5. His Sinner
Chapter five
His Sinner
The heavy clang of the door pulls me from the fragile comfort of Dominic’s presence. I glance up, heart seizing as two men step inside, their faces hidden behind red and yellow neon stitch masks.
My breath catches, instinctively pushing myself against the far wall, hoping—praying—that maybe they’re here for something else. Since I’ve been taken, we see them twice every few hours when they drop off food, so maybe that’s what they’re here for.
But there are no trays in their hands. Instead, they move toward my cell; the glowing smiles on their masks twisted and wrong, each step sending a surge of cold terror through me.
I hear Dominic before I see him, his voice loud. “Hey! Don’t touch her!”
He grabs the bars, slamming his fists against them, his voice breaking with panic. “Take me instead,” he says, desperation in his voice. “Leave her! You don’t need her!”
Yellow Mask turns and takes a step toward Dominic. “Oh, you want to volunteer?” His modulated voice is mocking, filled with a cold amusement that sends another wave of dread crashing over me.
Dominic nods, swallowing hard. “Please… take me. You don’t have to touch her.”
They ignore him, coming closer, their movements unhurried, like they’re used to the fear and desperation of their captors. I press back harder against the wall, my entire body rigid with terror. I feel my chest tightening, every instinct screaming at me to run, but there’s nowhere to go.
Dominic doesn’t stop. His voice grows louder, more frantic as his fists pound against the bars. “She’s not worth it. I am! Just take me, you fuckers. Leave her alone!”
Red Mask pauses, then turns to look at him. For a second, hope flares in my chest. Maybe… maybe they’ll listen. But he just snorts, glancing back at his partner before nodding. Then they move forward, swinging Dominic’s cell door open with a loud clang.
Dominic doesn’t move as they close in on him, his eyes flickering over to me with something I can’t quite place—maybe a sliver of apology, or regret. He looks calm, almost too calm, like he’s resigned to what’s coming.
Before I know what’s happening, they’re dragging him out in front of me. Dominic thrashes, throwing punches that barely connect before Yellow Mask grabs his arms, twisting them behind his back.
“Leave him alone!” I scream, my voice shrill, echoing off the concrete walls. I want to run forward, to do something, anything, but I’m frozen, trapped in the corner.
Red Mask raises his fist, and it crashes down on Dominic’s face, a sickening crack filling the air. I gasp, my hands covering my mouth as I watch, horrified. Dominic doesn’t stop struggling, though. He spits blood, his eyes blazing with fury even as they beat him down, his voice slurred as he shouts at them.
“Motherfuckers!” he snarls, even as they hit him again, each blow landing with brutal, calculated precision. He grunts, barely able to keep himself up on his knees, but he still glares at them, refusing to back down.
Yellow Mask shoves him inside his cell, sending him sprawling to the ground, and finally, they turn back to me. Dominic’s on the floor, barely moving, a faint groan escaping his lips as he tries to lift his head.
“Don’t… don’t touch her,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse.
But they ignore him, closing in on me. My heart pounds so hard I think it might burst, my stomach twisting as they grab my arms, dragging me out of the cell. Dominic’s eyes meet mine for a split second, and I see the agony, regret, and helplessness on full display.
He did this for me, and they’re still taking me.
“Dominic!” I scream, my voice breaking as they pull me away and slam the door.
They drag me down the cold, narrow hallway, my feet stumbling as I try to resist, to slow them down, but they’re relentless. They pull me into a stark room with a single shower in the corner, its tiles cracked, the smell of mildew thick in the air.
Red Mask shoves me inside, pointing to the shower; his voice cold and robotic through the mask. “Strip.”
I hesitate, dread curling in my stomach, and I shake my head, backing away. “No… please…”
Yellow Mask steps forward, raising a hand like he might hit me, and I shrink back; my hands trembling as I reach for the hem of my shirt. My cheeks burn with shame, my entire body shaking as I peel it off, piece by piece, until I’m standing there, exposed and vulnerable.
“Hurry up and clean yourself,” he snaps, and I know I don’t have a choice.
I step under the shower, turning on the water, my fingers trembling as I scrub the dirt and grime from my skin. The water is lukewarm, barely enough to wash off the terror clinging to me, but I go through the motions, doing exactly as they say.
When I’m done, they hand me a rough towel, watching me dry off with that same detached interest. And then, as if this is all some twisted routine, one of them raises a cellphone, the flash blinding me for a second. I flinch, my heart racing, but he snaps another picture, and another, like he’s documenting every part of me.
“Looks good,” Red Mask mutters to the other, glancing down at the screen. “She’ll bring a decent price.”
I feel the bile rising in my throat, the word price echoing in my mind; a cruel reminder that I’m nothing more than a commodity to them. Just another piece of property to be bought and sold.
