Page 27 of Stained In Sin (The Twisted Trilogy #1)
Evelyn
What the fuck is happening to me? You let him win. You should have run.
The room smells like musk and death. The look in his eyes haunts me. The black, coal-colored look resembles a bottomless pit. A pit that I fell into, and now I’m trapped.
He left me in here alone and then came back with a stupid fucking marriage contract. He is supposed to marry her. Pain grips my chest at the thought.
My ribs ache from being thrown around, and my arms and legs are still taped together. He is never going to let me go. But why? Because he wants you. He doesn’t want her. He burned the contract for you.
He wants to play this sick, twisted game, but I can’t. I’m fucking weak. When he touches me, my body betrays me. His possessiveness and ruthlessness make me feel alive. You crave his touch. You still want him.
The sound of his boots slapping against the floor startles me out of my thoughts. I hear metal clanking onto a surface, and my skin pricks with fear. The sound of a cart rolling behind me makes my heartbeat race.
He pushes the cart in front of me, as I stare into the eyes of the Devil. He walks behind me, tightening the ropes securing me in place. I glance down at the tray and begin trembling.
He has fucking knives. A tray full of knives, and he is securing me tightly.
I try to thrash around in the chair and I scream as loud as I fucking can. He’s going to fucking kill me.
I feel a warm breath against the back of my neck, followed by a sinister whisper.
“Remember, if you are good. I will let you go.”
I swallow the bile that threatens to rise as the warmth leaves my neck.
“W-what are you doing?” My voice is shrill… and he likes it. His smile grows wide as he reaches for a small knife. He holds it up under the fluorescent lighting.
“I’m going to remind you who the fuck you belong to.”
He grabs the front of my sweatshirt and cuts the material off of me. I freeze in place, not wanting the knife to cut me.
Tears flow down my cheeks, like a broken dam.
He cuts through my sports bra, leaving my chest exposed to him. I turn my head and press my eyes shut. You like it. You like the danger. You crave destruction.
“Look at me!”
I open my eyes and look at him. His veins are prominent as he grips the knife. His eyes are lost. I don’t see the Dante I remember. I stare into the same eyes I saw murdering those men.
He sets the knife down and trails his finger down the center of my chest. My chest rises and falls quickly. I can’t fucking stop him.
His fingers continue to move, teasing the waistband of my leggings.
“Fucking perfect.” His voice is barely audible. He sounds like he is possessed.
He reaches for a knife and glides the dull end down my center again. My skin feels like it is on fire. The cool metal feels foreign. My legs clench together. You shouldn’t like this. You should be afraid of him.
He placed the knife back down on the tray and removes a cloth from his pocket. He walks behind me in calculated steps as if he is running on autopilot.
“Open your mouth.”
I shake my head no quickly. Clamping my mouth shut.
“I SAID OPEN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH.”
No. Don’t do it. He wants to silence you. If you don’t, he will kill you. Just do it. Be good. Remember?
I slowly open my mouth, and the rough material is shoved between my teeth. I gag at the fabric pressing against my tongue.
“Bite down.”
I bite down. You have to be good. That’s the only way out.
He secures the material behind my head and slides a stool in front of me. He sits on the stool, his eyes raking up and down my body. Snot covers my chin, and I try to calm down, but I can’t. I am terrified of him.
He picks up the knife and holds out his palm.
My eyes widen in fear. He looks at me with a blank expression. I shake my head no quickly, and he slices open his palm. Letting the blood drip onto the concrete. I press my eyes shut and sob into the gag.
“Open your fucking eyes. I won’t ask you again,” he says through barred teeth.
I open them. Don’t look away. He doesn’t make empty threats.
He clenches his bloodied hand together in a ball, coating his fingertips in his blood. He takes the tip of his finger and trails it down the center of my body. He stops just under my breasts.
He lifts his finger and begins writing something in his blood across the to p of my stomach. I startle beneath his touch, no matter how soft.
“Fucking beautiful.”
He takes the knife and hovers it above the artwork he left on me. His blood stains my skin. I shake my head no, fucking panicking. This is it. You’re going to die. He never cared about you. He’s just a serial killer. You don’t matter.
I scream and cry beneath the gag. Begging him to let me go.
“Are you scared of me?”
I nod my head quickly. Hoping this was his sick way of making me fear him. It fucking worked.
“Good.”
The sharp burn erupts on my skin as he drags the knife across it. I feel liquid dripping down into my stomach. The lump in my throat becomes unbearable as I choke between sobs.
He moves slowly, letting the burn linger. You wanted a thrill. This is it. You aren’t dead.
The unwanted thoughts filter into my brain. I don’t want it. This isn’t what I wanted. But it is. You like him. You wanted to be his violent obsession.
His eyes are laser-focused as he marks my skin. I scream as he tortures me. My flesh is raw and mutilated.
He lifts the knife, and the blood that coats it runs down the metal. He licks the knife, staring into my bloodshot eyes.
“You taste so fucking sweet when you’re mine.”
He leans forward, and I tense. He places a delicate kiss on my forehead, which is covered in sweat.
“You did so well, princess.”
My body shudders at his words. Warmth fills my center. He’s proud of you. He wants you.
The adrenaline coursing through my veins has my body buzzing. I need to get away.
Th e heat of his body leaves mine, and his footsteps fade away.
I glance down at my stomach, daring to see what he has done to me. My abdomen is covered in crimson trails, and just under my breasts, I know what was written.
Dante
My body is stained in sin, forever marked— by the Devil himself.