23
Lia
I’ve been staring at him—or rather, at his black mask—for a while by the time I speak again.
“Take it off.”
“Hmm?”
“Take off your mask. I know you’re not one of them. Tell me who you are.”
He doesn’t answer, only stroking the side of my face with a gloved finger. “I like it when you’re tied up, Lia. I like it when you’re helpless for me.”
“I don’t want to be helpless for you,” I tell him. “I don’t even know who you are.”
He removes his hand from me, putting it back on the steering wheel. “You don’t need to know who I am. And you’re about to be a whole lot more helpless, baby.”
“I want my bazooka. They took it. Can you get it for me?”
He’s still wearing his mask, but I could swear I hear his smile. “Uh uh. Brats don’t get bazookas.”
“I really need it, though.” Tears prick at my eyes again, and he glances at them. Or at least, I imagine he does, since I can’t see his face. “I don’t know what I’ll do without it. I’ll go crazy.”
“I think you’re already a little crazy, don’t you?”
“Please.” I sniff loudly, wishing I could reach up to wipe my face. “I don’t know who I am without it.”
“You do know, Lia.”
“Who’s Lia?”
He sighs, turning his full attention back to the road. He doesn’t say another word until he’s pulled into a parking lot. Then he walks back around to the passenger door, opens it, and pulls me out, throwing me once more over his shoulder.
“I really don’t like being carried around like this and—”
Smack.
“Stop, please! Stop!”
“I like it when you ask me to stop,” he murmurs. “It makes me want to do it again.” Smack.
“Please! Stop! Red!”
He pulls me down suddenly and unties my wrists, the black hole of his face just inches from me. “What did you say, now?”
“Uhm… stop. Please.”
“The other word. Red. Why did you say it?”
“I… don’t know.”
The mask flusters me, and so does the scent coming from him, something that feels both familiar and strange. I try to turn away, but he grabs my chin and tilts my face so all I can do is stare into his abyss.
“I know you’re in there, Lia,” he whispers. “I’m going to break your body and draw you out. I’m going to free you, baby.”
I swallow nervously as his arms wrap around me, and the warmth from his body makes me dizzy.
“I don’t know who you are,” I murmur. “Please… show me your face.”
“You have to earn it,” he says, threading his fingers through my hair. “You don’t know my name yet; you have to call me by my name if you want to see my face.”
“I don’t think I know who you are,” I protest, as he hooks his hand around my wrist and pulls me along. “I don’t know your name.”
“Do you know your name?”
“Uhm…” I frown, trying to remember what he’d called me. “Laura.”
“Silly girl.” His tone is warm, but I can tell the laughter in his voice is forced.
“Where are you bringing me?” I try to fight him as he tugs me along, but he doesn’t let my resistance deter him.
“Be a good girl and walk, or I’ll carry you again. Want me to carry you? You stink, by the way,” he adds, as he holds me closer to him.
“Asshole.”
“Have you even taken a shower in the past month, naughty girl? Are those the clothes you left in? When’s the last time you’ve had anything to eat? You’re just skin and bones.”
“Uhm…”
“Do you know how to do anything?”
“Yes. I know how to fire a bazooka.”
By now he’s dragged me into the elevator of a building, and he pushes on the third floor button. When the doors open again, he goes back to dragging me to the other end of the hallway.
He opens the door and pulls me toward the living room, where a dark-haired, pale-faced man is sprawled on a couch, drinking a glass of whisky, a gun on his knee. A slim girl with a tumble of black hair sits beside him, but I barely look at her, my eyes glued to the gun on the man’s knee.
I make a sudden movement toward it, but the masked man slams an arm against my middle, holding me back.
“Easy, now.”
The whisky-drinking man turns to my captor, blinking at him lazily.
“Aren’t you gonna take that mask off? Bet your face is getting pretty sweaty under it.”
“Shut up, Damien. I’ll be right back. I have to lock this one in her cage.”
“Okay. By the way, Everest just said they think a DNA test is possible. For Jane, I mean.”
I tense.
