Page 28 of Asylum
She scoffs. “You’re selling people’s organs?”
My jaw clenches. “You shouldn’t have heard that.”
She watches me for a few moments before a grin tugs at her lips, followed by a surprisingly creepy cackle. My body goes rigid as she doubles over, laughing hysterically for several long minutes. She’s gasping for air, tears leaking from her eyes while I’m growing more agitated. Opening the top drawer of my desk, I slip a sedative filled syringe into my pocket, just in case.
She finally composes herself, her gaze snapping to mine, heavy judgement in her eyes. “Everything about you is fucking disgusting. You’re a psychopath masquerading as a doctor. And what’s worse, you think you’re actually helping people when in reality, you get off to the torture. You make me fucking sick.”
Two strides, and I grip her biceps, pushing her against the wall. “Go on, little doll. Tell me how you really feel. Oh wait. It doesn’t matter because you’re fucking mine. I’ll do whatever I want, whenever I want, and there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it.”
She spits in my face. “I hate you.”
Wiping the expelled saliva from my eyes, I grin. “You only think you do now.” She tenses at my words, her eyes tracking the movement as I pull the syringe from my pocket, removing the cap with my teeth. Turning my head to the side, I spit it out onto the floor. “You just wait.”
She lands a blow to my jaw, but I recover quickly. Releasing her bicep, I wrap my fingers around her throat. She claws at my arm as I restrict her airway, but I’m stronger.
I’ll always be stronger.
I sink the needle into her skin just above my fingers. The fight slowly leaves her body as the sedative takes hold, and she sinks to the floor. Blood oozes from the cuts and scrapes her nails left behind, and I lift my arm to my mouth, licking the warm liquid from my skin.
I wish it were hers.
Fucking hell, I admire her strong will, her fiery spirit. It makes my cock hard. I’d love nothing more than to fuck the attitude right out of her. Wake up every morning to see it’s returned, just to fuck it out of her again. Shaking my head, I push the fantasy from the forefront of my mind. There’s more pressing matters to attend to.
It’s time to teach my little doll a lesson about sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.
My eyes won’t open, and I’ve become entirely too familiar with this feeling.
I’ve been drugged.Again.
Fucking Atlas.
He’s such a piece of shit. I’ll never understand how I couldn’t see it at first. Why couldn’t I see past the charm, the bullshit façade?
“Kill him!”The little voice whispers into my mind for the millionth time.
Believe me, bitch. If I could, I would.
My head is throbbing but when I try to move it, I can’t. Attempting to lift my hands to my head, I can’t move those either. Same for my legs. Warring with the pain shooting through my skull, I peel my eyes open, and I shudder. I’m sitting in front of a wall-length mirror. My head, arms, torso and legs are strapped into a wooden chair. It reminds me of the electric chairs I’ve seen on crime documentaries following death row inmates.
No. No. No.
This can’t be fucking happening.
Just as I notice a door behind me, it opens. Atlas walks in with a sly grin on his face, and my stomach churns. “Hello, little doll,” he coos, and the sound of his voice has bile rising in my throat.
I steel my spine and lift my chin the best I can while strapped to this fucking chair. “What form of torture will you be performing today, Dr. Stone?”
His grin widens to a full, beaming smile. “We’re going to play a game.”
He walks to the corner of the room, wheeling over a cart and stool I didn’t see before. He sits in front of me, opening the second drawer of the cart. He pulls out a handful of long, skinny papers, laying them on top. He lifts one of the paper sleeves, slowly pulling an object from the packaging.
My body begins shaking uncontrollably.
Needles.
I watch in horror as he unwraps ten needles, carefully laying them in a row on top of a white cloth.
What the fuck is he going to do with those?