Page 21

21

DORIN

I wake in the middle of the night, cold sweat beading on my brow and heart pounding in my chest.

I haven’t woken from a nightmare since I beat my father to death when I was fifteen and retook the power he had stolen from me.

I can’t even remember what I dreamed, but an acute sense of unease crawls across my skin even as I turn the lights on, leave the bed, and get dressed.

Rex gives a slow whine as he gets up from the rug beside the bed and follows me through the living room to the kitchen area.

I grab a few pieces of cold cuts from the fridge, throw him one, and stuff the rest into my mouth.

“You’ll get fat and lazy if I feed you every time you look at me like that,” I tell him as he keeps staring at me expectantly.

Leaning down to scratch him behind the ear, I add, “Go back to bed. I have something I need to check on.”

His paws scrape against the floor as he follows me to the door.

I’ve trained him well enough that he knows not to go farther without permission, so he settles for giving me another wide-eyed stare as I step into the hall.

I have no idea how the big dog with a bark that can scare even the worst of men got so cuddly.

It’s not just food he shamelessly begs for.

“Not now, buddy.” I sigh and close the door.

As I make my way to the basement, an image pops into my head: Rex lying beside the fragile woman in the padded cell, cuddling up against her as she lies there in the straitjacket, sad and broken, and her burrowing her face into his soft fur as she weeps.

I’m sure he would love to provide comfort like that, and I think she just might love it too.

My mind wanders.

I imagine lying down behind her, taking turns stroking his fur and her golden locks, listening to their breathing slowing down as they both fall asleep.

I would drift away quickly too.

A sense of dread pulls me from the peaceful images as I open the heavy door leading into the dungeon.

An urgent feeling that something is wrong keeps tugging at me, getting worse with each step I take toward the hall with the padded cells.

It keeps gnawing and twisting to the point where I run.

My gut feeling is always right.

It’s like some kind of bad déjà vu as I rip the door to her cell open.

There, in the middle of the floor, sits the blue-eyed woman with the milky white skin and blonde hair.

Instead of the white tiles of the night I found her, the walls are covered in white padding.

But even this room can’t protect her from herself.

Just like that first night, there’s blood.

It’s not as violent or pervasive, filling the tub and staining the walls, but the trail of red down her arm is just as frightening as she digs her teeth into her wrist.

Shocked, I hover.

It’s only for a moment, but that second seems to stretch out into an agonizingly slow minute as dread pulses in my heart.

Snapping out of it, I burst through the room, digging my fingers into her jaw and shoving her to the floor.

“Get off me,” she wails as I pin her, stomach-down, grabbing her arm to inspect the damage.

The bite wound is deep.

So deep that blood would’ve been pulsing from her veins if she had bitten a little more to the left.

I’m almost impressed she had the strength to do this.

Most people couldn’t hurt themselves even if their lives depended on it—even less to take their own life.

But the awe drowns in horror as I realize how close I came to walking in on her bleeding out.

If I had come just a minute later, she might have bit again and hit the right vein.

“I’ve got you,” I say absently as I tighten my grip on her hands to keep her still.

It’s all I can do to try and calm her as guilt rattles through my mind and the only thought I can think is, Why the fuck didn’t I put her in the straitjacket.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you!” she screams as she struggles.

“Just kill me!”

“No,” is all I can say as I try to chase away the horror of how close she came to taking her own life.

On my watch.

I don’t get much time to process.

As she starts banging her head against the floor, I’m forced to act.

I don’t even get time enough to remember that she can’t hurt herself on the padded floor before I’ve pulled a syringe from my pocket and stabbed it into her neck.

My brain only kicks in when she goes slack beneath me and murmurs in a broken voice, full of bone-deep hurt, “I trusted you.”

I pause, the syringe butt halfway down.

Part of me wants to inject the rest and go back upstairs and sleep, but those words do something to me.

For some reason, I can’t stand to leave like this—her hating me.

That last part wins out.

I withdraw the needle and lift her onto the mattress, arranging her slack limbs carefully as I place her on her back.

“I’ve got you,” I say again, this time more sincerely, as I stroke the hair from her face.

“I’ll fix you. Just like I did when I found you.”

Her blue eyes fill with disbelief and grief as she blinks up at me, struggling to keep them open.

“I—” She opens her mouth to speak again, but her words are slow and staggered.

“I fucking…”

I spit on two fingers and position them at her opening.

I had decided not to touch her, not wanting to ruin her, but someone else did that, so what does it matter now?

If that wasn’t enough, her pleas for me to take her life infuriate me more than I understand, making me want to punish her.

