CHAPTER 33
I startle awake at the sound of a door. With heavy eyes, I squint against the light and realize that I’m curled up on the kitchen floor. Exhaustion must have knocked me out. But even though I’ve clearly slept, I don’t feel any better.
With some effort, I push up and lean against the kitchen cabinets. I glance at the knife a few feet away. It would be so easy to reach for it and stab the first person who comes in here. Who knows, maybe the new guy is as slow as the lanky one, and with a bit of luck, I could hit him right in the stomach. After all, I have the element of surprise on my side.
But I can’t bring myself to do it. I just sit here, curled up and staring at the shiny steel while tears fill my already swollen eyes.
Footsteps approach. The carpet in the living room muffles the hard soles, and when they click over hardwood again, I look up and see a suit-clad man stop in the door opening, towering above me. I can’t make out more than the shape through the veil of tears, and I’m not sure I care to. Still, I wipe my eyes several times until my vision clears up.
When I look up again, my heart stops.
The man above me is neither thin nor lanky, weak nor slow. He’s strong and powerful. Tall and majestic. A warrior that can’t be conquered. No matter how much luck is on my side, I’d never be able to stab a knife into him—I wouldn’t even manage a nick before he had wrestled the weapon out of my hands and caught me in devastatingly strong arms.
I stare into steel-gray eyes, and even though I know why he’s here, I feel no fear or anger. Only relief.
Horror unfolds over Janos’s features as his eyes shoot back and forth between the knife and me, then down at the streak of dried blood on my arm. We’re frozen in a shared moment of fear—fear that bounces back and forth, rubs off, and multiplies on itself.
But then he shuts down. His gaze turns distant and cold—even more than usual. Something’s wrong. He’s not looking at me directly like he usually does, and his expression is professional and detached. I’m just a job again. Something that needs to be taken care of. At least, that’s how it looks, and I have to remind myself there’s more behind his cold fa?ade.
With a tight grip on my arm, he hauls me from the floor and proceeds to strip my clothes off. There’s none of his usual gentle patience. No care or contact. But he’s not as mechanical as he was on that first night either. It’s somewhere in between, like he’s trying to be indifferent but not quite succeeding.
Getting me naked is quick and easy work because I willingly lift my arms for him to pull off my blouse and lift my legs to step out of my pants. I can’t bring myself to resist. He can do whatever he wants to me—ask me to do anything—and I’ll do it just because he wants it. I’m done fighting this intense need to submit to him, even if it becomes my downfall.
When I stand naked in front of him, he grabs me by the arm and hauls me through the apartment, into the bedroom where the lanky man stands waiting in the corner. My eyes fall to the pile of sheets and pillows on the floor next to him, and horror speeds up my breath when I see the plastic cover that has replaced them on the bed.
Fear poisons my blood, causing my pulse to skyrocket and pound in my veins. My eyes dart up to Janos in the hope of finding some help—or at least reassurance. But he doesn’t even glance at me. He just pushes me onto the mattress and places me flat on my back, then steps out of my line of sight.
I don’t move to catch sight of him. I just stare up at the ceiling as I hear him rummage in a bag. My entire body trembles as I lie there on the naked plastic surface, trying not to guess at what horror will befall me tonight.
Janos returns with a first aid kit and straddles me. My eyes frantically search his—not to beg him to stop whatever he’s doing, but to stay with me. But he remains focused on the task at hand. He takes out a bottle of alcohol, sterile wipes, and latex gloves that he puts on both hands. Then he proceeds to disinfect every inch of my upper body—even my neck.
The alcohol stings in my nostrils, and the cool liquid intensifies the trembles in my body. Coldness wraps around me and bites into my bones when Janos leaves me. He takes a waiting position at the side, becoming as passive as the man at the other end of the room.
Every now and then, I turn my head, hoping to make contact with Janos, but his stiff stare straight ahead remains unwavering.
At long last, the sound of the front door breaks the harrowing silence, followed by the firm clicks of footsteps.
“I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” Gabor exclaims, rubbing his hands together as he steps up to the foot of the bed and watches me.
Breaking from his statuesque pose, Janos retrieves two new pairs of gloves, handing one to Gabor and taking the other for himself. Then he climbs onto the bed, kneeling beside me, and pours copious amounts of alcohol over a switchblade.
