Page 11 of Until Death Parts Us (Dysfunctional)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

KASPIAN

It isn’t until the second time they do it, that I realize they’re using chloroform on me.

That and keeping me restrained and gagged is the only thing preventing me from killing them both.

If I had the use of my hands, I’d strangle the life from them.

If I had the use of my teeth, I’d rip their fucking throats out anytime they got close.

But when I screamed the first time, they burned me and decided I needed to have a foul-smelling cloth shoved in my mouth and taped over.

I’m not sure how many there are, but definitely two. My head throbs with a migraine, and nausea rolls in my stomach. I try to keep still so they don’t put me out again, but when one of the men comes in with a frantic voice, it’s hard not to perk up.

“He killed Daniel. He fucking killed him and left him dead on the bed. His pants were down. I don’t know what else he might’ve done.”

Quin.

“Why was the door unlocked in the first place?” another voice questions. “I told you when we were leaving to lock it up.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter. Now he’s using his phone, sending me messages. He wants him back.”

“Well, that’s not gonna happen.”

“He has my information. He said he’d find my family.”

“So we give him his friend back and go on our way? What do you think’s gonna happen if we do that?”

Friend. We’re so much more than friends. He’s the air I breathe, and I’m the blood that keeps his heart pumping. We’re not fucking friends.

“I told you not to invite that boy up here,” the voice says.

“It was only supposed to be a few days.”

“Yeah, but you knew what we were doing. Inviting someone along was stupid, which is why you didn’t tell me. Now look.”

“Don’t fucking blame me for his death. I left him there to keep him safe. He was never going to know what we were doing.”

“Stupid,” the other guy repeats. With a sigh, he says, “Well, we might as well finish this up. I don’t really have time to enjoy it like usual.”

If I could see, I know he sent a look at the other guy, blaming him for not being able to enjoy my torture.

There’s some rustling inside the tent we’re in. It’s remained relatively warm, but every time I hear a zipper, I feel a cold breeze, letting me know someone has come or gone.

My chest heaves with the panicked breaths of someone who knows they don’t have much longer. Then I remember how much people like us enjoy that, so I try to calm down. I don’t want my death to give them any pleasure.

The zipper opens, a breeze rolls in, and a few seconds later, I feel another hot brand against my skin.

I yell, giving them exactly what they want, and I hate myself for it. I attempt to talk through my gag, calling them every name in the book while I suffer through the pain. I threaten them. I call them cowards and pussies. None of it matters.

I feel the familiar sensation of a knife on my skin, and though it’s irrational, I can’t help but think of Quin and how it feels like a betrayal.

If there’s going to be a blade on my flesh, extracting my blood, it needs to be wielded by him.

If someone were going to kill me, I’d prefer it be him.

I want his eyes to be the last thing I see when I leave this world, but it doesn’t look like I’m going to get what I want.

As I try to think about Quin, I feel the blade push into my flesh.

I try to keep it in, clenching my teeth and just grunting through the pain, but then he pulls it out and places it on my inner thigh, starting to pierce the spot where my femoral artery is, and my scream fills the tent.

Just as I’m quieting, I think I hear another sound.

It’s coming from outside…

And it’s getting closer.