Total pages in book: 205
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
Scanning the room, I direct my attention to the glass of water on the desk.
He follows my gaze and nods. “Rohypnol. It was better that you were unconscious while I prepared you.”
I’m going to be sick.
Please, no. Don’t puke. Not with the gag in my mouth, which I can only assume is the underwear I’m no longer wearing.
The effort to fight back nausea is my undoing. The trembling begins in my legs and sweeps through my core. Beads of sweat drip down my chest, and violent shudders harden my nipples.
I want to curl up and die.
“Christ, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” He skulks to the foot of the bed and rests his fingertips in his front pockets. “I’ve waited years for this.”
The sadistic puppet master studies me with glimmering glee in his eyes. Given my nudity, sex is on the menu. What about pain and torment? How long will it last? How much will I bleed?
There are no laws here. No justice for the unjust. Anything goes. Whips, canes, sodomy with a knife, mutilation, dismemberment, death…
Why is he just standing there? Every minute that passes floods my brain with new horrors. I can’t bear it.
He tips his head as if hearing something beyond the door.
Is it Wolf? My heart speeds up.
“It’s time.” He smiles.
A cruel smile, etched with the jagged edges of sadistic pleasure, curves upon lips that whisper sick desires and sow seeds of ruin. It’s a grin that mocks the very notion of humanity, a fiendish expression that relishes in the suffering of others.
The eyes, twin portals into the Ninth Circle, gleam with malevolent stars, piercing through veils of deceit. Within those depths, there is only a soulless pit of bones, a boundless chasm devoid of empathy or remorse, where compassion has long been sacrificed on the altar of cruelty.
The contours of this face, carved by the claws of hell, betray the scars of countless despicable deeds. Each line, each wrinkle, tells a tale of manipulation, atrocity, and the erosion of all that is good and just.
For the first time since I met him, I finally see his true face.
41
Frankie
—
The air clots with suffocating reality, the horror of it so thick the very walls hold their breath, waiting for the unspeakable to stir. I can’t fill my lungs, and the gag prevents me from begging. Not that it would do any good.
Denver watches me with sickening calmness. I look away, focusing instead on the wide silver scar that runs from his elbow to his hand. A bear did that? I wish it had eaten his face off, starting with that hideous smile.
I should’ve slit his throat while he slept, shot him in the back, stabbed him with garden shears, poisoned his coffee, set him on fire, drowned him in a vat of gasoline, or tied him up in the hills and let the wolves rip him apart.
There’s only one way to defeat evil. Don’t let it live.
Over the last two months, I had so many opportunities to deal with this. But I did nothing.
Because if he dies, we all die.
I chew angrily on that until the door opens, and my pulse spikes anew.
Wolf walks in and slams to a stop, taking in the room. His gaze moves over my naked, restrained body without lingering and flicks to Denver’s dominant posture.
When he returns to me, to my eyes, the blood drains from his face. His arms hang limply at his sides. A towel clings to his narrow hips. Hair as dark as the moonless night cascades like a waterfall, dripping shower water onto his bare shoulders and framing his regal features, which slowly twist into a portrait of anguish.
“Frankie…” He shakes his head, lowering it, and scrubs his skull with agitated hands. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“No reason to apologize, Son.” Denver purses his lips.
“She’s sick. You can’t—”
“I poisoned her drink five days ago. The effects have worn off. She’s faking. Trying to deceive us both.”
“Oh.” With a swallow, he scrutinizes my exposed pussy and quickly averts his gaze. “Did you hurt her? Did you already t-touch…?”
“No. I haven’t touched her—”
“I’ll do it.” He jerks into motion and storms toward Denver, shoulders back. “Did you hear me? I’ll do it.”
“I know you will.”
He’ll do what? Take Denver’s place and rape me? Is that what he’s offering?
It can’t be.
That would be worse than Denver doing the deed himself. I care deeply for Wolf. I love him like a brother, a son, a best friend, and maybe, if I weren’t so fucked in the heart, I would…I could love him like a lover.
If he knows what he means to me, maybe he won’t do this. I have to show him. Somehow, I need to wordlessly communicate my feelings. Because if he does this, if he forces himself on me, it will hurt me in ways I won’t come back from.