Page 11 of Bared Betrayal

The terror of his footsteps pounding against the floor reverberates like an icy chill coursing through my veins. The door to her cell opens, and my heart is torn from my chest as I watch him toss her eerily still body into the corner of her prison.

“No. No. No. No. What did you do to her?” I scream. “What the fuck did you do to her?” The steel bars rattle as I shake and pull at them, no longer a prisoner but a rabid animal.

He doesn’t move. It’s like he’s not even breathing. Do monsters need air?

Abruptly, his head snaps in my direction, leaning to the side as he stares at me, a sickening countenance radiating off him as he takes a step.

Another.

And another.

Until he’s standing right in front of me.

I don’t fear him. Not right now. Not while the sight of her lifeless body fuels my hate.

“I’m going to kill you,” I bite out, spit shooting from my lips. “I’m going to break out of here, and then I’m going to kill you. I fucking swear it.”

Still, he says nothing. Not a single fucking word. He stares at me as if I’m a mouse in a cage. A trapped rodent he could close his fist around and squeeze until my body would burst in his palm.

“Is she…is she alive?”

Please say yes.

Please say she’s still breathing.

“Tell me. Is she alive? Did you kill her?”

I can’t see his face. His expression. But his silence is screaming.

“Please, please, please,” I beg, my tears mixing with snot and lapping down my lips. “Tell me she’s still alive.”

He makes this hissing sound, and I watch with bated breath as he reaches through the bars. I know better than to wince or to try to jerk or scramble away. So I let him weave his filthy fingers through my dirty hair, my body trembling as I try to bite back tears. There is nothing he can do to me that will hurt more than the idea of her being dead.Do your worst.

I smell blood. I know it’s hers. I smell cum, too. His. Vile. Disgusting. Words don’t come close to describing the giant black hole this man is.

“Is she okay? Is she alive?” I ask, my lips quivering.

His grip on my hair tightens. “Yes.”

Relief crushes me, and my body sinks away in it. “Thank God.”

“Not God,” he spits out. “Me.”

My head is jerked forward so hard I’m sure my neck would snap. My face is slammed into the bars. And then…nothing.

Dr. Trudeaux’soffice smells like incense, but not the overpowering kind. It’s light, pleasant.

Chamomile.

I glance at the painting on the wall. “That’s new,” I say, studying the light pastel pinks of a sunset over an ocean of blue, waves breaking on the sand that reflects the soft tones.

“It is. I thought it was time for a change.”

“Do your patients like change?”

She smiles, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “That’s why I start with one thing at a time. A painting now. A scatter cushion next week. A new coffee mug the week after that.”

“Wise,” I remark.