Overwhelmed by You (Tear Asunder 2)

Her hair flowed past her shoulders in long lazy curls, and pale flawless skin matched her blonde hair. It wasn’t bright blonde; it was a quiet blonde that didn’t scream at you when you saw the color, matching everything else about her.

But with all her beauty it was something else that caught my attention, the mark on her inner wrist. I only saw it for a second when she reached forward to give me the water the second time and then the sleeve of her silk white dress slipped over the top of it again.

It looked like a … a branding. Scorched words burned into her skin. She started to walk away taking the empty bottle with her when I called out. “What will happen to me?”

When she turned it was graceful and flowing, the silk dress floating around her legs as she moved then settling next to her slim thighs. I wanted to beg her to help me, to let me go, but begging never helped. It only made you appear weak, and I knew this girl wouldn’t set me free. No one would.

“You’ll die if she has her way.” Even though her words tore through me like a knife, her voice was sweet and soft, perfectly matching everything else about her, except the emptiness in her eyes. I didn’t see hope or laughter or even anger. They were just eyes watching and seeing, not reacting, yet hidden there was a familiar torment.

“Why?”

She didn’t say anything.

“Why did you bring me water if I’m going to die anyway? Do you get off on seeing a girl in chains? What’s next … you going to whip me? Are you going to ruin your pretty silk dress with my blood?” I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but if I was going to die, then I was going to do it fighting. “I’ll never beg. You can whip me until I die, but I’ll never beg you to stop.”

“I was afraid of that,” she said in a quiet, husky whisper. “They’re always watching.”

“What do you mean?” She walked toward the door and opened it. “What do you mean?” I screamed.

The door shut.

Greg escorted me to the washroom. My arms and legs were so cramped that I didn’t have the ability to fight him. He kept his eyes locked on me as I lowered my panties and sat on the toilet. It took a few minutes before I could finally go; stage fright took on a whole other meaning.

I washed my hands and face and then his heated fingers coiled around my arm as he led me back to the bed. I hesitated and he yanked on me so hard I slammed into his chest. His dark brows lowered over his beady shit-brown eyes. His matching shit-brown hair hung like greasy strands of thread over his forehead. His fingers tightened into a bruising grip as he thrust me toward the bed.

I shook my head back and forth, instinct fighting me as we drew closer to what had become my cage. A cage of comfort and deceptive beauty, and yet it was anything but. This was sacrificial no matter how I looked at it. I was going to die here. Used until I died. Driven to beg, but I wouldn’t, and I knew that would make it worse for me.

Greg tossed me face first on the bed, and then he was on top, his thighs on either side of my pelvis.

“Get the hell off me.” I freaked, my heart slamming into my chest and my pulse racing wildly as I tried to get away. I flailed wildly and knocked both of us off balance. I landed on the cement floors, my right knee hitting so hard I was screaming in pain.

Greg had no mercy as he picked me up in a bruising grip and forced me face down on the bed again. Soon I was chained, but worse I was lying on my stomach. The panic of being unable to move rushed through me, and I pulled at the chains, my back arching, my cheeks pressed into the pillow.

“It won’t be long now,” Greg said and then strolled casually from the room as if this was nothing to him—that a woman kidnapped and chained to a bed was a usual occurrence.

“Good! Tell that bitch I’m waiting for her.” I don’t know if he heard all of it since halfway through my shouting the door slammed.

I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes the gray-eyed girl stood beside the bed, another water bottle in hand. She crackled the plastic casing and the lid fell to the floor. I lifted my head as much as I could, and she poured the water into my mouth. Although half of it slipped out the side and soaked into the pillow. She placed her finger under my chin to assist me and poured the cool liquid slower so I could swallow easier.

“How long have I been here?” I asked when the water was finished.

“A day and a half.” She stared at me for several seconds, her delicate thin brows lowered over her eyes. She tilted her head forward so her hair swung forward and hid her face. “He’s here, being forced to watch you,” she whispered, and then she spun on her heel and I heard the door open and close.

I jerked on the chains. What? What did she mean? Oh God, please don’t let it be Ream. I’d rather die here alone, starving, and breaking until … I no longer existed. An empty shell with nothing left inside to love, to give to anyone, to feel.

Was that what Ream had meant? How he’d felt all his life—until me.

Baby. It was his voice in my head that would save me now.

Beautiful. He was all I had left, and when I died it would be with his arms around me.

I love you, Kat.

I closed my eyes and listened to his voice over and over in my head. And then after a while, I sighed as my mind took me … gave me him and I slept in his arms.