Page 51

I might as well have been crying out underwater.

The hood blocked out all light and most sound.

The fabric didn't cut off all my air, but I had to strain to get oxygen in, my head swimming with the effort.

Or maybe that was panic? I didn't know.

Pavel was still behind me, his body pressed to mine, against the hot, painful welts left by the belt's sting.

The pain was a godsend.

It grounded me. Told me which way was up, and that I was still alive. I was in danger, but I was alive. As long as I drew breath, even if it was thick and smelled of my shame, there was a way out.

Temporarily deprived of my sight, the mirror was of no use in helping me figure out what he was doing. That somehow made everything so much worse when he secured what felt like a buckle around my throat.

I raised my arms to undo it, my fingers clawing at the straps to rip it free from my throat so I could breathe.

He quickly wrenched my hands down, pulling them behind my back and securing them with something cold and hard that bit into the delicate skin of my wrists.

Fear clawed through me as I tried to fight him, tried to pull my wrists away, but it was no use.

He'd handcuffed me!

I screamed out in frustration and fear, and I swore I could hear his low laugh, muffled by the hood.

"Calm yourself, little kitten. You'll only make it worse. You can't stop this, so you may as well enjoy it." His voice sounded so far away.

Then his hands were on me, pulling my head to the side so he could press his face to the hood.

I could just make out his muffled words from the other side of the thick fabric, but it didn’t distract me from his hands running from my back, up my arms and around to my breasts where he pinched my nipples, sending a sharp shock of pain through me and straight to my still-pulsing core.

"I know you enjoyed coming on the gun you stole from me. I can see how wet your cunt is, and you completely lost yourself to the adrenaline and fear."

He'd found the gun. Which could only mean one thing: he'd not only been to my apartment but had searched through my meager possessions to find it.

"No," I denied. Over and over, I rejected his words and the truth they held.

Seconds later, I was lifted off the floor.

His broad, warm shoulder pressed into my soft skin as my body was turned upside down.

He threw me over his shoulder like I was a sack of potatoes or something. Blood rushed to my head, and my ribs ached with every step he took, jostling me around.

Oh, my god. Oh, my god.

He was carrying me out of the club—naked and handcuffed.

Everyone was going to see the evidence of what we had done… no, what he had done to me.

My ass was still hot from the belting, my thighs still wet from what he had done with the pistol. It didn't matter how hard I clenched my thighs together, they would know.

Panic clawed its way up my chest when I realized it didn't matter what they saw.

It was going to be the last they ever saw of me.

Pavel was taking me to a second location.

I had listened to enough true crime podcasts to know what that meant.