“Jane…” I gasp. “Jane…”
“That name means something to you, doesn’t it?” murmurs the masked man. “Who’s Jane?”
I shake my head, loud sobs leaving my throat. “I don’t… know…”
“You’ve been hunting her.” His fingers play with my hair, and I have to force myself not to sink into his touch. “But you don’t know who she is. And the Puicin Gang have been after you. What do you call them again? The black holes?”
I shudder. “You’re one of them.”
“Hmm.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, baby. I’m going to give you a bath and put you to bed.”
The masked man leads me to a bathroom and runs a bath. I take a few steps back, flattening myself against the wall.
“It’s just water and soap,” he murmurs. “It won’t kill you.”
Unlocking my handcuffs with a key he must have found in the police car, he pulls up my shirt and tugs down my jeans, which are, I guess, very dirty. I’ve had more important things to do than focus on laundry lately. In fact, I don’t think I had any spare clothes. I don’t really remember, though.
“Alright, baby.” He removes his own shirt, and I stare at the injuries riddling his torso.
Half the skin on his chest is missing; it’s reddened and scabbed.
And then, there’s the hand that’s got the ugly beginnings of a deep scar on the palm.
I hadn’t noticed it before. And his arm, which also seems to be recovering from a bullet wound.
I wonder if I once shot him with a bazooka, or if his injuries were caused by something else.
“Are you going to…” I swallow nervously. “...get in the bath with me?”
“Uh huh. Come on.” Now entirely naked, he walks over to me. I try hard to avert my eyes from his massive cock as he slips an arm around me and pulls me to the tub. “You’re awfully nervous for a girl who’s been going around killing people, aren’t you?”
“I… no, I’m not.”
“Mhm hmm. That’s okay. I like it when you’re my little scaredy-cat. Come on.”
Ignoring my mumbled protest, he lifts me gently into the tub, leaning me against him. I can’t help it, I feel myself relax into him. He lathers me with soap, running his hands all over me, and it feels so good. I must have been very tense for a very long time. Before I can help it, I moan softly.
“You’re a very grimy baby,” he croons, lathering up my hair and touching some bald spots I didn’t know I had. “You’re going to feel a lot better after this.”
I whine in regret when he pulls me gently out of the tub, wrapping me in a thick towel. He dries me, rubbing me all over with it, before throwing it aside.
“My clothes,” I shiver.
“You don’t need clothes. No clothes anymore. You’ll have to earn them.”
He carries me into the adjoining room, and my body tenses again when I see what can only be described as a massive gold cage.
“What the hell?”
“On your hands and knees, baby,” he growls. “Go on.”
“No.” I shake my head. “No, I don’t want to. I don’t want to be here. Let me go. If you’re not going to kill me, let me go.”
“I won’t kill you,” he says, his voice sounding sad. “But you are going to get on your hands and knees. Don’t make me force you.”
“No!”
He huffs out a sigh, then pushes me down in front of the cage. He presses his finger to some sort of sensor, inputs a code, and then I hear the metal jangle of a key in a lock.
“What is this?” I gasp. “What are you doing? I don’t want to get in there. I won’t. Give me back my bazooka!”
“Shh. It’s okay, Lia. Relax. Everything’s fine.”
But it doesn’t feel fine. It doesn’t feel fine at all. I cry out when he pushes me through the tiny door, which I can only fit through when I’m on my hands and knees, then locks it behind me.
“Please!” I cry. “Please, let me go! I don’t want to be here! I want my bazooka!”
I struggle against the bars, desperately trying to find some way back out. But the cage is made of thick, strong metal. I’m trapped.
At last, tired of my struggle, tired of the masked man sitting on the bed watching me, I inch back and take full stock of my situation.
I’m stark naked and trapped in a cage. There’s a pile of pillows and a comforter on one side, and that’s about it. I fall to the floor, choosing the side without the pillows, because I want to hurt.
I’m suffering, and I need to feel it on my skin so my heart can breathe. Curling into a little ball, I cry myself quietly to sleep.