“I fucking hate y—”

Slamming my fingers inside her, I cut off her pathetic attempt at throwing vehemence at me.

“You hate me? Is that it?”

She makes a weak nod, her eyes going round at the sudden intrusion.

“Are you sure?” I pump my fingers in and out at a fast pace, making her twitch on the mattress.

She feebly tries to push at my arms, but I simply slap her hands away.

Nodding, she lets out a whimper that sounds like more pain than pleasure.

I’ll remedy that in a second, but first, I want her to suffer for hating me so damn much—or thinking that she does.

Leaning over her, I grab her throat and squeeze until her breaths come in wheezes.

“If I leave, I can’t kill you,” I say, tilting my head as I stare at her.

“P-please,” she manages.

“Please what?” I mock.

“Leave or kill you?” I press my thumb to her clit, relishing the tiny mewl of pleasure coming out of her throat.

Her eyes flicker between mine, uncertainty filling the dazed blue of her gaze along with pleasure.

Her mewls grow longer and more frequent as I keep pumping and dragging my thumb over her clit.

Her juices coat my fingers, creating a slick sound, and her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink.

She gets so easily turned on for me.

I love the sight and the sound of it.

Leaning in, I drag the tip of my tongue across the side of her mouth, a featherlight touch that sends an unmistakable moan up her throat.

I repeat at the other side of her mouth, and her body starts to convulse as she nears the edge.

I pull my head back to watch her lips part and her gaze go cloudy from more than the drugs.

Her eyelids flutter, and her hips press up, seeking more of my touch.

A long moan that comes from deep within her gut tells me she’s just about to fall over, and that’s when I pull out.

“No,” she gasps, staring at me with shock written deep in those dazed eyes.

“Do you still want me to leave?” I flex my hand around her throat.

“Or kill you?” I blow an exhale on the corner of her mouth, smiling to myself at the shudder that rolls through her.

“It would be so easy. I could just snap your neck.” I squeeze a little harder, and her feeble hands once again come up to mine, trying to push it away.

“Or choke you. There’s nothing you can do about it, flapping your weak hands like that.”

Her staggered inhale sends a cool breeze across my lips as I slacken my grip a bit.

The caress of her breath compels me to lean in and connect our mouths.

Just barely.

I press the slightest kiss to her lips as I stare into her terrified, turned-on eyes.

I lift my hand, which is glistening from her moisture, and snap her nose closed.

“Or I could simply steal your life with a kiss. Seems poetic, doesn’t it?” I’ve never cared for poetry or the finer things in life, but this girl makes me want to lose some of my calloused crudeness and seek out something more.

So I lean down and seal her lips with mine as I invade her mouth with my tongue.

I’m not sure if this qualifies as a kiss.

I wouldn’t know.

I’ve never kissed a girl—never wanted to.

But my tongue roams over hers, exploring her intimate space, taking and tasting her sweet delicacy.

Her helplessness.

She gives a tiny jerk, a minuscule struggle, but her tongue starts moving, nonetheless.

With mine.

She wants this even though part of her doesn’t—both the kiss and the death it could bring.

I indulge the latter idea for a moment, relishing her staggered attempts at breaking the connection when her air grows scarce.

She jerks against me, trying to turn her head, clawing weakly at my hands and my face, but it doesn’t change a thing.

I have her right where I want her, and there’s nothing she can do to stop me.

My cock grows achingly hard in my pants.

I want to free it and come inside her while I snuff her out—or at least while she thinks I do.

But there’s no time.

And I want to see her come even more.

So I release her throat and move my hand between her legs.

My grip on her nose and my tongue in her mouth are more than enough to keep her weak head in place, the seal blocking her airways tight.

I slam my fingers into her again, and her walls clasp onto them like they could grant her the air she desperately needs.

Her jerking grows more desperate, and she manages to put more strength into her clawing hands as her survival instinct kicks in.

Her chest shakes as she tries to breathe in fresh air, but all she gets is what little residual oxygen I’m breathing into her.

Her survival instinct isn’t the only thing making her jerk, though.

I feel the orgasm building in her like a brewing storm.

Her hips jerk, and little moans stutter in her throat, desperate for air to give them life.

Her strength weakens again as the lack of air drains the energy from her system.

Her struggling hands hold on to mine instead of fighting, and her movements turn to tiny spasms.

In ten seconds, she’ll lose consciousness; in thirty seconds, she’ll die.

A rush of power unlike any shoots through me, and I damn near come in my pants.

I want to prolong this moment and bask in it forever.

