Page 9 of Breaking Sanity (Hell’s Asylum #1)

Alley

This gives me a chance to get them a little closer so I can build a better description of them and test their strength. Sizing them up if you will. Just on the off chance I do escape.

Now, though, being dragged by the real life Jason Vorhees, I am slightly regretting it. He’s absolutely fucking terrifying. Fifteen steps for me is one stride for him.

The tree of a man is in a simple black shirt, khaki cargo pants, and worn-out combat boots.

None of it is too tight but doesn’t do a good job of hiding the corded muscles underneath.

His hair looks to be about finger length on the sides with longer slicked back hair on the top.

I would guess he’s probably due for a haircut.

From the skin I can see, he is completely covered in tattoos.

His arms have colorful tattoos fading into black ink from his elbow up.

The designs are disturbing, like he got the souls of his victims tattooed into his flesh as trophies.

His neck is covered in black ink but I can’t make out the designs.

They do go up into his hairline. Since I have yet to see his face, I’m going to assume it has tattoos as well.

The hand that has my ankle in a choke hold is strong, massive, and veiny. It’s covered by a haunting melting jaw of a skull tattoo and there is some ink on his fingers. I try to maneuver my body to get a better look. That only leads to a sharp rock grating up my back.

Biting my tongue, I grab the rock after it’s done carving into my shoulder.

I know that is probably being a little over dramatic but damn does it sting.

No surprise though given the jagged edges.

It almost appears to be an old arrowhead, like the ones you get from a field trip touring a ghost town.

I used to collect them from every cheesy gift shop.

In a split second, I impulsively chuck it at his giant head. To my surprise, the sharp tip hits him right under the occipital bone. He drops my ankle and swiftly turns to face me. I push myself up onto my palms. He slowly cocks his head from side to side studying me.

Because that isn’t creepy.

Yep, we’re gonna die!

“I can walk, you know,” I say, trying to get to my feet. My body is so sore from being thrown around, choked, jumping out of a car, and running, so getting my legs to want to move is a chore.

“I’m sure you can,” he speaks. “But I can’t trust that you won’t run.”

Good God his voice is eerily deep like the voice modulator for ghost face was possessed by a creature of hell.

His voice is deep like Sebastian. Though Sebs’ has a seductive tone to it, this one is laced with a sinister tone.

Which matches his current state of crouching down slowly to get a better look.

I move closer so I can see the color of his eyes, but he hangs his head laughing.

Dammit!

Out of all the scenarios playing in my head, I would have never expected him to extend his hand out offering to help me to my feet.

Eyeing his hand, like it were a snake about to strike, I scoot closer.

I extend my hand out, instead of taking his, I jump forward trying to snatch his mask.

He must have read my mind, because he swiftly grabs my wrist right before.

With ease he yanks me up as he stands and tosses me over his shoulder.

Slap!

I don’t think I have ever had my ass slapped that hard and it makes me see red. The only response I can think of is to bite him. It’s an awkward angle but I sink my teeth in the dip of his side right on his rib cage.

“Fuck,” he grunts, stopping.

I sink them deeper like I were a shark and violently shake my head back and forth to tear through the skin. It only takes a few times until a metallic copper taste hits my tongue through the fabric. I loosen my jaw just a little bit and try to do it again.

A hand fist my hair at the base of my skull, and my head is yanked up into an uncomfortable almost ninety-degree angle. The face staring at me is half covered. The Phantom of The Opera mask, honestly one of my favorites.

This brother is a couple of inches shorter but built as if he lives in the gym.

Surprisingly, he still doesn’t look like a steroid-ridden bodybuilder.

His body isn’t what I focus on, it’s his partially exposed face.

I would say he is late thirties or early forties based on the crow’s feet at the corners of his eye.

Yet the rest would say early thirties given the perfectly square jaw line with an adorable dimple in the center of his chin, hidden under a light brown 5 o’clock shadow.

His eyes though, they’re a bright hazel color.

The light brown definitely wins over the baby blue in the irises but still stunning.

I know I am staring but like holy hell!!

As if he knows what I am thinking, an evil grin that would even send the devil sprinting for the hills, mars his face.

