3. Blue
3
BLUE
W hen I open my eyes, I m lying on the bed. My arms are bound to each of the posts, as is one of my legs and Wyatt is wrapping a leather restraint around the other. I scream and kick, manage to get him in the nose.
Ah fuck! He stumbles backward, cups his nose. When he pulls his hand away, we both see the blood pouring from it. Fuck you, cunt! I ll make sure to break your nose while you can still feel it.
He wipes the blood away with the back of his sleeve, gives a strange shake of his head then returns to bind my leg so I m tied to the bed spread eagle. I test the bonds. Nothing gives. I didn t think anything would.
Let me go! I can barely move a few inches if I twist my torso but I m not going to make this easy for him.
He looks me over, grins as he meets my gaze. He s bigger than I remember but the look in his eyes is the same. And that tattoo on his neck sends a chill down my spine.
What do you want? I ask.
He takes off his jacket calmly. It s bloody from his nose and probably from my cuts. He hangs it on a coat rack standing in the corner. From inside the breast pocket, he takes out his phone, pushes a button and puts the phone to his ear. He mutters a curse a moment later.
Bitch is at the cabin. Where the fuck are you? I will start without you, Brother.
Brother?
He disconnects, returns to the bed. I scooch as far away as I can, which isn t far. Wyatt sets the phone down on the nightstand and walks over to a table set along the far wall. It has a top that he lifts open. I can t see what s inside. A moment later, he reaches in, takes what he wants and turns back to me.
My heart drops to my stomach when I see what it is. A hunting knife.
What do you want? I scream, unable to keep the terror from my voice.
He grins, and when he reaches the bed, he sets one knee on it.
Do you remember me? he asks, looking me over, setting the flat of the blade against my cheek right where my scar is. I m sure my makeup has smeared and it s visible now. Do you? Of course, I was prettier then. Didn t have the clown s mark. He says this with disgust and a part of me wants to tell him he was never pretty, but the smarter part tells me to keep my mouth shut.
The blade is cool as he slides it down over my cheek, my jaw, my throat, to the strap of my dress. With one tug, the strap is useless.
That s thanks to you. Don t worry, before I break your nose, I ll slice you a set. Make a clown out of you like you did me.
I didn t… I trail off because he knicks the second strap.
You didn t what?
I lick my lips and watch, heart racing, every muscle taut as he slides his knife between my breasts, over the dress to the top of the slit at my thigh. The dress itself is stretched tight given how my legs are spread.
Hm? he asks, pale blue eyes on mine as he drags the knife up along the inside of my thigh and brings it to rest against my crotch.
Oh, God. I shake my head, a tear sliding from the corner of my right eye.
He grins, draws the knife flat edge down over my sex. His eyes never leave mine and I remember how Zeke had slid my panties off. I remember how warm and wet and soft his mouth had been in that same place just hours before.
Please. More tears come.
His grin widens, making his face look hideous and terrifying at once. His eyes harden narrowing to slits and I cry out when he tugs, sure he s stabbing me. But there s no pain. Only the sound of my dress ripping in two as he jerks the knife up, up, up until the material slides to either side of my body, exposing me wholly.
Now, Wyatt Hoxton allows his gaze to move over me. He takes in my breasts, my stomach, my sex. His gaze remains there for a long, long minute and I see how his eyes darken, pupils dilating. He sets the blade of the knife once more between my legs and returns his gaze to mine.
Better without the dress. Legs spread wide. Pussy shaved bare. Mmm. I like that. Makes you look younger. As he speaks, he rubs the knife over my clit. I swallow, close my eyes when he turns his attention to my sex. Do you know that in some cultures they slit the clit right off little girls?
My entire body tenses in wait preparing for pain.
Just a quick snip and it s gone. A flick of the knife. That s all it would take. I imagine it hurts. What do you think?
I open my eyes to find his on me again.
I have the files, I say, tears streaming down my face. It s what you d come to the house for. I have them.
Abrupt change of topic, he says. That s not what I asked you.
Let me go and I ll get them for you.
Oh, you will, but now s not the time. Not yet. First, my brother and I are going to have some fun with you. Then we ll hand you over to Girard who will likely have a little more fun before you get to talking about those files. Now tell me, do you think it hurts to have your clit snipped off?
He stills the knife. I don t need to look to know how close he is.
I nod.
Yeah, me too. We ll get to that. But you know what I m going to do first? he asks, drawing the knife away, dragging it up to my neck, my throat, sliding it under the collar Zeke put on me. I feel the tip break skin but he s being careful.
What do you want? I ask. I need to keep him talking. To delay him. Slow him down as much as I can and give Zeke a chance to get to me.
At the thought, more tears stream down my face. How? How would Zeke find me? How far are we from New Orleans if he somehow did manage it? Would he even make it in time?
