Page 46 of Sweet Torture (Torture Games #1)

NAZ

Lyssophobia.

He had viciously grabbed me by the arm and pushed me into the nondescript panel van.

My face hit the floor of the van first, but Riley hardly flinched when he slammed the door shut and got into the driver’s seat.

My arms tied behind my back, shoulders aching from the position they were pulled and restrained in.

Little by little, I shakily scooch my legs under my body in an attempt to alleviate the burning grooves being carved into my face by the debris left behind on the floor.

If I can only get on my knees.

I can hear him talking animatedly in the front as he maneuvers the van expertly through traffic.

He honks and cusses at another driver, completely oblivious to the fact that the van’s sudden jerking movements scrape the side of my face.

It stings, and I feel tears well up behind my eyelids before I lick my bloody lips to maintain my composure.

With one knee under me, I hoist my body up in a semi-erect position and am able to take in my surroundings.

There is nothing in the back of the van with me except for the dirt and small stones littering the floor.

No chance of finding something that can help me saw through these ropes.

I fall to the side when Riley swerves left, and I have no way of cushioning the blow when my head hits the side of the van.

I wince loudly, and this draws Riley’s attention back to me.

“How are you doing back there, sweets? If we can only get through this downtown traffic, it will be smooth sailing to our destination. I found us the perfect spot. Oh, it is a very special place. No one will disturb us. Except maybe for a deer or two.”

He keeps on talking but I barely pay attention. I need to find a way out of here because I know what lies in wait for me when we get to our destination.

He has never been shy about the sadistic beast inside him.

Unfortunately for me, he keeps babbling on about how he was a genius for putting this plan together.

Do the worst villains always monologue?

Or is it only the ones who have no retribution to fear ?

I simply shut down, limply falling in every direction the van sways.

At least I am not lying on my face anymore. I am sitting on my ass and feel sharp stones digging into my fleshy parts.

“What do you think, sweets, just like old times? I see you have taken this time to enjoy life a little too much, judging by those thick thighs. I must admit it has done wonders for your rack, but I will take it upon myself to fix that. Nothing a few weeks without food won’t remedy.”

I feel his questioning gaze flit my way but I refuse to answer. There is no way that I am going to validate this asshole. Riley Donovan will realize soon enough that I will not be participating in his master plan to victimize me.

Again.

I hold my tongue, no matter how many hurtful insults he sneers at me.

This makes him only angrier.

We stop in an abandoned parking lot, and I wince when the bright light of a streetlamp blinds me when he pulls open the door.

Unceremoniously, I am shoved into the back seat of a dirty truck. It looks vaguely familiar. As if I had seen it hovering on the frayed edges of my nightmares.

I take my first deep breath when he slams the door on my pathetic figure. He doesn’t stop talking when he gets behind the wheel.

His driving turns reckless.

I am being tossed around like a helpless flower petal in a hurricane. Totally out of place and entirely at the mercy of something vicious, more substantial, and equally destructive.

Lyssophobia.

The road becomes bumpy and uneven after a while. My nose is assaulted with the smell of the rotting decay of greenery and animal life. We must be moving into the woods now. I recall vaguely that he always loved the woods.

I dip in and out of consciousness even at this uncomfortable angle.

The drive has been long and tedious.

Anxiously, I try looking through the bespeckled window, searching for anything familiar to identify where I am.

Lush tree tops pass rapidly on the washboard dirt road. I get a whiff of dust filtering into the cab.

He has gone quiet, and the silence claws at my imagination as I think about what he might have planned for me.

I can imagine him taking me to some desolate place and leaving my bones behind to be picked clean by wild animals.

A sense of humiliation envelopes me when I confess to myself that, at least then, I will be useful .

I desperately wiggle my hands again to check if the rope is still as tight. My wrists burn from the incessant chafing, and it serves as a reminder that I had gotten soft and complacent when I thought I had escaped Riley.

Even after I created my new persona of mysteriously absent, erotic artist Naz Adams, I should never have dropped my guard.

I curse myself softly for thinking that I could escape him. This is what I get from thinking that I deserve more from life. The glimmer of possible love or even infatuation gave me hope for the possibility of a better life.

A life without loneliness, fear, and rejection. A life instead filled with love, acceptance from friends, and mind-blowing orgasms.

The harsh reality is that I will never escape my stalker by running. For years, he has pulverized pieces of my soul to make me complacent enough to fulfill his every unreasonable whim.

It took courage disguised as self-preservation to escape his tyranny last time. Gradually, Naz Adams was reborn and sculpted into this person I liked, with a life I loved.

No.

I only started loving my life after I met the right person. He was the strong-willed, stubborn businessman who was king of the marketing universe. And the underground .

He willingly kneeled before me, his savage queen.

Then I go and find myself in a situation where I must become even more savage.

I will need to give in to something darker. I will need to become the very thing Riley wanted to turn me into in the first place. I will have to turn into the person that I was running from daily.

Evil.

With every uncomfortable jostle my body absorbs, I feel something die within me, the knowledge burrowing deeper into my fears. I didn’t want to be pushed to such dark notions, but what choice do I have left?

This comes down to the fight of my life for the love that I desperately want to deserve. And looking at the mess I got myself into, it becomes pretty clear.