I stare in horror at the blade and flinch every time a cool drop of liquid splashes onto me.
My entire system is on edge when Gabor climbs up to sit astride me, and when Janos hands him the knife, I lose all restraint, grabbing for Janos in a pitiful attempt at seeking help. Of course, he doesn’t grant me any. He’s at work now, and his job is to keep me in place—not to comfort me. He just grabs my hands and pins them to the mattress above my head.
But despite his apparent detachment, I notice the tension in his jaw. It’s barely there, and I don’t think Gabor notices—he’s too preoccupied with his own project. But I’ve spent long enough time studying this man to notice the little things.
He doesn’t like whatever game Gabor has planned for me tonight, and seeing his reaction scares me even more than the knife. Janos is a master at hiding his reactions, and him not being able to do so means things are about to get very ugly.
But knowing he cares enough to be concerned is a reassurance in and of itself, and I cling to that notion, but it’s like clinging to slippery ice that’s melting through my fingers when he denies me any and all contact.
I pull in a sharp breath when Gabor presses the flat side of the blade to my belly, and I pray to God he only plans on scaring me. But I already know that’s not the case. When he turns it ninety degrees, I feel how sharp it is. This is a blade meant to cut—just like the one I held to my wrist earlier this evening.
How ironic. I couldn’t cut myself, so now Gabor does it for me.
I hold my breath, pulling my stomach in to keep the knife from sinking into my skin. It takes every modicum of self-control to not stare at the knife and descend into panic. I won’t give Gabor the satisfaction of my fear, so I keep my gaze trained on Janos, who still won’t meet my eyes. Even so, I know he sees me. He always does. And when Gabor drags the blade across my skin, I have my evidence.
Moving his free hand to my shoulder, Janos gives me the slightest squeeze, as if to let me know he’s here with me. I don’t think it’s even conscious, but it works. As Gabor continues to make small cuts across my body, Janos’s hand is the only thing that holds the crippling fear at bay.
But when Gabor suddenly jerks the knife across my skin and pain flares like a lick of fire, I snap into a feverish panic. With blaring alarms going off in my mind, I thrash wildly and uncoordinated. It doesn’t matter that the knife hovers above my skin and I might cut myself on it even worse. I simply can’t lie still.
Janos reacts as quickly as I do, releasing my hands to shove both his palms against my chest, pushing me into the mattress, away from the knife. I just start flailing my now free arms instead, throwing them at Gabor and the knife.
“Lie still, for God’s sake,” Janos snaps, trying to gain control of my panicked body.
Somewhere at the back of my head, I know I should obey, but blinding flashes of red have drowned out all rationale and self-preservation.
“Tie her up,” Gabor says irritably, hopping off the bed.
Before I realize my legs are free to kick, two cold hands grab them. I jerk my head up and see the lanky man give me a disgusting grin as he wraps rope around my ankles.
I go absolutely livid, throwing all my energy into futile jerking and writhing. “Stop,” I yell, thrashing my head up and down as I try to kick the lanky man, but I don’t think he even hears me. He remains cold and cruel as he ties my legs to the bed, gripping me so hard I think my skin will bruise.
I keep screaming and thrashing to no avail until my eyes catch on Janos. He has effectively immobilized me by gathering my arms against my chest, and he’s no longer indifferent. He’s staring at the cold hands working on my legs with a murderous expression. The sight takes me aback so much I go still, and when Janos snaps out of it and starts tying my hands to the bedposts, I barely move. All I can think about is the rage in his eyes.
Gabor shoves the lanky man aside to retake his place on the bed. His irritated expression quickly morphs into a monstrous smirk as he watches the fear painted across my face.
Once again, cold steel touches my skin. This time, Gabor doesn’t bother to drag out the terror-inducing anticipation. He cuts the knife straight into me—a long gash that draws a gruesome scream from my throat. I stare in shock at the angry red line on my stomach. Blood rises from the wound in a quick stream, trickling across my milky white skin and dripping onto the waterproof sheet. I can’t stop screaming, and black spots dance in my vision as the oxygen grows scarce in my lungs. Gabor presses his hand against my stomach and cuts another long gash with the knife, studying his work with a manic grin.