But five more seconds tick by, and I don’t want to lose her.

I want something else.

Just as I break the seal and let her drag in new air, I get it.

The sweetest moan I’ve ever heard forms in her open mouth as her entire body tightens, making her buck up over the mattress.

It’s not a loud or long moan; the sound is full of sweet innocence and helplessness, freer than any sound I’ve ever heard.

There’s no force or control, trying to push or pull.

It’s just an instinctive, bodily reaction—like when the girls scream beneath my baton.

Only this is so much better.

The orgasm rolls through her like a tiny storm, and then she’s out.

I remain on top of her, staring at her, mesmerized, as she breathes soft slow breaths through slightly parted lips.

It’s tempting to stay here for the rest of the night, but I need more sleep, and I’m not sure she’ll stay like this for long—I only gave her half of the syringe.

I inject the rest of the sedative into her neck to make sure she won’t wake for the next part.

Then I disinfect and bandage the self-inflicted wound on her wrist, cursing myself as I go.

Finally, I carefully slip the straitjacket on her.

I’m not risking anything with this girl again.

***

“What the hell did you do?” Mikhail barks as he approaches me in the corridor the next morning.

“Fuck you,” I say and walk past him, but Mikhail, the reckless fucker, grabs my arm, making me halt.

I turn to him and stare him down.

The effect is usually stuttered yes sirs or blabbered apologies, but Mikhail is unaffected, holding his stance, hands on his hips, eyes glaring straight back at me.

“I told you I couldn’t spare to lose a trainer,” he says in that annoying, berating tone, like he’s my father or some shit.

“I did you a fucking favor. The guy was a goddamn liability.”

“I don’t give a fuck. I told you to keep him alive.”

I point my finger at his face.

“He fucking touched what’s mine, so he dies. Let that be a fucking lesson to everyone else here.”

He cocks an eyebrow.

“Yours. What’s the deal with this girl, anyway?”

“None of your damn business.”

“The hell it isn’t. You work for me. At least that’s what you’re supposed to do. Not spending all your time on one fucking girl, who shouldn’t even be here. She’s been in that padded cell for God knows how long—weeks? Months?”

Having had enough of this shit, I turn my back to him to leave.

“It’s time you get rid of her. Today. Take her to the incinerator and get on with your real job. You’ve had enough playtime.”

Ignoring him, I gnash my teeth together as I think about how Lavinia would love that.

When I keep walking, he adds, “If you don’t do it, I’ll have someone else take care of it.”

At that, I whip around and stalk back, getting into his face.

“If something happens to her, you’ll pay. I’ll take you to the incinerator myself and burn you goddamn alive. Do you understand?”

Mikhail doesn’t even flinch even as I lean in over him.

He just looks me dead in the eye, his expression calm and collected.

Then, out of nowhere, he goddamn grins.

A full, wide smirk spreads over his face.

“Ah, I see what’s going on here. You’re turning soft. Like Dax.”

I scoff.

Dax and I are nothing alike.

He might be the only person I tolerate around here, but I’m nothing like him and his American arrogance.

“Here’s the deal. You’ll run the auction tomorrow night and cater to every little need of my customers while I go find a replacement for Jan. If they’re satisfied, I’ll let you keep your little pet.”

“You know I don’t do that shit.” I fucking hate those rich assholes, and what’s even worse is being at their beck and call, trying to please their ridiculous requests to drive home a good deal.

I don’t care about the money.

Never have.

Not like Mikhail and Dax, who get a fucking hard-on whenever they see a little money rolling in, despite having more than they’ll ever be able to spend.

It’s fucking weak, is what it is.

He shrugs.

“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it. Or take the girl and leave.”

I roll my eyes.

He knows I’m never going to leave this place of my own free will.

I hate that Mikhail holds that power over me, but this is the only place I’ve ever fit in—the only place that keeps me from going crazy.

And Mikhail is the only person I respect enough to refrain from beating to a pulp when he bosses me around like this.

And maybe more, I refrain because I need him here.

Without him to take care of the business side of things, some other shithead would step in, or I’d have to do it myself, and that last part sure isn’t going to happen.

That incident with the tough-ass rich guy wanting to see a full-teeth extraction was more than enough buyer contact to last me a whole month.

And now, I have to agree to even more buyer contact.

I fucking seethe, but mutter my agreement anyway.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

I turn to walk away, and Mikhail calls out with a smug tone, “Enjoy your pet.”

“I fucking will,” I mutter under my breath.

Once I find a way to rid her of her suicidal wishes and stop her from hating me.