5. Blue
5
BLUE
H e is tireless. I don t have a voice left and even if I did, I couldn t keep up.
Wyatt Hoxton brings that whip down again and again as I swing from my wrists, swaying this way and that, unable to do more than bury my face in my arms as he lashes me front and back, top to bottom, sparing no part of me. Each stroke burns a line of fire into my skin. He raises his arm strikes again and again, turning an unending circle around me, aiming for my shoulders one moment, my breasts the next, my ass, my thighs. And I give him what he wants. As much as I try not to, I scream until I can t anymore. Until even my voice fails me as I try to breathe, my heart racing, not sure if its sweat or tears that drench my face.
That s it, little bitch, that s it. He pauses, the first reprieve. I lost track of the count a while back. He stands grinning, looking me over, my breath comes in pants as the pain settles like a living, throbbing thing, my entire body alive with it.
Please, I manage, not sure why.
Wyatt walks a circle around me, and I shudder, whimpering, when he presses his fingers into a particularly tender spot on my back before coming to stand in front of me. He holds up his fingers. They re bloody. He steps closer and I watch how his lips peel away from his teeth in a sneer as he draws a line from the corner of my mouth to my right ear.
So I have something to trace. Although my hand is steady, as you know by now, he says, repeating the action on the other side of my face before gripping his dick with his bloody hand, which is hard now. First thing s first though. He pumps his small, thick penis once, twice, drags his gaze over me. I prefer them younger but, well, I ll make do. Tell me should I start with your cunt or your ass?
Girard said not to hurt me. I heard him tell you not to hurt me.
He drags his gaze from between my legs to my face. You don t need either of those holes to talk. He walks behind me and grabs my ass hard, spreading me open. I think I ll start with your ass.
I m not getting out of here. I know I m not. Not until he s ready to take me to Girard. And by then, he and his brother will have broken me in ways I am sure my mind cannot even begin to grasp. I m fooling myself to think otherwise.
Wren. What will happen to Wren? Will Zeke look after her? Why would he?
Instinct takes over and I kick backward, not caring about consequences, not sure how it could be worse for me at this point.
Fuck! Mother fucking cunt!
He releases me, my toes scrambling to make purchase on the dirt floor. I look over my shoulder to find Wyatt bent over, weight on one foot, rubbing his knee.
You re going to fucking pay for that. He limps toward the nightstand, picks up the hunting knife and stalks back toward me. He s going to kill me. He s going to fucking kill me. I brace myself for the attack. At least it won t be rape, right? Tears stream down my face as he grips my hair with one hand and painfully forces my head backward. This time he wraps his legs on either side of mine so I can t kick him again. I can feel his now limp dick against my hip. He holds me still and brings the blade of the knife to my chest, my nipple.
No!
I twist this way and that as I feel the cutting edge of the knife slice into soft flesh.
That s it, little bitch. Fight me. I m going to rape that little asshole while I slice off your nipples.
His phone rings then and it takes both of us a moment to figure out what the sound is.
Fuck, he mutters and stalks away, that knife in his hand. I turn my head to follow him as he picks up his cell phone. He doesn t answer right away, his face growing darker. The phone stops ringing but starts again and he glances at me as he answers.
Yes, Mr. Girard. I told you I d bring her as soon as I?—
He stops. His mouth falls open. What did you say? he asks, tone different. He drops onto the edge of the bed.
I scream then. I have to because here and now, bound as I am, I am at his mercy. This Girard might be as bad or worse, but I need to take my chances.
And so, I scream for help, I yell at the top of my lungs that he s going to murder me. I scream and scream and when I pause to catch my breath, I think I hear a sound outside. The crunching of tires. But my brain doesn t have time to process before I start again, shutting my eyes to call up all my strength. I only stop when I m slapped so hard across my face that I swear I feel my brain rattle against my skull. Dazed, ears ringing, I open my eyes to see spots and the vague shape of him.
My eyes are slow to focus. He's there, standing in front of me. Wyatt Hoxton.
I blink, my head heavy.
He s dead, he s saying when I manage to look at him again. He s dead, you little bitch.
He slaps me again and this time, the ringing in my ears is all the sound I hear, and I think I m seeing things. I must be. The door is crashing open. But that makes no sense. Not when Wyatt backhands me once more.
Zeke, I manage to say, tasting blood, my mind creating the illusion of the man who should hate me. Whom I tried to destroy. That man with all his radiant, burning fury on his beautiful face the last thing I imagine I see as I take the next blow, this one to my stomach, Wyatt s fist as deadly as his hunting knife.