Chapter 28 #3
She nods, wiping her face, but she doesn’t look away.
Micah slings his backpack over his shoulder, voice tight. “Let’s fucking move.”
We hit the driveway running, piling into cars, the address burning a hole in my mind. Riot’s in the passenger seat next to me, fists clenched, staring out the window like he’s memorizing every mile. The others are right behind.
For the first time since she was taken, something hot and alive beats in my chest—hope, rage, a promise: We’re coming, Sawyer. Hold on.
SAWYER
The shower pounds down, hot and relentless, turning the air thick and steamy. I’m still hanging from the hook, wrists numb, legs trembling, my whole body stinging from the fight.
He left me like this—stripped bare, humiliated—water streaming down my face as I try to catch my breath.
My skin is a battlefield of goosebumps and raw heat, the ache in my thigh throbbing where he cut me.
I don’t dare look down. I stare at the tile in front of me, focusing on the tiny cracks, counting heartbeats, trying to fold myself into invisibility.
But then I hear him coming back.
That sound—the rhythm of his footsteps—makes my heart lurch.
It’s slower now. Heavy. Measured. Every step is a promise.
I lift my gaze and see him in the doorway. Still naked. His body is slick with water and rage, muscles coiled like he’s seconds from snapping. He’s holding something this time—broad, polished wood, glistening in the low light.
A paddle.
My mouth goes dry.
I can’t move. My body is trembling too hard. My brain is screaming, ’Don’t give him the satisfaction’, but the instinct to fear him is winning.
He’s still furious.
“Just for that,” he sneers, voice dripping with cruel satisfaction, “I’m going to punish you again.”
The words crawl over my skin like acid.
Before I can even flinch, he’s on me. Grabbing and spinning me. My cheek and chest slam against the shower wall, the cold tile biting into my overheated skin. My chains rattle above me, pulling painfully at my wrists.
His lips press against my shoulder—a mockery of tenderness, the faintest brush of warmth before he pulls back. I can’t see him now. I can only feel him behind me. I can feel his breath, steady and deliberate, and the tension building in the air like the moment before lightning strikes.
I hold my breath.
Crack.
The first hit lands across my ass, sharp and merciless. A white-hot burst of pain sears through me and rips a scream from my throat. My body jerks against the chains, desperate to get away, but I’m trapped. Caught. Helpless.
Before I can recover, the second blow lands—lower, slicing pain across the curve of my thigh.
The third is harder, in the same spot, the sting radiating outward like fire under my skin.
I cry out again, tears spilling down my cheeks, mixing with the shower water. Every nerve in my body lights up—pain, fear, humiliation all tangled into one raw, unbearable thing.
And then I hear him. Blake. Groaning behind me and loving every second.
“Your ass will be black and blue when I’m done,” he says, voice thick with sick satisfaction. “Every time you sit, you’ll feel me.”
No. I scream it in my head. You’ll never own me, not in that way.
Then he unleashes five rapid-fire blows—each one sharper, harder, crueler than the last. The sound echoes—wood against skin, my cries swallowed by the hiss of the shower and the pounding in my ears.
I’m shaking so hard I can barely stand, my knees threatening to give out. I want to beg him to stop, but my voice won’t come out. I’m too close to breaking. Too close to collapsing into a sobbing, empty mess.
And that’s when he spins me again.
I’m facing him now—my back pressed against the icy tile, my body trembling, raw, and marked red. I feel completely exposed under his gaze, every bruise, every cut a sick trophy for him to admire.
He strokes himself, water dripping off the sharp lines of his jaw, the paddle still clutched in his other hand.
“You are so pretty red for me… and the blood—fuck, Sawyer, look at it. I might have to cut you a few more times, baby girl. Watching it run down your legs…” His grin turns feral. “It’s making me harder than ever.”
I want to scream. I want to disappear. I want to fight, but my body is shaking too violently to move.
Pain hums through every nerve, mixing with a cold, gnawing hatred that burns just as sharp as the paddle. I cling to it like a lifeline—the hate, the fury. It’s all I have left that’s mine.
And I pray this ends before I shatter completely.
He rears back, the paddle lands again—once, twice—smashing across both thighs.
Each strike sears through me like fire, leaving me writhing, my body convulsing in the chains.
Then he swings lower, landing a brutal blow right against my center.
White-hot pain detonates through me, stealing my breath.
My whole body spasms, my voice raw and breaking.
“Please—please, stop! Please—” I choke out, shattered, all pride gone. “You can do whatever, just don’t hit me anymore. Please.”
He leans in, tongue dragging through my tears, tasting them, like my pain is some victory for him. His lips press against mine—hot, shaking, possessive, disgusting. My stomach flips with rage and revulsion as he whispers, his hand moving to my hip, smearing the blood with his thumb like it’s paint.
“You look so fucking good when you break, Sawyer. That’s when I love you most.”
Love. God, don’t you dare call this love.
He grabs me under my thighs, and I go limp, my body deadweight in his arms. The chains bite deeper into my wrists, the metal bruising me as he hoists me higher.
Then he lines himself up and pushes inside—no care, no patience, just brutal claiming.
Every thrust feels like another violation, another scar on my soul.
My head drops back against the wall, the pain radiating everywhere, making my body feel stretched and raw and burning from the inside out.
He sets a relentless pace, brutal and unyielding. I’m nothing but an object to him—just a body to fuck, a hole to conquer, a possession to mark.
“I’m gonna feel you come on my cock, baby,” he grits out, voice sharp with obsession. “You do that, and I’ll reward you. I’ll fill you up with my cum and then I’ll make you feel okay.”