They barely glance at me as they continue their conversation, as if I’m not even here.
“The buyer for the other one’s coming tomorrow,” Yellow Mask says, his voice low but not enough to keep me from hearing. “We’ll prep him in the morning.”
Other one. Dominic.
The realization slams into me, chilling me to the bone… They’re planning to sell him tomorrow. This is their last chance to break him, to make him compliant for whatever fate they have in store.
A sob catches in my throat, but I swallow it down, holding onto the image of his face, bruised and bloodied, but still defiant. I grip the cross around my neck and sniff… Dominic is leaving tomorrow.
I force myself to stand, to keep breathing even though the room feels like it’s closing in on me. They’re going to take him, and after what he just did for me… after he tried to protect me…
When they’re done, they hand me a pair of panties and a plain, oversized shirt and shove me back into the hallway, dragging me back toward the cells. My feet move automatically, numb, each step a hollow echo that seems to stretch on forever.
When they open the door to my cell, I spot him immediately—slumped against the bars on his side, his face swollen and bruised, dried blood caked on his lip. He’s leaning heavily, one arm wrapped around his ribs, his breathing ragged.
I scramble forward, dropping to my knees beside the bars, reaching my hand through to him, my fingers just brushing his shoulder. “Dominic,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Oh my God, why would you do that?!”
He lets out a rough cough, grimacing as he tries to lift his head. “Guess… they didn’t like my offer,” he says, his voice weak, laced with pain.
Tears blur my vision as I reach out, gently touching his shoulder. “You… you tried to take my place,” I murmur, a raw ache settling deep in my chest. “Why…?”
He opens his eyes, his gaze unfocused but soft, a faint, painful smile tugging at his lips. “Didn’t want them… to hurt you,” he whispers, each word coming out strained, as if even speaking is painful.
A sob slips out before I can stop it, and I press my hand to my mouth, trying to hold myself together, but it’s no use. The tears come, hot and heavy, each one carrying the weight of everything I’ve been holding in.
“Don’t… don’t cry, Little Sinner,” he murmurs, reaching up with a shaky hand to touch my cheek. His fingers are cold, his skin pale, and I can see the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. “I’m… I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I whisper, barely able to speak through the lump in my throat. “They did this to you… because of me.”
He gives a faint shrug, his eyes closing for a moment. “Worth it,” he mumbles, almost too softly for me to hear.
He coughs again, wincing, and I can see the toll the beating has taken on him. His face is a mess of bruises, his lip split, cheek swollen and split as well. The sight makes my heart ache, the anger simmering beneath the fear.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I say, my voice barely audible. “You barely know me.”
“Hey.” His voice is soft, the pain still evident. “I’d do it again. If it means keeping you safe… I’d do it again.”
A fresh wave of tears rolls down my cheeks, and I bite my lip, struggling to keep my sobs quiet. “You’re an idiot,” I whisper, but there’s no anger in my voice, only a raw, aching gratitude. “A reckless, stupid idiot.”
He chuckles, though it quickly turns into a grimace as he clutches his side, groaning softly. “Yeah… well… wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.”
I reach my hand through the bars, resting my palm on the side of his face and trying to offer some kind of comfort, even if it’s barely anything. He leans into my touch, closing his eyes, his breathing uneven, and for a moment, we just sit there, both of us bruised, broken, clinging to the only thing we have left—each other.
Shifting, I see him shrugging off his black hoodie, then he hands it to me through the bars, wincing. It’s then that I see the tattoos that snake up his arms and peek out from under his collar.
“You’ll freeze in just the shirt. Take… take this,” he says and my heart breaks again.
Why is he being so kind to me?
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice choked. “For this and… for trying to protect me.”
He nods, and lays back down, his eyes closing. “Don’t worry about me, Little Sinner. I’ve taken worse hits,” he mutters, his voice growing weaker with each word. “Just… stay strong. Don’t let them break you.”
The pain in his voice, the vulnerability etched into every bruised inch of his face, is almost too much to bear. I feel a fresh wave of tears building, but I swallow them down, forcing myself to hold it together, if only for his sake.
“I won’t,” I promise, my voice shaking but determined. “I won’t let them break me. And I won’t let them break you, either.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips, and he closes his eyes, letting out a slow, shuddering breath. “That’s… good,” he murmurs, his voice trailing off as he sinks into unconsciousness.
I lay down on the cold floor next to him, the bars separating us, and I still smell pine needles and motor oil on his hoodie but it’s nearly masked by the copper scent of blood.
As I grip the cross around my neck and tears slip down the side of my face, I realize Dominic was right the first time we met.
We are in Hell.