Chapter 11
My eyes stay glued to the door for a few minutes after he leaves. I’m getting whiplash. The bastard changes every time I see him.
Are there multiple guys?
I think it over for a second, sure his personality changes, but everything else is the same. Those deep green eyes, his height, body and the way he holds himself with power.
Maybe he has a disorder.
I saw a show about that.
That thought makes the most sense; if there were three men, they couldn’t all look the same.
Why the mask?
I pick up the sandwich and take a small bite. The meat tastes off, but this isn’t the time to be picky. My stomach has been cramping from hunger. The “breakfast” barely cut the emptiness I felt. Going back to my train of thought, I run all the information over.
He already bought me, so why hide his face? Maybe he’s ugly?
I trash that idea as his intense eyes and god-like body run through my mind. There’s no way someone like that is ugly. He has about a foot or more on my 5‘3 frame, and he definitely works out. I smack my forehead in frustration.
Stop drooling over him!
He bought you at a fucking auction!
No upstanding good man would do that.
What did he mean this morning?
Working with him?
What kind of work could he do?
My mind races over jobs, each one is worse than the last. I shake away those thoughts and finish my food. Drinking a few sips of water to drown out the lingering taste of foul lunch meat. Even though I spent all day pacing the space I could, I stand up.
Moving to the end of the cot, I examine it for the 50th time. The metal legs are pushed down into the dirt. Cement fills the holes so I can’t move it.
I shift my ankle cuff so the lock is facing out and line it up with the bed’s leg. Cocking my leg back, I kick, slamming the lock into the leg. I do this ten times until my leg aches from the power of my kicks.
The lock is unharmed. My one plan failed. I had hoped that if I could get myself unchained, I could surprise him the next time the door opened and bolt. I give another kick, and the next time I blink, everything is black. The fucker turned off my light.
I stomp in frustration and huff, throwing my arms in front of me. I feel my way back to the cot and lie down, curling myself into the fetal position. My body is freezing, my hair still wet and starting to frizz.
What is going to happen in the morning?
Is it even night now?
I’m losing my sense of time.
My dreams are filled with the masked man. Slicing, dicing, and feasting on my flesh. Fucking me until I lay in a pool of blood and broken bones. No matter what, I can’t escape him.
The door slamming open wakes me up with a jolt. A yelp rips from me as I scramble to sit up. Fuckface is standing in the doorway with his stupid mask. The cross stitch grin mocking me, today there is 1 tally mark on his arch. The lone hanging thread in the left corner draws my attention.
“Morning Red. Game time.” His voice is muffled, but I hear his amusement. It seems like he’s back to the personality that bought me at the whorehouse.
“That’s not my name, fuckface!” I say with hatred. “My name’s…”
I cut myself off when he pulls out a gun. I’ve never seen one this close before. A cold sweat breaks out over me as I lock eyes with the weapon.
“Win the game and you get breakfast. Lose and…” he pauses, his sinister gaze stares into my soul. “You won’t like what happens if you lose. But I will.”
He lifts the gun up and gives it a little wave. I glare daggers at him, a slew of curses forming on my tongue, but I’m not stupid enough to insult the dude holding a gun. I watch in silence as he takes the gun apart. Tossing the pieces to the dirt.
I’m so confused as I watch the metal hit the dirt. He pulls out a single bullet and throws it further than the other parts. It rolls towards the side of the room that I was hosed down.
“A ticket out. Put it together and you win.” Without another word, he turns and leaves. Before the door fully closes, I hear his sing-song voice. “Time starts now.” The door clicks as it locks.
I sit there for a second before jumping up. “Hey, fuckface! I don’t know about guns. What’s the time limit?” I shout, standing over the disassembled gun.
My gaze snaps towards the camera in the corner, and I know the bastard is watching. “That’s not fair. You could fucking show me first. You limp dick motherfucker.” I scream at the lens, but the only answer I get is a voice filling my cell.
“Clock’s ticking.”
That snaps me out of my tantrum. If this is a game, then I’ll play to win. I fall to my knees, scrambling to collect all the pieces. The dirt gets under my nails. The 8 acrylics look out of place here. He left a bullet, and if I can get this together, then I’ll shoot his knee out when he gets back.
I could never kill a man. No matter how much I want to kill this asshole, I can’t. Killing is wrong and goes against my morals. My hands fumble with the pieces, and attempt to put it together like some fucked up jigsaw puzzle.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I get the small pin to click in place. Next, I grab the spring; that makes the most sense.
I can do this.
Small ones first and work your way up.
As I’m trying to jam it in place, my hands shake. Finally, and it slips in, a smile spreads across my face.
Yes!
God, I might actually do this.
I don’t know how much time’s left; I’ve been struggling for probably 10 minutes. I grab the barrel, hoping this is the next part, as the slider piece looks like it would go last. My hands are trembling, and I drop the metal. In my hurry to grab it, I move too quickly and bump it.
It rolls under the cot, my heart lurches in my throat as I dive in the dirt. Reaching under and searching for it, my hand connects and I rip it out.
I take a deep breath, and calm myself down before trying again. It pops into place. I’m practically jumping out of my skin as I reach for the last piece, mentally cheering myself on, when the door bursts open.
