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Refused to look at the spotless room, at the pristine linens that were free of the reddish stains she’d left on them. Instead, she focused on her wrists. The bruises, the dark spots where she had rubbed the skin raw against rope and leather, the places where she had bled in pinprick dots. Her ankles matched. Her knees and shins were mottled with bruises. Those were things he couldn’t erase. Couldn’t clean up.

How much can you take before you snap?

His voice again. A question he had asked her the day before, just before he’d spread the bar between her legs a little wider, forcing her pussy against the thin beam of wood she straddled. Pelvic bone crushing sensitive flesh as her body weight rested on it, arms bound behind her back, toes aching as she tried to lift herself the tiniest amount. It had hurt, and then hurt worse. There always seemed to be worse.

Pain. Always more pain.

The torment on the wood had been in this room, as had so many other terrible things. Soft bed or not, he planned to give her more of the same. Every single day.

She had no idea how much time had passed since he had taken her. How many days. No clocks, no windows, no daylight, no night. Just lights, on or off. Just the erratic meals, or hollow hunger. Just time spent alone, or time with him.

How much can you take before you snap?

How much can you take?

How much?

She didn’t know. The questions spiraled inside her, edged like sharp knives, piercing her with tiny nicks. Death by a thousand cuts. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take, how many more hours, days… but she wasn’t broken yet. Wouldn’t stop fighting until she couldn’t anymore.

To stop fighting, to give in, that would be the worst thing of all — and she wouldn’t do it.

The bed shifted, her arm tugged out from under the pillow, and Beth groaned as she fought to stay asleep. In sleep there had been an endless peace, like sinking to the bottom of a warm, dark pool. Serene and quiet. But she felt strong fingers press her wrist against something, and then the crackling rip of velcro tore her eyes open.

A dark shape above her, backlit by the light from the bathroom, but when he lifted his head he looked wrong. Shoulders too broad, hair too short.

“You’re awake. Good.”

No. His voice was wrong too. Panic flared to life inside her, finding new fuel as he pressed a knee to the bed to lean forward and wrap a black strip around her thigh. “Stop,” she half-demanded, half-begged the stranger above her.

Because that’s what he was, a stranger. A new threat.

She tried to raise her hands, but found that one was tethered to the thigh closest to him by a matching black strip. Her confusion allowed him to stretch the velcro and attach it to her thigh. “NO!” she shouted, desperate, sitting up to rip at the slick fabric around her other wrist, but he pulled her hand away, grip too strong to fight.

Had he sold her already? Was this it?

“Please, don’t…” she begged as he forced her arm to her thigh, joining it to the wide strap by the attached cuff, leaving her defenseless. No matter how she twisted her hands, she couldn’t break free, couldn’t bend her fingers enough to get a grip on the velcro to pull it open.

The man walked away from her towards the door, and for a moment she thought he might leave, but then the lights came on. Vicious, too bright. She flinched away from them, dropped back on the bed, clenching her eyes tight.

“Beth.” It was the surprising use of her name that made her look at him again. Stunned by the sound of it, because there had been so many degrading names spoken by the other one in the days he’d had her, but never her name. Only once, that first night, in this bed.

“Please…” She didn’t even know why she whispered it, why the word escaped her lips so soft and pathetic — it was ridiculous to think he would help her, he had just tethered her wrists to her thighs — but she still looked up at him with foolish hope.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked. Attractive like the other one, but more warm. More human. There was a subtle smile on his lips, a curve to his mouth that rang true as his eyes roamed over her skin.

She shook her head slowly, hoping to delay whatever was coming next.

“Interesting.” He pulled off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair in the corner. Then his shirt followed, and she held her breath. Carved abs, a sculpted chest, broad shoulders, and strong arms. The flicker of attraction to his body was short-lived, because he stepped forward to brush his fingers over the strap holding her right wrist down. “You have not submitted.”

Her body jolted, fire filling her mind with purpose. “I won’t.”

A chuckle rumbled up from his chest. “You will.”

“No,” she hissed.

“Are you sure?” he asked as he slid his hand under her head, threading his fingers through her hair until he slowly formed a fist. Sparks of pain lit up across her scalp as he used his grip to pull her into a sitting position.

She felt like a doll. Poseable and vacant, arms trapped at her sides. But she had already made up her mind — one monster or another — she wasn’t giving in. “I’m sure,” she answered, prepared for pain, but his fist in her hair only leaned her forward a little further… and then he climbed onto the bed behind her.