Page 14 of Lethal (Wellard Asylum #1)

M y breath hitches in my throat as he stares intently at me, as if he knows that he’s already won in this psychotic game of dare we are playing.

Where he’s the puppeteer, and I’m his weak marionette on thin strings, that he can maneuver, and manipulate, any way he wants.

A huge part of me desires to walk out the door, and ignore his taunts, and promises, of information if I will only bend to his will, but the darker, seedier part rises in anticipation.

The part that I keep buried deep wants to play Bash’s games.

She wants to filthy herself up, and follow his depraved orders.

We need to know what happened to Cecelia, and he knows something. His words confirm it.

“ Crawl , Doctor, or leave. Don’t waste any more of my time.

You will learn to give me what I want, and in turn, I will reward you, my sweet toy.

“ The expression on his features is an unreadable mask, as if he really can’t be bothered either way, and I’m just wasting his precious time.

Motherfucker, all you have is time. My morals and spirit reject the possibility of complying, and I attempt to convince myself to punish him somehow for his audacity, but I know my hands are tied here, and so does he.

He’s holding a golden carrot filled with rot in front of me, and I have no choice but to take it.

I meet his cold, stony eyes, and get down on all fours again, the dilapidated floor digging into my knees, and forcing me to hide my flinch.

Don’t give him any more ammunition to use. Show him you’re stronger than he believes. We can do this, we have to, and once we have what we need, we will end him for good.

I crawl the first step forward, and my body sways like some menacing feline for him.

I let him see how much I loathe him, and what he’s making me do, how he’s degrading me, and the promise of his merciless death shines in my eyes.

A spiteful smirk lifts the corner of his mouth as I shuffle forward, coming even closer to the heat radiating off him, and I get a lungful of his scent.

Masculine. Sweat. Hedonistic. Destruction.

My eyes linger over his muscular chest, the way the cheap material of the sleeveless off-white shirt pulls taut, and accentuates his toned, tattooed arms. I’ve never seen them completely bare in our sessions.

I take in the various tattoos of a grim reaper, devils, and monsters, that grace his flesh, and wonder if they are Wren’s artistic creations.

I can appreciate their beauty, even if they’re morbid, and bring a chill to my spine.

Does he see himself and his brother as those monsters painted on his flesh?

Are they a representation of all the evil that lives within him?

His dark eyebrow rises questioningly at my concentrated glance, and I realize that I have stopped moving.

Fucking asshole. I wish there was something in here that I could use to hurt him.

However, I know the only thing he loves and values is Wren.

If you want to punish him, take him away, and force him to survive without his precious brother.

I dismiss the thought the instant it crosses my mind.

I know full well what happened the last time someone in Wellard tried to separate them; it’s all in their case notes.

One person ended up losing their eyeballs, another still has difficulty walking and speaking from the attack, and the treating psychiatrist quit, when Bash threatened to rip out his heart, and managed to get closer to him than he should have.

To my understanding, that doctor has a permanent scar, from a chunk of concrete wall that Bash used to stab him with.

“There are files,” he says, his posture relaxed, as if he doesn’t see me as a viable threat, and he knows he’s already won.

“Names. Experiments. Cecelia... She was a test. A mistake .

“ I find myself hanging on to his every word, my heart galloping in my chest. I crane my neck to stare up at him with rapt attention, and his eyes slide across the length of my body, leaving heat in their wake. I glimpse a spark of hunger on his features that he’s trying to hide, and it adds another level of emotional instability to my current state.

“Unbutton your blouse, and pull your breasts over the cups of your bra,” he demands.

For a moment, I’m so shocked at his request that I halt my movements, and even my breath ceases.

My hesitation instantly angers him, and I catch the flexing of his fingers into a tight fist, as if he’s forcing his own restraint.

His sadistic personality disorder is on full display, with no attempt to mask it.

The doctor in me wants to pause and study him, but the woman currently in a precarious, and compromising, situation knows better.

I’ll play his game for now, but the moment I sense he doesn’t have any information of worth, I’m out of here.

You’re fooling yourself, and you know it, girl.

You’re in so deep, you’re already drowning.

I reach up and unbutton my gray blouse, until it’s gaping to my waist, and my bra is clearly visible.

I trail my fingers slowly and sensually over the swell of my breasts, teasing myself as much as him, and my nails scratch against the silky material of the bra cups.

My fingers dip into the fabric, as I push one cup down and then the other, as a hissing sound leaves Bash’s lips.

That’s right, two can play this game, psychopath.

I might have to bend to your sadistic will, but you’ll suffer along with me.

“It started with trauma conditioning. Then it moved to something worse, far more nefarious .

Halstead enjoys playing his games too,“ he utters, his voice suddenly deeper and huskier.

My nipples harden, and my flesh pebbles at his intense gaze.

“Twist your nipples with your fingers, and pull on them until it hurts, little toy. ”

This time, I don’t hesitate to comply with his order.

I’d like to say it was purely to keep him speaking, but the truth is I’m enjoying this.

Enjoying the way this madness is pushing me to the edge of my sanity and restraint.

A moan I can’t swallow slips between my lips, as I twist and pull on my erect nipples.

My core tightens in response to how good the pain and pleasure mix feels.

