Wrong Kind of Love

“Hello, Victoria.” Tom moves from the furnace. The sick grin on his face as he closes in on me has my heart seizing with fear. “I’m actually rather pleased. I didn’t expect Jude to be stupid enough to fall in love with you, and unfortunately for you, that means I’m going to have to break you.”

"Jude doesn't love me." It’s a lie. I’ve never been more certain of what love is than I have been with him. “He sent me away.”

Tom plucks a strand of my hair, twisting it between his fingers, and I’m too scared to pull away.

"Oh, but I’ve been watching everything. Jude Pearson is very much in love with you, Tor. And you know what they say about love... it is the greatest of weaknesses. You just became the weapon I need to destroy him. And then I'll put him down like the dog that he is."

None of it makes any sense. If he knows where Jude is, why is he doing this? He could have killed us at any point. Hopelessness washes over me because this was always an inevitable end to mine and Jude’s twisted story. We’re just puppets on Tom’s strings. Everything has played into some insane plan and brought me right here.

Tom snaps his fingers. One of the other men holds up a phone, capturing the scene while the other grabs me by the throat and throws me to the floor. “Tell me everything you know about Jude Pearson, Victoria.”

Hatred and anger, and heartbreaking disappointment rise within me. He might have me. He might even get Jude, but I won’t help him do it. "Fuck you.”

He crouches beside me, grinning like The Joker. "I so hoped you would say that." He draws back a fist and punches me. Pain explodes across my cheekbone, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. "This is what happens to those who are loyal to you, Pearson.” He snaps his fingers as he walks away, and his men flip me onto my stomach and pin me down.

I hate how utterly vulnerable I am. I can hear Tom messing with something at the furnace seconds before his shiny black shoes stop beside me. A hand clamps on the back of my neck, keeping me from turning my head, and desperate fear sets in.

"I want to know everything, and one way or the other, sweetheart, you will tell me.”

I won’t, I would never sell Jude out, but fear has sunk its claws in so deep.

Another snap of fingers echoes around the room before the men tear my shirt open, exposing my back. I struggle against them, but it’s pointless.

"You see this, Jude... I'm going to brand her, one for every single day you don't save her." Tom laughs. "Not sure you'll want her by the time I'm done with her."

A kiss of heat touches my back, along with a sizzle and the scent of burning flesh. Searing pain erupts across my spine. It’s the worst pain I’ve experienced in my life—the kind that reaches into my bones and sends a hoarse, desperate scream ripping up my throat. Metal clatters to the floor, and while the pressure is gone, the pain doesn’t stop.

Tom fists my hair, tugging my ear to his lips. "This is nothing, girl. I will ruin you, and then I will send your body back for him to see." He shoves my face against the floor. “Undress her.”

Then I’m flipped onto my back. The cold concrete against my burned skin is almost unbearable. Tom stands back as I fight his men, now tearing my clothes from me. And while I want to scream, I vow not to. He wants to break me, he wants to break Jude, and I hope my silence makes this a little less rewarding for the bastard.

The last piece of clothing is torn from my body, and Tom’s vile gaze drifts over me. "I can definitely see why you like her, JP.” Tom works his belt free. “I think I fancy a taste myself. See what all the fuss is about."

My legs are yanked open and pinned in place. I will never come back from this. Even if Tom doesn't kill me, I know I’ll wish he had.

____

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been dragged out of this room and into the empty warehouse for Tom to brand me and have his way with me. No one knows I’m here. No one will save me. And I don’t think the man is kind enough to offer me death any time soon.

I don’t fight when I’m pinned to the cold concrete, and I bite back the scream when Tom presses the brand into my back this time. But this time, when I’m flipped over, instead of Tom going for his belt, he reaches inside his suit jacket. Please, God, let it be a gun. Let this be where he ends this. No sooner has the thought cycled through my mind than I feel like a coward.