Chapter 34 Dove
DOVE
The pain radiates through my body and I can’t help the screams that rip from my throat. My eyes fly open as I see I’m still stuck in my nightmare.
“Welcome back to the land of the living…for now.” He sneers.
“What have you done?” I gasp through the pain that currently renders my body in shock.
“Branded you, left my final mark. That’s what they will all see when they finally see your corpse.”
“My corpse?” I mimicked his words like I thought he would let me live.
“After I’ve tortured you, of course, you don’t get an easy death. Eight years is a long time and I want to savour it.”
“Why am I naked?” I gasp.
Oh god, what had he done to me while I was out cold? I couldn’t even think of all the horrible things he could have done to my body while I was unconscious.
“Relax. The only thing that makes my dick hard is seeing you in pain. Seeing you tormented. Seeing that fear in those pretty little eyes.” My eyes widen at his words.
“That is where the pleasure lies, not pumping your cock for five minutes. Do you know the best release is that adrenaline that courses through your veins? That sweet high you get from seeing your poor helpless victim pushed to their limits…now that is pleasure.”
“Your sick.” I spit back at him.
Bentley’s grin widened at my defiance, a twisted expression that sent a cold shiver rippling through my body.
He leaned closer, the sour tang of his breath making my stomach churn.
His dark eyes, endless voids of malice, glinted with anticipation as he stared into my soul, relishing every flicker of fear that I couldn’t fully suppress.
“You think calling me sick hurts me?” he whispered, his voice low and syrupy, dripping with venom. “Sweetheart, I’ve been called worse by prettier mouths than yours.”
I flinched as he dragged a chair across the concrete floor, the legs scraping a screech that set my teeth on edge.
He positioned it directly in front of me, settling into it with an air of casualness that made my skin crawl.
His movements were slow, deliberate, as if savoring every agonizing second.
“You want to know what sick really is?” he asked, pulling a jagged blade from his pocket.
It caught the dim, flickering light overhead, the edge chipped but still sharp enough to gleam with intent.
“Sick is spending eight years with nothing but revenge to keep you warm. Sick is dreaming every night about the ways I’d break you. ”
I pulled against the restraints, the rough ropes biting into my wrists and ankles. The metal chair beneath me was ice-cold, seeping through my skin like a parasite. My breaths came in sharp gasps, my chest heaving as panic clawed at the edges of my mind. He saw it. He thrived on it.
“That’s it,” Bentley said, his voice almost gentle, a sick parody of comfort. “Let it in, Dove. Let the fear take over. Fighting it only makes it worse.”
He ran the blade along his own palm, the edge cutting shallow but clean, blood welling up in a dark crimson bead. His grin grew as he held his hand over my arm, letting the blood drip onto my skin, each drop warm and sickening as it trailed down my forearm.
“You know, blood has a way of binding people together,” he mused, his tone light, almost conversational. “It’s intimate. Sacred, even.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. “You’re insane,” I rasped.
He chuckled, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through the room. “Maybe. But you’re the one tied to the chair.”
Without warning, he slammed the blade into the table beside me, the sharp sound making me jump.
He was out of his chair in an instant, circling me like a predator with its prey.
His fingers brushed over the fresh brand on my skin, his touch light but enough to send a searing jolt of pain through my body.
I screamed, the sound echoing in the room, raw and jagged. He laughed, his joy at my agony as clear as day.
“Oh, I like that,” he said, crouching so our faces were level. “Scream for me again, Dove.”
I clamped my mouth shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction. His grin faltered, replaced by a cold, calculating stare.
“Suit yourself,” he said, rising to his feet. “But we’ll see how long that lasts.”
Bentley moved behind me, his footsteps echoing ominously in the empty room. I tried to twist in the chair, to see what he was doing, but the restraints held firm. The sound of metal scraping against metal sent a chill down my spine.
He returned with a long iron bar, the end of it glowing faintly red. My stomach dropped as he held it up, the heat radiating from the iron warming the air between us.
