He brings the knife level with his eyes and peers at it, almost curiously, watching the blood slide down the blade and drip onto the floor. My stomach churns, and I think I may vomit. Speaking incredibly calm while continuing to examine the blade, he says, “He had a fucking camera. He’s somebody, and I’ll bet you know who he is, or at the very least, you know who sent him.”
The way he’s staring at the knife makes me wonder if he would use it on me. Is he going to stab me next? I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.
“I don’t,” I whimper like a wounded animal.
“Wrong answer,” he growls and moves lightning-quick, taking the knife and stabbing the man in his other leg. I flinch because I thought it was going to be me that got the knife plunged into her skin.
The unknown man lets out another muffled scream, and I can see the pain etched deep into his features. Tears slip from his eyes and down his face, mixing with the blood that dribbles from his nose.
He looks as hopeless as I feel.
“Markus, please… I don’t know him,” I try to reason with him, even though he’s past reasoning. What kind of person would it make me if I didn’t? The sides of his lips tick up, and the smile he gives me is anything but charming—it’s pure carnage. It’s like staring the devil directly in the eyes and expecting to live.
Stalking toward me, he wraps a hand around my wrist and pulls me into his chest like a rag doll. “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know a liar when I see one?”
He doesn’t give me a chance to answer him before he twists me around, forcing my back against his chest. I’m facing the nameless man now, and I can feel the tears in my eyes threatening to break free and run down my cheeks.
Wrapping an arm around my middle to hold me in place, he slips his hand into my sweatpants, and I freeze. My entire body becomes an iceberg.
What is he going to do?
His thick fingers move down over my smooth skin, trailing lower and lower while my heart races faster and faster in my chest. When he makes contact with my mound, I almost scream. The only reason I don’t is that I’m sure that’s what he wants, to terrify me, to get a reaction out of me.
“You like this, don’t you? Seeing me so close to the edge. That’s why you won’t tell me? You want to see how close I’ll get before I completely lose it?”
My bottom lip trembles, and I’m about to tell him, no, that this is wrong, that he needs to stop and let this man go, but two fingers slide between my folds and find my clit. The world around me spins.
It’s wrong, so wrong, and beyond fucked up, but the moment his fingers touch my clit, all the fear and terror turns into something else. His touch, no matter how cruel, tugs me off the edge of losing myself in fear and dread.
Heat creeps up my body, and I’m on the verge of pushing it away, but with every stroke of his fingers, it becomes more and more impossible. If I’m honest with myself, I don’t want to push it away. I want to lean into it, run toward it, because the alternative is pure terror.
Instead of falling off the cliff and into a full-blown panic attack, I let Markus pull me back. I let the heat spread through my body until I’m on fire, burning with the intensity of the sun. His fingers move faster and faster, and I can feel my body growing wetter, my toes curling. I’m climbing, rushing toward the surface. The pleasure consuming me.
Markus’s furious breath fans against my ear, and my nipples form into hard peaks. Tears slip from my eyes while my body is caught in limbo between right and wrong, pleasure and pain.
“So fucking wet and ready for me.” His words drag me from my mind. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed my eyes until now. When I open them, I see the man watching us.
Reality hits me like a bucket of ice water—shame, guilt, and deep-rooted fear rush back.
“No… I don’t want you,” I lie, shaking my head as if that would make me more convincing. I’m so ashamed of myself. So disappointed in how weak I am.
I want him. I want him badly, despite all the things he’s done, but not like this. Not with this other man watching us. No, Markus is so thirsty for an answer, he’s willing to hurt anyone. I don’t want his violence. I want his pleasure.
I don’t even know how I do it, but I gather up every ounce of willpower in my body. Having had enough and wanting to be done with the sick twisted games, I twist. Taking him by surprise, I’m able to break from his hold and rush toward the couch.