Unshackle (Deliver 7)

“Remove your shirt.” He stepped around her, casting a smothering shadow over her back.

The shirt was the only clothing she wore. Whether she liked it or not, it was coming off. But she wouldn’t make it easy.

Crossing her arms, she trapped the bloodstained cotton against her chest.

He didn’t say a word. Not a sound for the longest minute.

With a deep shaky breath, she twisted around and looked up into the greenest, wickedest, most terrifying pair of eyes she’d ever seen.

Oh, God. She turned back.

Would he strike her? Throw her across the room? Rip away the fabric?

He took his time wringing out her nerves, and when he finally moved, she didn’t hear or see him. But she sensed him all around her. His body heat against her skin, his breath on her neck, and his chilling patience like a collar on her throat.

“Do you feel the walls pressing in around you? Restricting your movements? Strangling your air?” He brushed his nose against her ear. “That’s me, Gina. The more you defy me, the closer and meaner I get.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Do you prefer whore? Slave?” He held her motionless without touching her. “How about cunt?”

A fist pounded on the door, prompting Golden Eyes to exit the bathroom. She welcomed the distraction, knowing food had arrived. When was the last time she’d had an actual meal?

Confusion edged in, fogging her vision. The thought of eating made her sick. She needed sleep. Just a few moments to close her heavy eyelids. But that was dangerous. And impossible.

The night had only just begun.

As voices drifted from the main room, he shoved a hand between her legs. It happened so fast she wasn’t prepared. The iron bar of his arm caught her across the chest, pinning her to the chair. His other hand hooked around her waist, his fingers seeking and finding the hood of her clit.

Before she could blink, he had the bundle of nerves exposed and held captive between his finger and thumb. A sharp, ruthless tweak wrenched a shriek from her throat. He did it again, pinching and twisting with unholy pressure. The agony was more than she could bear.

“Stop!” She thrashed, screeching the chair on the tiles. “No! Please! No more, no more, oh, God. Please stop!”

He squeezed harder, yanking the raw bud so aggressively it felt as though he was ripping it from her body.

With him behind her, she couldn’t land a punch or kick. Her fingernails proved useless against the steel cage of his arms, and her efforts quickly exhausted her.

Tears swarmed her eyes. Her throat swelled with wet cries. God help her, she couldn’t stop screaming, which only made her face hurt that much more.

“Okay, okay, I’ll do it!” She tried to tear her shirt from beneath his arm. “Let go, goddammit, and I’ll do what you said!”

He freed her, and she doubled over, groaning in misery as blood rushed to her clit. Nausea raged, and the pain in her skull grew claws. She breathed through it, waiting for the rampage to subside. Then she clumsily pulled off the last of her clothes.

Golden Eyes entered, pushing a cart full of covered plates, liquor, and medical supplies and closed the door behind him. Before the scent of food reached her nose, John scooped her up and dumped her into the bathtub.

Warm water rose to her chin and stung her wounds, finding lacerations and open sores she didn’t even know she had. But once the shock wore off, relief seeped into her bones. She lay her head back on the ledge and sighed.

“When was the last time you had a bath?” John dragged the chair closer and lowered into it.

When she didn’t answer, he sank a hand in the water and grabbed her inner thigh. It was a promise, not a threat. He would hurt her again.

What was the point in remaining silent? She wouldn’t win.

“A week, I think.” She met his stony eyes. “There are no bathrooms in the basement.”

“When do they let you out? When you fight?”

“When I behave. I have my own room away from the main house.”

Not really. She slept in a garage filled with old cars and lawn equipment, but no one bothered her there. It was her solace in hell.

Golden Eyes carried over a container of soaps and stood off to the side.

“Tell me about the girl and the hook.” John lathered up his hands and started cleaning her arms.

The foam turned pink as he scrubbed dried blood from her skin. She marveled at the gentleness of his fingers, so contradictory to the agony they’d inflicted just moments ago.

“I tried to escape last night.” She let him lift her leg from the water, wincing at the movement.

“Relax.” He held her weight, massaging soap around damaged muscles. “Was it your first attempt?”

“No. But when they caught me this time, they made sure I’d never try again.”