Chapter 32
Kristin
April 23 Tuesday
“Now that you’re broken in,”Michaels said with a smile, once the chain was affixed to a jumbo-sized hook installed in the floor, “I’ll let you have free range in the kitchen and dining nook. With the collar and chain on at all times, of course.”
Kristin thought of knives. Kitchens usually meant knives.
He chuckled as if he could read her mind. “I’ve taken out anything lethal. Just in case you get any kind of strange urges that involve pain for me or death for you.”
Kristin blinked. Suicide? That was something that had never come to her mind. She always held tight to the belief that Nick would find her.
She was a psychology major and a realist. She knew she wasn’t going to get out of this mentally intact. It would take loads of therapy, but one day Michaels would be dead or in prison, and she’d be fine. She might not want to have sex for the rest of her life. But kill herself?
Michaels looked her naked body up and down. “Beautiful, as always.”
Every time he did that—appraised her like a prized mare and complimented her—her skin crawled and she wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both.
“Fix my breakfast.” Michaels waved toward the fridge and stove. “I don’t have much time. My first class is in an hour.” He strode away through the swinging doors that were a good ten feet from the end of her chain.
Classes. The semester was nearly over and here she was.
Kristin wasn”t in the mood for the thin belt Michaels had used on her when he was ticked that she hadn’t done what he said. She had to make this fast.
She looked around a large kitchen filled with cherrywood cabinets, a granite island, and stainless-steel appliances. Unlike Nick, her cooking skills were so-so, but she could get by. She headed for the pantry. The obviously expensive tile had an uneven texture beneath her bare feet.
Windows. What about the windows?
There were plenty.
All shuttered. And her chain didn’t reach that far.
For a moment she could only stare at another bit of freedom, so close, but just out of her reach.
Something hard lodged in her chest. She wanted to throw one thing after another at those windows and shatter them all.
But that wouldn’t do any good if she wasn’t close enough to them to scream for help, and wasn’t able to get herself out of this collar with its freaking heavy, thick chain.
Still—she would keep them in mind.
Kristin pulled her long hair back and twisted it into a knot so that it would stay out of her face.
After searching through the fridge and pantry—the entire time looking for anything that could be used as a lethal weapon—she found pancake mix, frozen sausage links, and eggs.
She scavenged through the utensil drawer. All plastic utensils, like spatulas and spaghetti spoons. Pretty useless if she wanted to inflict any damage.
But in one corner in the back was something Michaels didn’t think would matter—or he didn’t see.
A small, flat, metal punch can opener. The punch opener was about three inches long, with a triangular point on one end and a bottle cap opener on the other.
Kristin looked over her shoulder, her heart racing. It wasn’t much, but maybe she could use it to pick at the leather collar, under the strap. If she only had someplace to hide it on her body. The only thing she had on was the half-inch thick, inch-wide leather collar, and it wasn’t big enough. The collar was made of a material that was soft and didn’t chafe her, and he didn’t seem to think she needed balm beneath it.
But she still couldn’t hide the can opener there. Instead, she’d find someplace he’d never look. She had to get his breakfast done or she’d end up with strap marks from that belt. She ducked under the sink—the idiot had actually left stove cleaner, another thing to think about. She tucked the can opener so far back in the cabinet that she was positive it would never be seen. For good measure she pushed the spray stove cleaner back, too.
Now cook. Fast.
While she made breakfast, the normally delicious smells made her stomach cramp, but she wouldn’t throw up.
She had puked on Michaels the first time he’d had her suck him in the bedroom and forced her to swallow. All these weeks later and she swore she could still feel his fists. Who’d have thought a man with zero muscle tone could pack the kind of punch he did?
She flipped a pancake. Food was something she didn’t care about anymore. She just ate because she had to. Not just because Michaels insisted, but she had to be ready and well for the first opportunity she had…
Whatever that might be.
What was it that Michaels had said? Now that he’d broken her. It had been only a couple of days since he’d let three other professors have her at once, and she wanted to throw up at the memory, and roll up into a ball and stay that way forever.
The green fluid Michaels had shot her up with had made her dazed, but also made her respond sexually to the men, as if she enjoyed it. The whole thing was like someone had taken her over and she’d been on the outside watching. The way she had responded made her feel like she needed to scrub inside and out and never stop.
She didn’t want to remember but the images of herself and the men wouldn’t go away, and a tear tried to escape from the corner of her eye.
Grease splattered her naked breasts while the sausages popped and sizzled, and she yelped from the sting. The burn was welcome as it took her away from thinking about things she wanted to forget.
Kristin stared at the pan. A hot pan. It was lightweight, cheap—he probably thought she couldn’t hurt him with the single pan he’d left in the kitchen.
Her heart beat faster, like it had when she found the punch opener and the oven cleaner. Somehow she could use these things. She just needed a plan. A good plan.
She flipped the last pancake. She’d get away, yes. But even when she was far away from this monster, she knew she could never forget everything he’d done to her. Everything about him was branded into her permanently.
Michaels walked into the room just as she finished putting out a paper plate and plastic spoon for him. He sure wasn’t taking any chances by giving her only plastic spoons.
The collar didn’t chafe her but she hated it. Hated everything it represented. She tugged at the leather collar before she picked up the plastic tray of pancakes, sausage links, and fried eggs that she had prepared for Michaels. Not professor. Not Professor Michaels. He was nothing.
The chain jangled as she moved from the stove to the kitchen table. No ordinary chain. It weighed her down, not only physically but mentally. It was so large it would take an elephant to break away from it. A tractor might be able to move the hook he’d had installed.
When she reached the table with the tray, Michaels looked up at her and smiled. “Breakfast smells wonderful.”
I hope you choke on it.
Kristin had a hard time keeping her lips from trembling as she forced a smile in return, like she was expected to, as well as responding with “Thank you, Professor.”
Kristin carefully used the plastic spatula to move four pancakes, six sausage links, and three fried eggs to his plate. Maybe he would die of clogged arteries.
“I’m in the mood for a little something extra this morning with breakfast.” He studied her naked body again, hunger in his small eyes.
Blood seemed to drain from her scalp, through her body, and all the way into the floor.
Michaels pointed down. “On your hands and knees.”
Kristin trembled so hard the chain links rattled as they scraped against the floor when she obeyed. This was something he’d never made her do before. Another degrading act that sent acid washing through her.
The horror filling her was like someone was taking knives to her body as she watched him unfasten his slacks and release his erection.
Maybe death was better.
“Crawl.” He indicated to her to come to him by crooking his finger. “And suck.”
Kristin couldn’t have stopped it if she wanted to. Right now she welcomed it. That acid she’d felt in her chest bolted up her throat. Her stomach heaved and she threw up all over his cold tile floor.
She felt his kick to her belly before she realized he’d moved.