back the agonizing scream.