Chapter 33
H ot, stale breath washes over my face. With a frown, I try to twist away from it, not wanting to leave my dreams behind just yet.
It’s getting harder and harder to conjure up Cora’s face, and it’s near impossible to remember what being held in Jonathan’s arms feels like.
The urge to burrow deeper into them while I can is a physical ache that nothing can alleviate.
“Ah, there’s my pretty pet. Come on, today’s a special day.
” He tells me as he frees my wrists from their restraints before moving lower and freeing my ankles.
Pins and needles race through the muscles as sensation floods back in.
Rotating my wrists to alleviate the pain, I keep my eyes trained on Kyle as he keeps up a steady stream of condescending small talk, gathering a length of rope before turning back to me.
Tutting at the fact I haven’t moved, he yanks me up by my shoulder before looping the rope through the ‘o’ ring in my collar.
Standing back, he smiles at the sight before tugging the rope, forcing me to my feet.
I don’t so much as flinch when he squeezes my ass, pulling my body into his and grinding his hardness against me.
“Come along. There’s no time to waste.” His sickly happy, slightly manic tone has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.
It’s been a while since our last visitor, and I hope that’s not about to change.
My ribs have seemingly healed, but the thought of playing the role of punching bag so soon has them twinging with phantom pain.
“What’s today, sir?” The words taste like ash as I grit them out, but prolonged silence on my end only serves to rile him up.
The last time I let him prattle on with no input resulted in a fractured wrist that still twinges.
The time before that, he burned off my pubic hair.
Needless to say, I’ve learnt to pick my battles now.
“I’m so glad you asked, pet. Today’s our anniversary.
Four years together, isn’t that wonderful?
” He turns to face me, a cocky smile painted on his face.
The implication is clear: anything other than an enthusiastic yes is the wrong answer.
And yet, how can he expect me to say four years of daily abuse, rape, and captivity is wonderful?
Four years I’ll never get back, even if I do find a way out of here.
Four years of scars I’ll carry with me forever.
Four years of nightmares disguised as reality.
My silence drags on, and slowly, his smile fades and twists into something ugly.
A twisted sneer would unnerve me if I weren’t so used to seeing it by now.
But what never fails to unnerve me is just how quick he can flick the switch.
In an instant, the slightly manic but chipper man is gone, and in his place is a man with evil behind his eyes and a snarl on his face as he backs me into the wall.
Boxing me in, he leans so close, I can smell the bourbon on his breath as he snarls, “I. Said. Isn’t. It. Wonderful?” Spittle hits my cheek with every word, and the revulsion crawling through me makes keeping a straight face even harder than normal.
“Y—yes,” I manage to choke out, doing my best to force a smile on my lips when all they want to do is curl back and flash my teeth at him.
What I wouldn’t give to rip his throat out with my bare teeth, to feel his blood splatter on my skin and know with every fibre of my being that I’m free, to watch the life drain out of him slowly, to repay every awful thing he’s done to me in kind.
Would that make me a monster? Or would my actions be just and pardoned in a court of law in a way his never would be?
Would my bloodlust be sated, or would it unleash a side of me born from agony and fear?
These questions plague me daily, but the answers never come.
“That’s more like it. Now, come along.” In a blink, he’s back to his chipper if not manic persona as, with a tug to the rope, he continues leading me out of the dark, dank basement and up to the main house.
For a moment, my feet are frozen in shock, eyes firmly glued to his back, waiting for him to realise his slip up.
Only, he never does, and I stumble to follow him before he clocks the fact I haven’t moved.
For the first time since I’ve been here, he’s forgone the blindfold.
Swallowing down my shock, I catalogue every inch of the house as we pass through a sparsely decorated living room towards the kitchen.
Seeing the front door covered in a maze of locks and the bars across each of the windows, my heart kicks up a notch.
Looking over his shoulder, he flashes me a smirk.
Biting my tongue against the retort he’s clearly waiting for, I plaster a demure smile on my face instead and flick my eyes to the floor as we get ever closer to the heavenly smell of food.