“This little beauty,” he said, almost reverently, “is going to leave a mark. A masterpiece.”
“No,” I gasped, pulling desperately at the ropes. “Please. Don’t—”
“Don’t beg,” he interrupted, his tone sharp. “It’s unbecoming.”
He pressed the iron to my ass, and the pain exploded, blinding and all-consuming. My scream tore through the air, raw and primal, as the smell of burning flesh filled the room. My body convulsed against the chair, the ropes cutting deeper into my skin as I writhed.
Bentley pulled the iron away, his expression one of awe, like an artist admiring their work. “Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft. “Absolutely beautiful.”
Tears streamed down my face, hot and relentless, as the pain radiated from the burn, mingling with the bruises and cuts that littered my body. I was shaking, my breaths coming in ragged sobs, but Bentley wasn’t done.
He reached for the blade again, dragging it lightly along the skin of my thigh, just enough to draw blood. The sting was sharp, the warmth of the blood trickling down almost surreal. His expression was rapturous, like he was savoring every moment of my suffering.
“This is what I waited for,” he said, his voice almost tender. “Not just your pain, but the breaking of you. The moment you realize there’s no escape. That you belong to me.”
I wanted to fight, to scream, to claw at his face, but my body was betraying me. The pain was too much, my strength drained. All I could do was sit there, tears falling silently as he carved his madness into my skin.
“Good girl,” Bentley whispered, his voice dripping with twisted affection. “You’re learning.”
The room swirled around me, the edges of my vision darkening. I fought to stay conscious, to hold on to the hope that someone—anyone—would come for me. But Bentley’s laughter echoed in my ears, a cruel reminder that this was his game, and I was just his broken little pawn.
Bentley stepped back, tilting his head as he admired his handiwork, the twisted grin never leaving his face.
My chest heaved as I fought to steady my breathing, the searing pain from the burns and cuts making it nearly impossible to think.
My body felt like it was on fire, every nerve screaming for relief, but there was none.
The room was suffocating, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of burnt flesh.
He paced in front of me, his boots crunching against the broken glass on the floor. The sound echoed, sharp and grating, as if mocking my every shallow breath.
“You’re almost there,” he said, his tone teasing. “I can see it in your eyes, Dove. That lovely mix of fear and hopelessness. It’s intoxicating.”
I glared at him, mustering whatever scraps of defiance I had left. “You’ll never win,” I croaked, my voice barely a whisper. “Someone will come for me.”
Bentley stopped, his dark eyes locking onto mine. The grin faltered for a moment, replaced by something colder, more dangerous. “You still think someone’s coming?” he asked, crouching in front of me. “You think your knight in shining armor is going to burst through that door and save the day?”
He reached out, his fingers gripping my chin with bruising force, forcing me to meet his gaze.
His breath was warm against my face, carrying the faint scent of something sour and rotten.
“Let me tell you a secret,” he whispered, his voice low and venomous.
“No one’s coming. You’re mine now. And I don’t share. ”
He released me with a shove, my head snapping back as his laughter filled the room.
He straightened, turning to the table of tools with a casualness that made my stomach churn.
His hands skimmed over the instruments, pausing over a pair of pliers.
He picked them up, turning them over in his hands as if considering their potential.
“Do you know what the most delicate part of the human body is?” he asked, his voice light, almost conversational. He didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s the fingertips. So sensitive, so full of nerve endings. And so easy to break.”
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, my stomach twisting in terror as he moved toward me, the pliers glinting in the dim light. I tried to pull away, the ropes cutting into my skin as I thrashed, but it was no use.
“Let’s see how strong you really are,” Bentley said, grabbing my hand with a vice-like grip. The pliers closed around my index finger, the cold metal biting into my skin. I cried out, the sound raw and guttural, as he slowly applied pressure.
“Please,” I gasped, tears streaming down my face. “Please, don’t—”
The snap echoed through the room, sharp and final. Pain exploded in my hand, a white-hot agony that stole my breath and sent my body convulsing against the restraints. I screamed until my throat burned, the sound ricocheting off the walls like a tortured symphony.
