Page 40 of Barbi and the Villain

The pain must be unbearable, yet he withstands it all.

How? How can he not make a sound when his flesh must be aflame and blistering?

Tears course down my cheeks as I turn my gaze to Ivan. Hate unlike I’ve ever known fills me.

“You evil man,” I cry out. I curl my hands into fists and hit at him. “How could you do that? How could you?—”

I don’t get to complete my sentence before his palm connects with my cheek, the blow hard enough to send me flying backward.

“Did I give you permission to speak?” he bites out at me.

I bring my hand to my cheek, rubbing at it while I give him a mutinous look.

“I hate you,” I grit out.

But that makes him laugh harder.

“Do you think I care?”

He takes a step toward me, his lips pulling into a lascivious smile as he regards me.

“Tell you what. His cock might not get hard, but mine can.”

At the same time, his hands go to his belt and panic flares in my chest, as well as the realization that no matter what world I might be in, women will always be targets for this type of violence.

I blink wildly as I crawl back, shaking my head at him. He comes slowly toward me, almost as if he’s enjoying this cat-and-mouse game, and he wants to make sure my fear is at its peak before he reaches for me.

I try to think of anything that might help me, but my mind blanks on me, fear echoing in my ears under the guise of an erratic pulse.

He’s a few steps away from me when the light goes out in the cell.

8

The fire goes out.

Darkness surrounds us.

An eerie silence envelops the room before Ivan’s bloodcurdling screams erupt in the air. A flash of light fills my vision. Ivan’s entire body has been set ablaze, the fire consuming him from the inside.

His screams continue, making me press my palms to my ears to block the merciless sound.

As the fire burns him alive, my eyes skitter past him to my cellmate. If I expected to find a charred corpse, I am sadly mistaken. His clothes are mostly burned and sticking to his skin. But his flesh is unmarred. There are no blisters, no burn wounds. There isn’t even a little bit of redness.

“Stop this!” Ivan screams, falling to his knees and turning to the man to ask for help. “Please, stop!”

His pleas go unanswered.

Slowly, the man turns his head. His hair is half burned, but it still reaches his shoulders. It’s a pure black, with the barest hint of ash from the fire.

I swallow hard as I get my first glimpse of the mysterious man.

His face is ashy, sickly. But it doesn’t detract from the sheer beauty of his features. His jaw is strong and defined. His cheekbones so sharp they could cut through steel. His piercing eyes are big and round. I cannot make out the color of his irises, but there’s a mesmerizing quality to them—so much so I cannot look away.

His face is expressionless as he watches Ivan succumb to his death. He falls to the ground, his screams a muted echo. His body continues to burn long after he dies, what’s left of his remains feeding the fire.

“H-how…” I whisper as I stare at my cellmate.

He shifts his gaze from the fire to me, his eyes narrowing.

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