Pain and panic close in on me, making bile rise at the back of my throat as my world narrows to a dark pit of desperation. I thrash like an animal up for slaughter again, but my strength weakens as dizziness takes over.
“Breathe,” a deep voice demands. I barely register the words. Not until Janos repeats the order with more force and shakes me. “Breathe!”
My gaze snaps up to a familiar set of eyes that stare directly into me.
“Calm down,” Janos whispers, now more gently, and presses his palms to my shoulders.
Tears stream down my face as I stare up at him, caught in a frozen moment that shuts out everything else. The weight of his hands on my shoulders grounds me—takes me out of the panic—and the relief of him finally being here with me is so great I see nothing else.
But the stillness only lasts a moment.
Another slice of the knife across my ribcage drags me straight back to hell. A new, even more desperate scream tears through my throat as panic takes my lungs in a death grip. It’s like drowning. Drowning in pain, drowning in panic. I can’t see or think. It’s like I’m shattering into a million tiny pieces of myself that I won’t ever be able to recover.
Even when the knife is gone, I can still feel the grating sensation of the sharp blade skating across my bones. Like nails on a chalkboard. A fork on a plate. A horrific image that sticks to your retina.
I vaguely register how Janos’s hands restlessly move around, trying to immobilize and comfort me at the same time. A strong hand presses down on my chest while another gently strokes my hair. Then both hands dig into my shoulders before moving up to my face to caress me. His words are the same jumble of small attempts at reassurance and harsh demands to breathe.
But nothing will penetrate the petrifying panic. I just lie there, screaming and screaming, the sound only interrupted by pitiful sobs that have my stomach spasming.
The knife continues its harrowing journey over my torso, slicing open my skin.
In brief moments, Janos manages to connect with me and get me breathing. Most of the time, though, there’s only pain and fear, eating into me like parasites, wiping out everything in their path. And when Gabor takes out his very hard dick and positions it against my opening, I crash into blinding despair. I can’t see anything but the pain burning across my skin and the cruel beast of a man that forces himself upon me. Everything becomes tinged with sickening neon colors, and icy shudders shoot through my skin like I’m in a feverish dream. But this is no dream. I feel the realness of the sensation all too clearly as Gabor forces his way into me, grating against my dry walls and stretching my tense muscles.
“No!” I scream. Horrific images of slashes in my skin, red splashes, and Gabor’s manic grin flutter in my vision as I thrash my head from side to side, and the world spins with nauseating effect.
“No!” I wail, over and over, but it only spurs Gabor on.
He growls with feral hunger as he shoves inside, slamming into the bottom of my pussy with a force that cramps up my stomach. I scream with a force that tears at my throat, but mind-numbing horror snuffs out the sound as Gabor slices the knife across my ribs. I spasm and jerk, all my muscles coiling painfully tight as the knife rakes across my bone. Through all the violence and horror Gabor has thrust upon me, nothing compares to this—the feeling of metal cutting against my ribs as my stomach cramps up around the thick, unwelcome cock inside me.
Gabor draws back and shoves in again, tearing at my dry tissues as he goes, making it feel like salt in a wound as he repeats the thrust. He positions the knife over another rib, and pain takes me in a chokehold as he cuts again.
I don’t know how many times he does this before he drops the knife and fucks me until he comes.
When he finally pulls out, I’m trembling violently, feeling so weak I can barely move a finger, and my skin is slick with cold sweat and blood. I’m hot yet cold at the same time, and my mind is a black pit full of screams and flashes of blood and sharp steel, manic grins and deep cuts.
But Gabor is not done.
When someone flips me onto my stomach, he presses the knife against my back.
I vaguely register someone telling him to stop—that he’s going too far—but I’m too far gone to process the words, and soon they slip from my attention fully. Everything does. My body—my mind—can’t take anymore. Something clicks. A fuse that blows? An overload that makes the system collapse?
Everything goes black. I’m still conscious, seeing the room around me, but I don’t register anything. Not the metallic smell of blood, not the red blotches on the plastic sheet, not the searing pain of the knife tearing through my skin. It all happens in a distant world I don’t have access to, and I fervently hope I’ll never go back there.