Page 31 of Twisted Cage

The fucker looks as though he has no clue we know. He probably thinks by strangling her, he scared her into keeping her mouth shut.

Wrong, fucker. You are so fucking wrong.

I guarded her for almost an hour while she practically boiled herself with scalding hot water, crying from the searing heat, but helpless to stop scrubbing at her skin until her flesh became raw and swollen. Uncontrollably trying to scour away what he did to her, not realizing, there is no cleansing away this nightmare.

I glance down at the gauze wrapped from the center of my palm up to the edge of my wrist and let out a sigh.

Time to reel the rapist in.

“I caught my palm on a chef’s knife drying dishes. Sliced the fleshy part at the base of my thumb clean open. I need to get butterfly closures for it when I go into town.” I turn my hand over so he can see the section and the “blood” I had just barely soaking through there.

Amazing what you can accomplish with a little corn syrup, chocolate syrup, and red food coloring.

“Are you sure you don’t need stitches?” His fingers ghost over the bandage and move to the inside of my wrist. He licks his lips, heated eyes on mine as he works his way along the inside of my forearm.

Keep touching me, bitch. Give me every reason to make your death slow and painful.

“I’m going to need help loading the van.” I shiver… from pure disgust, but he sees it, so I peer up at him through my lashes with a hint of a smile, making it look like attraction.

Interest flares in his muddy brown eyes and he cocks his head. “Then I guess we should go together. Just the two of us,” he murmurs as he draws lazy circles on the inside of my elbow.

Goosebumps rise on my skin and he bites his lip.

“Meet me at the van in about twenty minutes?” I ask quietly.

His hand travels up my arm, over my shoulder, before brushing my collarbone.

I allow my eyes to sink shut, letting him think he has me right where he wants me.

When his fingers curl around the back of my neck, threading through the hair at my nape, the image of the red marks around Regan’s throat flash through my mind. My fingers itch to reach for my knife, but I resist.

All in due time, fucker.

“I’ll be there,” he whispers over the shell of my ear, his palm flexing possessively before dropping his hand and turning to leave.

Twenty minutes later, I find him leaning against the van, feet shoulder-length apart, and his leering smile firmly in place. His gaze drops to the skirt of my sundress where it flutters around my thighs.

Stepping into the space between his feet, not too far in, just enough to let him think I’ve taken his bait, I hold out the keys. “Would you mind driving? My hand is throbbing.”

“Throbbing, huh?” he asks, staring straight at my tits. “For you, Nikoletta… anything.”

God, he is easy. A total whore for just a fraction of fake-ass attention. If all goes according to plan, he’ll be focused on getting in my underwear instead of violating one of the eight other single women living in the main house.

The army will be here before he ever has the chance to rape anyone else here.

I cross my legs, right leg over my left, angled just a smidge in his direction to show interest. I sneak shy glances, darting my gaze away as though embarrassed at being caught the minute he meets my eyes. When he reaches for the volume on the radio, I do the same, making our hands brush.

Demure and uncertain is the name of the game if I want to embolden him to make a move.

Longest. Ride. Of. My. Life.

Ordinarily, every Friday, I drive the commune’s minivan to town and pick up our canned goods and pantry staples. One order at Cosco, another at Wegman’s, and back up to the commune I’d go. Elijah has me place the orders online using his card so all I have to do is collect the orders. His penchant for control conveniently keeps me from skimming money off the grocery funds to tuck away for our escape.

With no options if we have to flee, I know at some point, I’ll be forced to use my credit card. When my brother made me an approved user, I knew he did it hoping to keep tabs on me. That’s why I’ve never used it. I always keep it on me, though, no matter what.

Even that fateful night Konstantin and I explored the church.

Explored… well, that is definitely a word for it. More like desecrated the holy clean out of it when he took my virginity on the altar where I was baptized.

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