Okay? You’ll never make me okay. I’ll scrub my skin until it bleeds before I let this feel like anything but pain.
I barely register his hand reaching up to the shelf until I hear it—the low hum of the vibrator. My stomach lurches.
“No…” The word is a hoarse whisper, drowned by the sound of water hitting tile. No. Not this.
I hate him. God, I hate him. I hate the way he looks at me, the way he acts as if this is power, as if this is love.
And worst of all—I hate myself. Hate the way my body responds, the way I can’t control it.
The way everything blurs into this disgusting cocktail of pain and unwanted pleasure, fear, and humiliation.
I want to sneer. I want to spit in his face and tell him the truth—that the only way he could ever make me come is with a toy.
That Jasper or Riot could do it with just a look, with just their voices, with just their fucking hands.
But I can’t. I can’t risk more pain. I can’t find my voice. My tongue is heavy, my throat raw.
He presses the vibrator to my clit, grinding it in circles against me, his voice a filthy rasp against my ear.
“Bet you feel so used right now, don’t you? I’m the only one who’ll ever make you cum like this, chained up, crying for me. You look so fucking pretty about to fall apart.”
I want to scream. I want to vanish. I want to be anywhere but here.
But it builds anyway—unstoppable. My body betrays me; my muscles tighten despite the shame flooding my veins.
My breath stutters, humiliation burns like acid through my chest, and I feel the edge—closer, closer—like I’m about to shatter in the worst possible way.
And then—
Bang.
A loud, violent crash from somewhere in the house.
It jolts Blake and me both—his head snaps up, eyes wide with panic.
He drops me, letting my feet hit the tile floor hard, wrists screaming as the chains yank me down. My body crumples, sore, wet, shaking. He grabs his jeans, shoves himself inside, and bolts, naked and terrified, leaving the paddle and vibrator behind.
I’m left gasping and sobbing. But somewhere, beneath the pain and tears, hope flares to life for the first time.
Someone’s here. Someone’s coming.
Please, please, please…
I curl against the cold tile of the wall, wrists burning, body battered and wet.
Water still hisses down, drowning out the rest of the world, but even through the rush, I hear it—shouting, glass shattering, the unmistakable crack of gunfire.
My heart seizes. For a moment, I think I’m hallucinating.
But then another shot rings out, closer, louder.
Oh, my god. Somebody found me.
I want to call for them, scream—but my voice is a rasp, my throat raw from begging.
Please, please, please.
JASPER
Riot’s next to me as we reach the cabin. The second we’re out, the world explodes—Blake’s already firing from the porch, a wild look in his eyes, nothing but desperation left. I hit the dirt behind a tree, gun drawn, every muscle strung tight with rage.
“You motherfucker!” Riot bellows, bullets cracking into the siding above his head.
Ash, Dex, and Jace flank wide, drawing fire, giving me and Riot the opening we need. We barrel through the side door just as Blake’s gun clicks empty, then he’s running, yelling, desperate, not nearly fast enough.
I see red. I don’t even remember dropping my weapon before I’m on him, Riot right there with me. Blake swings at Riot, but I catch his arm, wrenching him to the ground. We both start beating him with fists, boots, everything—until Dex yells, “Enough! We need him alive!”
Riot hauls him up by the hair, blood streaming from his nose. “You’re gonna wish you died out here. You’re coming back with us, you sick fuck.”
I grab him by the throat, snarl in his face, “You touch her again, you breathe her name, and I will tear you apart myself. Get him in the van. NOW.”
RIOT
Blake’s barely conscious, tossed in the van, Jace and Ash standing guard. But my heart’s pounding so hard I think I’ll pass out.
I picked up a set of keys that fell from his pocket when we tossed him in the van. “She’s in here somewhere!” I shout, gripping the keys, pushing through every room, adrenaline pumping wildly.
“Sawyer!” Jasper calls, voice shaking. “Sawyer, where are you?!”
I follow the sound of running water to the bathroom.
My stomach drops when I see the hook, the chains, the puddle of blood and water.
And then her. Crumpled, shaking, eyes huge and wild, skin covered in bruises and red marks.
For a second, I can’t breathe.
She looks up, and the world narrows down to just us.
SAWYER
For one terrifying second, I think it’s Blake again. But then I see them. Jasper and Riot standing in the door way, shock and anger written on their faces. Riot’s face is smeared with blood, and his eyes are watery and filled with pain.
I cry, and Jasper takes the keys from Riot and crashes to his knees beside me, hands gentle but shaking as he unlocks the cuffs.
Riot pulls me into his arms just as Silas burls into the room, immediately freezing when his eyes take in the scene before him.
Riot’s whole body trembles as he rocks me back and forth.
“I’m here,” he chokes out. “You’re safe. We got you. We’re here.”
Jasper’s voice is a whisper, words falling apart as he presses his forehead to mine. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
I cling to them, barely able to breathe. I sob and shake, but for the first time in days, I don’t feel alone.
I want to say something—anything—but all that comes out is a wrecked sob, my voice shredded by days of screaming, begging, and praying. I shake and shake, clinging to them like I’ll fly apart if I let go.
Silas stands at the door, making sure no one can get past, eyes like thunder. Ash brings Silas a blanket and hands it to Riot. He drapes it over my shoulders, whispering, “You’re alright now, Hellcat. We’ve got you. Nobody’s ever touching you again.”
I can hear the others outside; Blake is being dragged, and the van door slams shut. Riot and Jasper keep rocking me, whispering promises. All I can do is hang on, try to believe it’s over.
But under the pain, the fear, the humiliation, one thing burns bright as ever…
I survived.