Either I kill my tormentor, or we both enter the abyss, but there is no other way to escape, Riley.

Lyssophobia.

He stops the truck with a jerk, always a bastard. I tuck my head into my chest when the instinct to protect my face kicks in.

Unfortunately, the realization dawned on me too late, and my head connects with the back of the seat.

Shit, that hurt .

But I am sure that was just an appetizer for what is still to come .

He laughs sadistically and drags me out, dropping me harshly on the ground.

The impact forces the breath from my lungs in one fell swoop.

I cough frantically, but dust surrounds me and suffocates me even more.

His hold on my arm when he pulls me up is brutal.

But not as brutal as the wave of disgust that washes over me when he touches my body.

I try to shrug his hand off.

He turns me to face him and, without hesitation, slaps me across the face.

Hard.

My cheek and eye start throbbing again, and a new metallic trickle of blood flows over my bottom lip.

Fury fills me instantly.

How dare he?

I don’t belong to anyone except myself, and he dares to put his filthy hands on me. My fury faces the sadistic malice in his eyes. It takes everything I am to keep it together and not give in to the vengeful tears that creep into my eyes.

“Don’t test me, bitch. In case you haven’t noticed, you are at my mercy.

Unlucky for you, mercy is not what I have in mind to show you.

Get your sorry excuse for an ass inside and do exactly what I say.

Remember, you have so much more to lose now, isn’t that true, sweets?

You don’t want me to visit your best friend, Rose, do you?

Or maybe I could creep into your boyfriend’s house and shoot him between the eyes while he sleeps?

” Riley sneers out the words and yanks me into submission.

I openly smirk back. This warns him that he has made a big mistake.

“What are you smiling about? Don’t think I’ll do it?” I interrupt him before he can continue another diatribe, which I am sure will be filled with other threats.

“Oh, I am sure you will. You will sneak in under the cover of darkness, just like the coward you are. You just confirmed that you believe he is more powerful than you. That makes you scared. Scared of what he can do to you. Scared that you can’t take him.

And you should be scared. He has already done what you couldn’t do in all the years that you have tortured me,” I boldly state.

He snorts derisively before spitting the words in my direction.

“Please, he has nothing on me. I am married to a powerful woman. A woman who understands me better than anyone could. I have more money than I could ever use, and now I have you at my mercy. What more is there?” I move closer and stand on my tippy toes to look even more imposing. I vengefully shriek my words.

“You may have my body, but you will never have my heart and soul. That I have willingly given to him. I have devoted my all to him and his happiness without him knowing it. I would do anything to make that happen. And it isn’t because he has returned my affection or even because he has a golden dick, which, believe me, he does.

It is because he is a good man with a kind heart.

He deserves much more in life. He deserves the best without even asking for it. ” I try to wrench my arm from his grip.

“Conversely,” I continue, “you will always grovel at people’s feet for the slightest hint of love or affection. And even then, they won’t want to give it to you, and do you know why?” He shakes his head; therefore, I bear down my path of self-destruction.

“It is because they can feel it, you know. Although they don’t know what it is exactly.

That evil that lurks in your heart. It sweats through your pores and becomes the stink of failure because you have never truly achieved anything.

Without manipulation, for that matter. Evil flows out of your mouth as words of repression and cynicism.

Your words target the weak and break them into fallible pieces.

That makes it easier for you to maintain dominance.

The sad thing is you haven’t even realized your biggest mistake,” I proclaim triumphantly.

I step back and wait patiently for him to step into my trap.

He does not disappoint.

“What do you mean? What mistake?” It is my time to play the game. I choose my next statement carefully.

“No matter what you do to me, you will never be able to break me. Love has healed me and not only made me whole…it has made me unbreakable, courageous, and strong. And I won’t ever let you take that away from me, ne ver again,” I squeak as I see his face transform before my eyes.

A terrifying chill creeps into my bones when his confusion changes to delight. Riley lets go of my arm and is wringing his hands together like an excited child. The action makes him seem demented. When he speaks, fear fills my veins with ice water.

“That is wonderful to hear, my darling. For a second there, I was concerned that you wouldn’t fight back.

If truth be told, that is what I liked most about you.

No matter what I do to you, you have this idiotic but hopeful idea that you can fight back and maybe win.

That is why I kept coming back to you after all these years.

The others broke easily. The defeated look in their eyes didn’t give me as much pleasure as I thought it would.

But the look of defiance in your eyes makes me so fucking hard.

I swear, I daydream about new ways to torture you.

And as for your little criminal boyfriend, why don’t you leave it to me to worry about your so-called ‘good’ man?

When I am done with you two, he will be just as evil as me, if not more.

In that light, can we continue inside and start playing, darling?

It has been a long time since I have had my hands on you, and I can hardly wait. ”

He points to the door and smiles politely as if it is an everyday occurrence for me to walk into a dark place where unknown torture awaits me .

The worst part is I feel myself nod and turn to walk up to the dilapidated wooden cabin steps.

I know it is futile to run.

Yet shouldn’t I at least try?

I start devising a plan while my feet drag over the threshold. The word keeps forcing its way into my mind, and I can’t escape it, so I embrace the notion.

Lyssophobia means the fear of going insane or mad.