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Pulling up a chair, he sat next to me, an almost sad expression on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Except, I don't really believe you." He pinched his lips together. "I had hoped that I wouldn't have to force this. I gave you many years of freedom. I'd hoped that you would appreciate that."
"I d-did."
"Do you remember the first time we met, Tatiana?"
I nodded, the moment seared into my memory. "Yes."
"Good," he said. "I do, too. And from that moment, I knew I had to have you. Except," he sniffled, "You were just a tiny thing. So skinny. Weak. And I couldn't have that. So I did the things I did to make you strong. Resilient. Don't you see? Until you were strong enough to even go after me, your own husband." There was a knowing gleam in his eye. "And the night you tried to kill me, I couldn't have been more proud. I'd made you so powerful. And then, I let you go. Free, to spread your wings. To be the strong eagle thatIcreated, in you." He shook his head, his eyes darkening, "But you disappointed me, Tatiana. Instead of a fierce eagle warrior, you became the small bird once again. You grew weak." Disgust filled his tone, and the chair squeaked on the floor as he pulled his chair even closer to me. I flinched at the movement as he raised his hands towards my arm. "It looks like I'm going to have to start all over."
"No!" I struggled now, fighting to get away, panic climbing up my throat. "No!"
"Hold her down," Manuel commanded, and then it was impossible for me to escape as several pairs of hands grabbed me at once. One of them smashed my head into the table, and I could only blink my eyes, holding back tears as I stared at the cook who'd cleaned up the blood earlier. She pressed against the wall, her expression terrified.
"You'll be happy to know that I've perfected the formula," he said, injecting the needle into a small patch of skin at my shoulder, "Now, I can control any part of your body I wish." A tingling sensation washed down my arm.
The cook bit down on her trembling lip, her eyes still locked on mine.
"Where before, your whole body was crippled, now I can paralyze only the parts I wish, and leave the others." He was injecting me all over my body now, my arms and legs, my stomach. The tingling sensation grew, billowing throughout me. "If I wish."
The cook finally looked away, unable to hold my gaze as Manuel held the needle to my face. He paused, leaning over, his breath pouring over my skin. "This time, I'll let you move your head. I want you to watch as I work. I've got a new design for you, an even better one. I've been practicing my art."
I couldn't stop the agonized groan escaping my throat. "No," I whimpered. "Please."
"What was that?" He bent closer to my mouth.
"Please," I begged, hating the helplessness, the agony, the dread. The sheer terror filling me as a memory came, unbidden.
"Unfortunately, I don't trust you yet, Tatiana." He straightened, laying the needle on the table. Then he snapped his fingers, and one of his guards stepped forward, a tattoo gun in his hands. "Now," Manuel smiled, "If you ever escape again, you won't be able to hide from me this time. Everyone will know that you belong to me."
I was suddenly thrown back in time, the sound of the ocean in my ears.
Even though my body was paralyzed, I could still feel the pain radiating from my collarbone outward, climbing up my neck and pounding into my head.
“I settled on a design, one I think you'll like.” His eyes moved back to my collar, where the tattoo gun in his hand was moving over my skin. He focused on it intently, quiet for a brief moment, the only sound the buzz, buzz, buzzing. I would never forget that sound.
I couldn’t twitch a finger, shake my head, or even hold my bladder. Though I tried.
Yes," he continued, somehow seeing my effort, "I think I finally figured out the exact right dose. Enough of the poison to keep you alert but unable to move."
He'd been experimenting with it for months, finally discovering a way to force me to do his bidding. To wait patiently at the door, instead of trying to escape. To wait for him on the bed, so he could fuck me, instead of locking myself in the bathroom.
He could force me to do anything now.
My lips parted, drool leaking down my chin. I wanted to scream!
"Disgusting." He frowned, wiping it with the napkin from the table.
Once again, I was struck with helplessness, the urge to run making me feel twitchy.
In honor of the very creature you despise so much,” he continued, once I was clean.
His words made my body go cold. He was tattooing a deathstalker scorpion on me, for fuck’s sake. The source of the poison itself.
Not that it would matter what he tattooed on me. It was his way of claiming me. Of showing me that I belonged to him. That he could do anything he wanted to me, and I had no choice in the matter.
Grief billowed in my chest, forcing another whimper from my throat and red flush his face. I knew what he would do a moment before the palm of his hand whipped across my cheek, making my head fly back.
“You dare disrespect me! You should feel honored to have the mark of the scorpion!" His eyes narrowed again, the soullessness in them making my whole body ice over with fear.