“Times up. Put it down and back away,” his growled voice demands. It startles me, making my head snap up.
“You motherfucking asshole! I almost had it. You’re a dickwad that was watching and knew I was close. You son of—” My rant cuts off as he pulls out a small double-sided knife from his belt. In one fast flick of his wrist, the knife flies towards me.
I scream, dropping the unfinished gun as it zips by my head. It grazes my ear, but I barely feel the sharp sting as fear racks my body. It lodges in the wooden wall behind me.
“That was a fucking warning. I won’t miss my next throw, and I’ll aim right for your eye. Now get your ass on the fucking bed and shut your yap.” He yells at me, my breath catching in my chest.
I rush to my feet and sit on the cot, eyes wide as I stare at him. Finally, my lungs turn back on. I take a breath as he picks up the gun and bullet, turning towards the door. I think that’s the end of it and that he’ll leave. But he tosses the pieces out the door and slams it shut.
“Fucking pathetic! 1 minute is how long it should take to pull it apart and put it back together .” He storms towards the knife still in the wall. I scoot back on my cot as he rips the blade out and turns his fiery gaze on me.
I go to say something, but he aims the knife at me.
“Shut your whore mouth. Don’t say a word, bitch.
I gave you 15 minutes, and you still fucking failed!
Disgraceful!” He stalks towards me with the knife still pointed at me.
I’m shaking, my air coming out in pants but I don’t dare break eye contact.
I grip my knees and try to make myself as small as possible. A scream leaves me as he grabs my ankle and tugs me towards him. I fall backwards, kicking my other leg out. It nails him in the face, causing his head to whip to the side.
He slowly turns to look at me, and his eyes twinkle with humour. “Oh, Red, you fucked up.”
He pounces on top of me, straddling my hips and putting the knife to my neck. His thick thighs crush my pelvis as he squeezes me. I’m frozen, tears fill my eyes as he puts a little pressure on the knife. A whimper leaves my lips, and I try to escape it. He chuckles and drags it down my pulse point.
He continues his slow path, going between my breasts. “You really pissed me off, so now you get two punishments for losing.” He explains as he slices into my left tit.
A sob leaves me from the pain. It’s mostly in fear. The cut is sharp, but I can tell it didn’t go deep. “I wasn’t going to do this yet, but you already forgot one thing I told you.”
His eyes never leave my gaze as he works a knee between my legs, using it to spread my right leg out. He fits himself between and goes for his button with his free hand.
“Do you know what that was?” he asks in a deadly indifferent tone as he pops the button and drags down his zipper. My eyes track the movement as he pulls them down slightly and his cock pops free. My eyes scan it, but I don’t see the tattoo.
I don’t get a second to dwell on the missing ink when he lines his tip to my entrance. My eyes widen and snap back to look at his mask-covered face.
“You forgot my name. It isn’t fuckface. IT’S MASTER,” he yells as he slams to the hilt, bottoming out inside me.
I scream, but no sound comes out. Pain slices through my pussy and travels all over my body. My insides spasm in agony. I’m not wet at all, and it burns even more when he pulls out.
He must find the dry drag uncomfortable because he moves his hood forward and spits on my entrance. Then he slams back in to destroy me from the inside.
Gasps, whimpers, pained moans and sobs rack my body. But it’s all drowned out by his grunts and moans of pleasure. “God dammit. Your slutty hole can’t get enough of my dick. So fucking tight,” he grits out. I can feel that his thrusts have some glide.
I’m pretty sure it’s from my pussy bleeding and not because I’m getting wet. The smell of sweat, copper and sex fills the room, but he doesn’t slow his assault.
His hand shoots up and wraps around my neck. Pushing me deeper into the hard bed, he squeezes and cuts off my air. The whole time his eyes don’t leave mine.
I panic, struggling for air. I reach up and wrap my hands around his wrist. Tears have been pouring down my face, and I can’t see because of them.
I feel the cold metal of his knife as the fucker drags it up my body. Curses flow off his tongue, and he gives a few more pumps before I feel his cum spurt deep inside me. He releases my neck, and I gasp for air.
He stays inside me, breathing deeply. After a moment, he reaches his hand up and grips my face. I slam my eyes closed when he squeezes my cheeks, causing my mouth to open. Next thing I hear is him spitting.
His saliva hits the back of my throat, and my eyes fly open just in time to see him fixing his mask back in place. I go to spit him out when his other hand clamps my mouth shut. “Fucking swallow slut.”
Gulping quickly, I do as I’m told. He gets off me, and puts his dick away. I roll over on my side, pulling my knees up to my chest as my body shakes. The pain is throbbing and intense.
“Learn some respect and your life will be splendid,” he mocks theatrically. “You’re mine! I own you. The sooner you accept that, the better it will be. Next time I might even bring some lube. For my sake, not yours.” I don’t say a word as he heads for the door.
It unlocks, and he pushes it open, stopping in the doorway. “I’ll be back later. You’ll be informed when part two of your punishment starts.” Then he leaves without anything else.
The second the door locks, I let the sobs free, my body convulses as I cry. My life flickering through my mind.
I’ll make him fucking pay, even if I die trying.