My mouth waters and my stomach grumbles, but I know better than to get my hopes up.
One of his favourite forms of torture is to tease me with what I can’t have.
An open door I’ll never exit.
Food that will never cross my lips.
A gun that will never enter my grip.
Freedom that will never be mine.
Or so he thinks .
Prior to my time here, I would have rolled my eyes at something so basic being a form of torture.
But when you’re robbed of your basic rights, served scraps of often out-of-date food, it’s surprisingly effective.
I’d do close to anything for even the smallest plate of the greasy food on offer or the luxury of having a bubble bath.
“As a treat for being such a good pet, I’ve decided to let you feed me.
And if you’re lucky, I might even give you a taste.
Now, come here,” he demands, taking a seat at the head of the table and patting his lap.
I eye the table full of more food than one could possibly consume, and a small, dangerous kernel of hope unfurls in my gut before I can stomp it out—hope for a kindness that might not come, but maybe if I do what he wants, he’ll allow me a few bites.
After all, he did say today was special…
Taking a deep breath, I shuffle closer to him. When I come to a stop at his side, he quirks an eyebrow at me in silent challenge. Swallowing my pride, I perch on his knee and pretend I can’t feel his eyes crawling over me.
“That’s my good pet,” he croons huskily, his enjoyment evident as he wraps an arm around my waist to pull me closer to him.
The tips of his fingers brush against my mound, and it’s all I can do not to throw up on his shiny black loafers.
That touch sets the tone for the rest of the meal.
As I scoop up the food and feed him, his fingers dip ever closer to my entrance, and never once does he follow through on letting me have any.
Once he’s had his fill, he uses his grip on my pussy to forcefully turn me so I’m straddling him.
“You like that, pet?” he taunts me as he plunges his fingers inside my dry channel.
While I wish I could spit in his face and claw his eyes out, I can’t, not if I want to make it out of this alive.
So instead, I shove how I truly feel into a box and nod my head, praying he’ll just think I’m too wrapped up in feeling good to speak.
With a smirk, he reaches up with his other hand to twist my nipple.
“I think it’s about time we pierce these.
A pair of matching Ks dangling from these rosy tits would look perfect, don’t you think? ”
The mere thought of him modifying my body to fit his sick desires has a scream fighting its way out.
Biting it back to a whimper, I let him think what he wants as I pray to a God I don’t believe in anymore that this will be over soon, one way or another.
There’s only so much one person can bear, and I’m fast approaching my end.
Something needs to give before I do. Smirking at me, he reaches between us, his hands going for his belt.
Ice trickles down my spine as dread settles into my bones.
But before he can make good on his intentions, a sharp ringing stops him in his tracks.
With a curse, he deposits me on the chair, muttering to himself as he ties the length of rope around the back of the chair.
“Fucking cock blocker cunt. What does she want?” Glaring at his phone screen, he paces the length of the kitchen as he picks up.
“What?” he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares at mine. “Now’s not a good time. Can’t this wait?” A pause. “Suspicious? Isn’t that what you’re there to stop?”
He scowls. “Well, get to work then. You know the drill. If Ciaran isn’t working, then move on to Jonathan.
I don’t care what you have to do, just keep them busy.
Pit them against each other if it comes to it.
” Hearing Jonathan’s name coming out of Kyle’s mouth has me straining to hear more over my pounding heart, but as the person on the over end continues, he lets out a groan and leaves the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
Flicking my eyes around the kitchen for any clue to help unpack what I just heard proves futile.
Bits and pieces of how I ended up here have glued themselves together, thanks to Angus’ big mouth, but never in my wildest dreams did I anticipate Kyle to have any kind of tie to Jonathan.
Maybe it’s just a coincidence—it’s not like Ciaran or Jonathan have overly unique names, but given the context…
Jonathan might not be mine anymore—and he may never be again—but I’ll be damned if I don’t do everything I can to protect the father of my child, the only man to ever make me feel safe and treasured .
Little does Kyle know, his little phone call has relit the fire of determination inside me just as hope was slipping from my grasp.