I m going to listen to the music you make when I rape your cunt. Then I m going to hand you over to my brother to rape your cunt. When he s done with that hole, we re going to bend you over and rape your ass. Oh, you aren t going to enjoy that even a little bit. And maybe, maybe while my brother rapes your mouth, I ll cut that little clit off, so you open wide to take him as you scream.
I shake my head.
He grins. Look at these pretty things. He touches one of my borrowed earrings. He removes them and I m grateful he didn t just tear them off my ears. He holds them up to the light. Nice. You won t need those anymore. Not where you re going. He sets them on the table beside the bed, then cocks his head to study the collar.
Isn t this pretty? Steal it?
What?
He tugs at the crystal lock. I d forgotten it was there.
Without waiting for a response, he tries to take it off the ring, but can t. Roughly, he turns my head to get to the clasp of the collar but curses when he realizes he can t unlock it.
No matter. I ll take your head off before I put you in the ground. Easy to slide a collar off someone s neck when there s no head attached, huh?
His phone rings and I exhale with momentary relief when he stands to pick it up. But he looks disappointed when he sees the screen. I watch him take a deep breath in before he answers.
Mr. Girard, he says, and takes a few steps away before turning to watch me. Yes, sir. I have the girl. I m trying to ascertain now where those files are.
Mr. Girard? Was he the one-handed man.
Levi should be joining me any minute. Once he s arrived, we ll bring her to you. His eyes narrow. Yes, sir, of course. In one piece. She s put up a fight though. She s got a few cuts and bruises that couldn t be helped. He grins for my benefit. And of course, I ll take what I m owed but we ll make sure she can talk.
Girard yells something into the phone. I can t make out the words, but I hear his anger and, surprisingly, see Wyatt blanche. He nods.
Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I ll be in touch ve?—.
He pulls the phone away. I guess Girard didn t wait for him to finish. He mutters a curse at the phone. He can t hurt me or at least he can t kill me, it sounds like. Girard is his boss. He must be the man with the missing hand.
Wyatt dials someone but the call must go to voice mail again. Where the fuck are you, Levi? Get your ass over here. Girard is getting fucking impatient.
Is Levi your brother? I ask.
Wyatt looks at me, doesn t answer.
And Mr. Girard is your boss? Is he the man who hired my father?
Shut up, bitch.
Because I can give you the files and then he ll owe you.
Shut it.
Did he do that to you? I gesture with my head, and he knows what I mean. My dad did this to me.
Wyatt cocks his head to the side. He gestures from himself to me and back. Are we connecting? he asks, setting the phone down on the table beside the bed along with his hunting knife. Because I m not looking for a meaningful connection, he says and begins to undo the buttons of his shirt. He sets the shirt over the back of a chair, and I take in his bare chest, stomach. He s huge, not defined with muscle but strong and scarred like he s been in a hundred fights. He pushes his shoes off, strips off his pants and drapes those over the shirt then he pushes his briefs down and off. Those he leaves on the floor as he stalks toward me. All I m interested in are those holes I mentioned. Raping them. Hearing you scream when I do.
I yank at my restraints and his grin grows huge. He comes to stand by the side of the bed and there s one thing I m grateful for. Just one thing. He s not hard. He can t rape me if he s not hard.
But since you asked, I will tell you. He crosses the room to the wall of whips, scanning his options as I struggle to free myself from my restraints. He makes his choice. A long, thin flexible rod which, when he tests it in the air, makes a whooshing sound that makes me shudder.
He turns back to me, looks me over. You know, I think this may work better if you re upright. Then we don t miss any spots. He grins, sets the rod down and undoes one foot. He grips the ankle and leans in close to my face. You kick and I ll fucking slice your clit off before we even get started. You hear me, bitch? You understand me?
I nod. I both hear and understand him. And so, when he undoes my bonds then lifts me to stand and walks me to the center of the room, I don t kick, but I don t make it easy either. He s going to whip me. I ll have to take it. But it ll buy time, right? I can take a whipping. It won t do lasting damage. If he cuts me, I may not be able to run. I can take a whipping. I keep telling myself this as he lifts me by the waist and hauls my arms over my head to wrap the leather cuffs dangling from the ceiling around my wrists. They re high and I m short and when he releases me, I literally hang from my wrists. It hurts. It hurts a lot, and he laughs when he watches me trying to at least get the tips of my big toes to touch down.
As I was saying, he continues casually, picking up the whip he d set down before returning to me. Standing right in front of me, inches from me. Yeah, the scar was compliments of Antoine fucking Girard. Because a little girl made a clown out of me. So, I should look like one for the rest of my fucking life. He grows more bitter as he says the words and I get it. But now, that little girl is right here and mine. Mine to punish. Mine to rape. Mine to end. He steps backward. Ready?
I shake my head.
He grins. Make sure you scream. It s what gets me hard.