Page 160 of Scars Run Deep

“You somehow evaded my detection and managed to avoid my order to drink yourself into a stupor. But I always have a fallback, son.”

“I’m not your fucking son,” I gritted out, trying to gauge what he’d just shot me up with. Obviously a sedative, but what and how much? I had a powerful stimulant in my system, so it could possibly counteract it. At least for a time. I just needed to run the math and figure out how much time I had, so I could formulate a workable strategy to extract Aurora.

He snatched it out of my hand before I could get a good look.

I took in the space, rapidly analyzing the situation.

Aurora was in the far left corner. A few feet from her was a foldable metal table with several tools and implements laid out in a meticulously organized way. Definitely his work.

The implications were clear as I took them in.

A dog collar. A choke chain. Wooden pegs. Rubber gloves. A speculum. An empty bottle of champagne. A thick clear dildo, the kind I knew they used to train their dolls to deepthroat.

There was another chair with empty cuffs beside hers.

“That’s for you,” he said, watching me taking everything in. “You get to enjoy a front row seat as I break your little girlfriend in for me.”

I swallowed down the revulsion, knowing I needed to focus if I was going to get us out of this.

“You want her to take Olivia’s place?” I stared back at him. “Or is it Isobel’s shoes you want her to fill?”

His eyes narrowed.

“Either way, it’s several levels beyond fucked-up, wouldn’t you say? Having the daughter after having the mother? I mean, it’s twisted, even for you.”

“Your belligerence isn’t doing you any favors, nor making the point with me like you’re hoping.”

He took a step forward and I shifted my weight in preparation.

As I did, an intense wave of lightheadedness beset me and I wavered a little.

I saw him notice it, even as I managed to school it quickly.

“That should’ve affected you immediately, I’m impressed.”

“You piece of—”

He threw his fist. It was so fast, the motion was almost a blur.

But I reacted, managing to catch it in my palm.

My fingers squeezed, boring down around his to the point of painful pressure.

Not hard enough, though.

Whatever he’d shot me up with was hampering my strength.

He grinned, then shoved it forward suddenly.

I couldn’t hold it and it slammed into my face, both our fists colliding with my nose.

Pain exploded and I tasted blood on my lips a moment later.

A boot to the gut had me stumbling back.

I threw out my arm instinctively and his knee jammed into my palm.

It was enough of an obstacle to deflect the damage, but that was proven futile in the next second, as he’d obviously intended for that reaction, then slamming his fist into my throat. He connected with brutal precision, hitting at the right angle with the right amount of force to make me choke and lose the ability to breathe for a few moments.

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