My panties are getting embarrassingly damp, and I no longer feel the unyielding floor underneath my knees, as I squeeze my thighs together to alleviate some of my throbbing.

“ Good girl, Doctor. You’re my perfect slut.

“ His praise has me preening, arching my back further, so my breasts remain in his sightline. His tongue slips out and wets his bottom lip, and I wish it were sliding across my lips instead, so I could taste him. The thought is so shocking that my fingers stop moving completely. I shouldn’t want any of this, this is wrong.

Regardless of whether he’s a monster with answers, I’m still his doctor, and I’m crossing every professional, and ethical, line that exists.

His roughened voice breaks through my thoughts, “He was using sleep deprivation on her, and a few others.

Then he switched to sensory inversion. He forced her to do handstands, cartwheels, and cardio for hours, while he pierced her with sharp, metal pins, embedding them under her skin, and forcing her to bleed out.

He pumped her full of psychedelic drugs, and thrust her into a wooden box with rats, and let them nibble on her.

When she was too weak and broken to comply with his instructions, he strapped her into one of his many contraptions, and ‘water cured’ her.

“ The look of glee on Bash’s face, at the memory of what my cousin supposedly suffered, forces bile to rise up the back of my throat, and I desire to strike the expression off of his face.

“Remove your skirt slowly, let it puddle at your knees, and spread them as wide as it will allow.”

Fuck, what do I do now? How far am I willing to go?

Is it possible that he’s telling me the truth about what happened to Cecelia?

It seems incomprehensible to me that Halstead was doing what Bash claims, and no one tried to stop him.

“You’re lying,” I utter, but my voice cracks.

“You were locked up here in this room, a cage for both you and your psychotic brother, so how could you know any of this was happening?”

A smug look crosses Bash’s face as he leans forward, so that his breath almost reaches me, and the coils on the cot groan with the movement.

It sounds like the voices of lost souls screaming desperately for release from this prison.

It’s very reminiscent of the sound my own heart is making right now.

Run! Get up and run from here, save yourself before you’re too far lost!

“I never lie to the people I want to keep, and I want to keep you, little toy, at least for now.” His eyes narrow into pools of darkness.

Their gray-blue color is bottomless, filled with peril, and calling me to lose myself in their depths.

My hands reach around to the zipper at the back of my skirt, and I slowly lower it, the sound so loud in the suddenly silent room, where only the sounds of our breathing can be heard.

I can feel my cheeks flush in anger, embarrassment, or perhaps a combination of both, as I push my skirt over my hips, and it puddles at my knees.

There’s blood in the water now, and he’s a great white shark that can sense it.

Everything in me doesn’t want to believe what he’s telling me.

His words, and the descriptions of what my cousin endured, are right out of a Hollywood nightmare, but the problem is, I know deep down I do.

I believe Bash, because I’ve had the same suspicions about what Halstead is up to here.

This place is filled with death, and we’re all barely breathing within its walls.

Too many patients have either died under suspicious circumstances, or disappeared altogether.

“What do you want?” I whisper as I step out of my skirt, and the warm air strokes the globes of my thong-encased asscheeks.

“Oh, Doctor, how naughty you are underneath those prim skirts.” His eyes zero in on the floral and thorny vine tattoos that grace my hips, and lower abdomen, the ones that are always covered by my clothing.

My hands immediately rise to cover them, but the slight nod from his head has me hesitating.

Instead, I lean close, so close that his warm breath slips across my cheekbone.

“Let me see your eyes when you beg me,” Bash sneers, and even though he’s being manipulative and mean to me, I still appreciate how handsome he truly is.

I hesitate, and watch as his legs spread as far as the chains around his ankles will allow.

The large bulge in his pants strains against the fabric of his joggers, the outline clearly showing how aroused he is.

Fuck. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from producing any noise, and edge closer, until my chest almost touches his shins. “What. Do. You. Want.”

Bash leans forward, his lips pressing up against my ear as he inhales my scent, causing a shiver to race down my body.

My hands grasp his knees, and I hold on, tightening my fingers until he releases a moan.

His voice drops to a murmur, as his warm breath tickles my hair.

“I want to watch you fall apart... piece by fucking piece. I want you on the floor writhing, with your theories shattered, and your wet mouth swallowing my cock deep into that tight throat. I want the doctor to disappear. I want the slut to stay. I want you to be mine, and admit that you want that too.”

My breath catches in my throat as he bites down on my ear lobe, the sting forcing my core to clench, and my clit to throb.

His lips move across my jaw, licking and nibbling, until he reaches my bottom lip.

He takes it between his teeth and bites down hard, the sting forcing me to jerk back, but he doesn’t release me, not even when I taste copper in my mouth.

“You’re already mine, little toy, and I plan to devour you,“ he growls into my mouth.

I should push him away, get up off this floor, and run, run as far away from this place as I can.

There is no bringing Cecelia back from the dead.

Nothing I do here will accomplish that. All I’m doing now is prolonging my own suffering, and pain.

Yet, even as I acknowledge all of those truths, I know I won’t move an inch, unless Bash tells me to.

I’ll do whatever he wants. I’ll play their game. I’m already in too deep to save myself, or escape.