He had slid the knife up my thigh and I had been terrified, horrified at the prospect of what he might do with it.
“Do you know that one tiny incision, deep enough in this exact spot—” I felt him dig the tip into my leg, just enough to break the skin. “It can cause you to bleed out in a matter of minutes. Unfortunately, the reason I know this is from experience.” He smiled at me in a way that made me want to vomit. “Don’t worry though, sweetheart, I’ve had enough practice. You’ll live through this. Not like the others.”
Then he began cutting. Running the blade lightly along at first so I felt a sting, and a thin trail of blood marked his progress. Then the next time he went deeper and I struggled not to cry out, not to move. He was slow, drawing out the agony of having the steel rip open my skin.
Rafe glanced up. “I wouldn’t squirm if I were you, Red. One wrong move and I might nick the artery. We wouldn’t want that.” His hand ran lightly, almost gently up my thigh in a caress, lapping up the blood. I was sickened to see the hard line in his slacks. The fucker was getting off on this.
“Someone really did a number on you, huh, Rafe?” I bit out through clenched teeth. “Your mom never hug you enough? Or your dad just a little too much?”
The hand on my thigh tightened on my wound and I whimpered despite myself. “You won’t be quite as mouthy once I’m finished with you,” he sneered, turning his attention downward.
It turns out Rafe was right. I had no more sarcastic remarks, no words at all actually. All of my focus was on not screaming, not pleading, not begging for him to stop. I guessed it didn’t actually last for long but it felt like hours with no respite, only increasing amounts of agony.
When he was done I was close to passing out. Clark, who had been watching intently from his spot at the table, was in front of me all of a sudden. “You’re strong,” he remarked, stroking my cheek. I still had enough energy to flinch away from his touch.
“I apologize for that, Miss Abrams. As I said, it was necessary. You continue to surprise me, though—I have had grown men reduced to tears from similar experiences.”
“Well, maybe you need to get yourself a new torturer,” I answered faintly. “This one’s getting a bit soft.” I gestured with my head to Rafe who was cleaning my blood off his knife, still sporting a hard on.
Clark chuckled. “I might just have to keep you, Miss Abrams. You interest me.”
On that disturbing note, he left. Upon his departure two men approached me, with blank faces and carrying what looked like first aid kits. At that point I passed out.
Which brings me back to now. I gingerly lifted the blankets to reveal my legs. My inner thighs were bandaged, and I pulled back the coverings with a flinch. Three cuts were stitched closed and they looked angry and red. They were also long, about six inches. I checked my other leg which sported identical incisions. Only six? When it was happening I was certain he made half a dozen incisions on each leg, not in total.
“I wouldn’t move too much if I were you. Those incisions are dangerously close to your artery—one wrong move and you could tear it.” Rafe stepped out of the shadows and I jumped. The pain that blossomed in my legs caused me to regret that sudden movement.
“Oh look. Jack the Ripper’s back for round two,” I muttered sarcastically. It sounded sad even to my own ears; fear saturated my tone.
Rafe gazed at me with an emotion I couldn’t place. It couldn’t be regret. Sociopaths weren’t capable of that.
“It had to be done, Amy. I won’t say I didn’t enjoy marking your milky white skin, but I did wish I could have been doing it to someone else.” He reached the side of my bed and pushed the hair off my face tenderly.
“You’re strong and I know you want me. We could be perfect together. Once Clark is done with you I could convince him to let me have you. You’ll learn to enjoy the process.” He nodded to my thighs. “You’ll even beg for it.”
My stomach rolled at the prospect. This guy was fifty shades of insane. But insane could be good in this situation.
“Of course I want you. I’m just not used to such a powerful man controlling me,” I responded, eyes locking with his crazy baby blues. My gaze flickered to the clock on the table beside me. “How long has it been?” I asked, changing the subject.
Rafe stared at me a moment longer before he answered. “Almost twenty-four hours. They gave you something to help you sleep. I’ve been here…watching you.”
Okay, can you spell creepy?
“I like that you were here,” I purred, inwardly gagging. “I want you, but I need some more time so I can properly show you how much.”
Rafe’s eyes flared. “I can’t touch you again, not until Clark decides.”
“He doesn’t have to know. It’ll be our secret,” I said quietly.
Rafe looked uncertain so I grasped his hand.
“Come tomorrow morning early…sunrise. No one will be around. Just one time, then I’ll wait.” I pulled his finger into my mouth and bit down softly.
Rafe groaned.
“Tomorrow,” I whispered.
He nodded stiffly and turned to leave.
I sagged down in my bed, anticipation overwhelming the pain in my thighs. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I might actually stand a chance. Okay, it was slimmer than a model at fashion week, but it was a chance. I had watched the guards religiously the past week, looking for some kind of weakness. I knew that Rafe or some other burly mute was outside the door of whatever room I was in. From my wing there was a short walk down a hallway, then down a huge staircase which led to the foyer. Past the foyer was a sitting room and through that was the dining room which I now knew doubled as a torture room. Kind of unsanitary if you asked me.