It causes the nasty scars going down his cheek and one almost similar to mine going underneath his mask to wrinkle.

There is also one that crosses his lips.

They are old given the stark white color of them, and that they are a contrast to his beautifully sun-kissed skin.

Yep, definitely created in a damn lab.

I let my eyes trail down to his neck, which is free of tattoos.

Moving my gaze lower, his black long sleeve shirt clings to his body as if like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Every curve of muscle is defined in detail, including the …

yep, six pack washboard abs. Unlike the man holding me like a sack of potatoes, this one is much stalkier.

His waist doesn’t narrow completely, but you can still see the V that leads to something I never want to see.

His cargo pants are a looser fit but you can still tell he has thighs that could crush your head with minimal effort.

To tie the outfit together, he is wearing combat boots.

Note to self - tread lightly with Scarface here.

Seriously Alley, let’s just behave.

“Now, Little One,” he says in an authoritative voice. “No biting or your teeth will be removed.” He has a slight New England accent and of course a deep voice. It’s an octave higher than Sebs and Jason. But he definitely has that no nonsense tone.

Despite the warning from the voices in my head, I work my throat to create the saliva and blood mixture together before I spit it in his face.

“Come try,” I taunt, revealing my blood tinged teeth.

He swipes the concoction off his cheek and presses his pointer and middle finger on my bottom lip.

“Open,” he orders, but I make no attempt to comply, just smirk and cock my eyebrow in challenge. That seems to irk him. In an instant his face is less than six inches from mine.

God damn you!!

“Now,” he barks, but I still don’t comply. Instead I just hold his gaze and match his glare. Most people’s eyes go dark when angered, but his eyes burn brighter.

That can’t be normal.

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he squeezes my jaw forcing it to open. He rams his fingers to the back of my throat, causing tears to spring to my eyes from the sudden aggressive intrusion. After basically giving my mouth a cavity search he removes his calloused digits.

“You will not be doing that again, or there will be worse consequences than my fingers down your throat.” His voice is deadly with a hint of amusement.

“Let’s get her to intake, she has a visitor,” Jason says, starting to walk again.

Wait, a visitor? I don’t like the sound of that.

Are we taking bets on who it is?

Knock it off!

Twenty bucks says it’s the ex-husband!

That’s too predictable.

Seriously, I’ll ask for a lobotomy if you both don’t shut up!

On the trek to the building, I calmed down the attempts to escape and just continued the staring contest with Phantom.

It’s easy since he keeps up with the speed walk of Jason through the dimly lit corridors.

The room that we enter looks like an intake room at a psych ward.

Yes, I would know. I’ve seen my fair share.

“Stay sitting,” Jason barks, throwing me into a chair.

He moves toward the cabinet counter set up and starts rummaging through it .

I ignore my urge to stand by keeping my eyes on Phantom.

He has closed the door and leans against it with one foot over the other and arms crossed over his strong chest. We continue glaring at each other.

That is until large lean fingers grab my wrist, slamming it into the cold arm of the chair. I break eye contact to glare at Jason.

“That was unnecessary,” I snark. He ignores me and restrains my wrist with a padded cuff, then moves to the other one to repeat the process.

Is this actually an old asylum?

I start to look around, but it looks clean, not creepy and broken down like what you see in video games or movies.

I would say this room was probably renovated about a decade ago, given the off white painted walls and doctor office like cabinets and the desk to my back right.

With the vitals cart off to the front left corner.

“Took you long enough,” a voice says from behind me.

I called it!

“Your ex-wife here decided she didn’t want to play nicely,” Phantom reports. Because I can be childish sometimes, I stick my tongue out at him in response. His eyes narrow making it absolutely impossible to not throw him a victorious smile.

“She doesn’t know how,” Theodore bites, coming to stand in front of me. “Can we get a minute alone?”

The two brothers exchange looks before they go to exit.

“I suggest you be on your best behavior,” Phantom warns, grabbing the door frame and looking directly at me.

“Are you going to come back and make me if I’m not,” I taunt.

The only response I get is him genuinely smiling, revealing perfect white teeth. He starts to whistle some tune as he shuts the door behind him.

I hate you!