Bentley stepped back, holding up the pliers as if showing off a trophy. “One down,” he said, his grin widening. “Nine to go.”
I sagged in the chair, my body trembling, the pain overwhelming every other thought. I couldn’t fight anymore. I couldn’t move. My mind was slipping, the edges of my consciousness fraying as the room blurred around me.
Bentley leaned in close, his voice a cruel whisper in my ear. “You can break, Dove. It’s okay. I’ll still be here, piecing you back together, over and over again.”
The sound of his laughter followed me as the darkness closed in, swallowing me whole.
The world drifted in and out of focus. My body was numb, but the pain lingered in the background, a cruel reminder of what had been done to me.
I wanted to wake up, to believe that this was all some twisted nightmare, but every time my eyes fluttered open, I was met with the cold, unyielding reality of the room.
Bentley’s voice pierced through the haze, sharp and grating. “You’re tougher than I thought,” he said, his tone tinged with mock admiration. “But everyone has a breaking point. I wonder how close we are to finding yours.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My throat was raw from screaming, my body too drained to fight back.
The ropes around my wrists had bitten deep into my skin, and I could feel the sticky warmth of blood seeping down my arms. My broken finger throbbed in time with my heartbeat, the pain radiating up my arm like fire.
Bentley moved around the room with a predatory grace, the sound of his boots against the tile echoing in the suffocating silence.
He hummed a tune, a haunting melody that seemed to mock my misery.
The metallic clink of tools being shuffled reached my ears, followed by the sharp scrape of a chair being dragged across the floor.
I turned my head, every movement a struggle, and saw him setting up another scene of torment. A thin wire glinted in his hands, coiled and ready, like a snake preparing to strike. He caught my gaze and smiled, a smile that made my stomach twist in dread.
“Electricity is such a misunderstood force,” he mused, threading the wire between his fingers. “It’s so much more than just light and power. In the right hands, it can be… enlightening.”
He approached me slowly, savoring every step, his dark eyes locked onto mine. “But I’ll be merciful,” he said, his grin widening. “We’ll start small.”
I tried to shrink back, but the chair held me firm. The wire was cold as he pressed it against my skin, wrapping it around my arm with a meticulous care that made my skin crawl. He stepped back, his hands moving to the crude battery setup he had cobbled together on the table.
“Let’s see how much voltage that pretty little body of yours can take,” he said, flipping a switch.
The first jolt was mild, more of a tingle than a shock, but it sent my nerves alight. I bit down on my lip, refusing to cry out, even as my muscles tensed involuntarily. Bentley watched me intently, his expression a mix of curiosity and delight.
“Not bad,” he said, turning the dial. “Let’s turn it up a notch.”
The second jolt was stronger, sharper, ripping through my body like a lightning strike. My back arched against the chair, a strangled cry escaping before I could stop it. Bentley’s laughter filled the room, a twisted, gleeful sound that only fueled my hatred.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re a fighter, Dove. I’ll give you that. But even fighters break.”
I gasped for air, my chest heaving as the pain subsided. My vision blurred with tears, the edges of the room darkening as my body begged for release. But I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me shattered. I wouldn’t.
“Do you want to know something funny?” Bentley said, crouching down in front of me. His face was inches from mine, his breath warm and sickening. “The thing about electricity is, it leaves no mark. No evidence. Isn’t that poetic?”
I glared at him through the haze of pain, my voice barely a whisper. “You’ll… pay for this.”
His grin widened, his teeth bared like a wolf ready to devour. “Oh,” he said, his tone mockingly sweet. “I already have.”
The next jolt was the strongest yet, a searing wave of agony that wracked my entire body. My screams tore through the air, raw and primal, echoing off the walls like a twisted symphony. The room spun around me, the edges of reality slipping away as the darkness crept closer.
Bentley’s voice was the last thing I heard, low and triumphant. “You’re almost there, Dove. Just a little more, and you’ll be mine.”
And then there was nothing. Just the void, cold and merciful, pulling me under.