Page 104 of Slaughter

He walks in and leaves the door open behind him. If I could just get this thing from around my neck, I could run. To where? I don’t know. I could be in another country, for all I know. Or back in New York.

“I’ve always wondered what you would look like chained to a wall,” he says when his brown eyes drop to my bare breasts—my nipples hard from the coldness. “You didn’t disappoint, Pres.”

I sniff as fresh tears fall. “You’re one sick bastard …”

He grabs my ankle and yanks me off the wall, cutting off my words. My back and ass slide against the cold concrete floor, and I cry out when it tears my skin. But it’s cut off by the collar around my neck when he pulls it to the point it chokes me, the chain now pulled tight.

I cough and try to breathe when he flips me onto my stomach. The action making it pull my skin and pinch me once again.

I kick my legs against the concrete floor while I dig my nails between the collar and my skin, trying to get enough space to breathe. But he grabs my hands, pulling them behind my back. My heart pounds in my chest and my hips buck, but he sits on them. Then I feel the unforgiving steel wrap around my wrists, and my heart breaks. I flop around like a fish out of water trying to survive.

He leans over, pinning my stomach and chest to the floor. He grips my hair tightly and rips my head back, and my skin splits from the collar as dots dance before my eyes.

Don’t pass out. As long as I’m awake, I can fight him. Even if I don’t have a chance. “Your father was a sick bastard,” he hisses by my ear, and I dig my cuffed hands into his shirt, trying to grip his skin. “I’m a sick bastard.” He chuckles “And Avery is a sick bastard.”

My jaw clenches at the mention of Avery. “He’s … nothing … like …” Those dots get bigger. I blink. “You …”

“He is, Pres. He kidnapped you. He fucked you. And he whipped you. Just not enough.”

I try to shake my head, but it’s impossible with the chain of the shackle pulled tight and his hand gripping my hair.

“The only difference is you liked being his slave.” He sneers. “Don’t worry, you’ll learn to like being mine.” He shoves my head into the concrete, and I instantly taste blood as pain explodes.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He lets go of me, and I roll once to get closer to the wall, giving the chain some slack. I suck in a long and painful breath once I have the option.

“You said she was for me,” he tells Victor. “I did all the work for her. Now I want my payment.”

Victor slaps him across the face, and I wish I could enjoy it, but I’m too busy trying not to puke from the pain in my head. “You’ll get what I give you.”

“That’s not what we agreed …”

“Leave us,” he orders, and Vaughn storms out, slamming the door shut behind him.

I cower against the wall, my hands still cuffed behind my back. I want to beg him to let me go. Beg him not to do this to me. But this man took everything I had. He would never show mercy. No matter how much you beg for it.

He crouches in front of me, and I hate that I whimper. He reaches out to cup my face, and when I flinch, he laughs. He runs his hand over my busted lip, smearing the blood. Then sucks on his finger.

Don’t puke!

This time when he reaches out his hand, he places it in my hair and plays with a few strands. “Vaughn never did know how to treat a lady.”

I say nothing, still trying to catch my breath.

“Good thing you’re not a lady.” And then he tightens his hand in my hair and yanks me to the ground. Before I can even cry out, he’s straddling me, his hand over my mouth and nose, and I have déjà vu.

Tears roll down my cheeks as I try to fight him off, but once again, I have nothing. I’m going to die in this basement, chained to a wall with my hands cuffed behind my back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

AVERY

WHEN MY BROTHER AND I walk into her room, she’s sitting on her bed. Her back against the headboard, her knees pulled up to her chest. She looks so young. So frail. And my chest tightens at how much we’ve missed. If only she hadn’t ruined me, things would be so much different.

“I’m not changing my mind, Tristan,” she says to him, lifting her chin. I don’t know if I should be proud of her or sick to my stomach. Maybe a little bit of both.

“I’m only here to help,” he assures her.

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