Page 84 of Cruel Riches

Nate pulled a bottle of water out of the bag. “Drink,” he said, tossing it to me through the bars.

With a shaky hand, I raised it to my lips, wondering if it was poisoned. It tasted fine, though, and the cool liquid was a welcome respite from the dry, sandpapery feeling that had developed in my throat over the last several hours. It instantly made me feel more alert, too. Unfortunately, I had a feeling that was exactly what Nate wanted.

“Strip,” he commanded when I’d drained the bottle.

“No.” I threw the bottle through the bars, just missing his head. Damn.

Nate wasn’t fucking around today. He pulled out a knife from the black roll on the floor and waved it in my direction. “Strip, or I’ll start taking strips off you with this. Your choice.”

My choice. Sure. As if anything in this hellhole was really my choice.

“Are you sure you have the guts for that?” I asked in a low voice, even though I knew it would earn me more punishment. What did it matter? He was going to hurt me either way. I might as well try to emasculate him and make him feel like shit in the process. He deserved it.

Nate unlocked the door and let himself in. Then he grabbed my arm and brought the knife down, slicing my coat open and tearing into the skin below. I shrieked and jumped back, clutching my now-bleeding forearm.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked, cocking his head.

I nodded silently.

“Good. Now fucking strip.”

I gritted my teeth and removed my coat, sweater, and jeans, shivering as the cold air hit my bare skin.

“Bra too,” Nate said, eyes glittering with malice as he brandished the knife.

With halting movements, I unhooked my bra and let it fall to the floor. I slid my hands down to my panties, too, but Nate shook his head. “Leave them on.”

I did as he said, and he stepped out of the cell. “Follow me.”

I took half a step before Nate turned back to me. “No. I changed my mind.”

I swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

He smirked again. “Crawl.”

“But—” I bit back my retort and lowered my eyes to the floor. It was filthy, covered in dust, twigs, dried leaves, and stones. Crawling was going to be hell on my hands and knees.

I looked back up to Nate to see if he’d change his mind and grant me the mercy of walking. He didn’t say anything. Just stared at me with murder in his eyes and waved that glinting knife around.

My shoulders slumped as I realized I couldn’t figure out a way to escape from this place if Nate got sick of my attitude and decided to kill me fast. That meant I had to play by his rules. Degrade myself to stay alive.

Once I was free and clear, it wouldn’t matter what I did to make it happen.

Resigning myself to my fate for now, I dropped to all fours and started to crawl. He led me out of the cell and down the tunnel, toward the maze of smaller passages that led to the torture room he showed me on my first day here.

The distance felt like an impossibility, but I finally made it to the other room. My knees and shins were grazed and stinging like mad, and my hands were covered in grime.

“Good girl,” Nate said, petting my head like a dog. Then he kicked my left side, sending me flying across the floor. “Get up.”

With a clenched jaw, I shakily forced myself to my feet.

“Go inside,” he said, nodding toward the open door. “Get on the table.”

“Which one?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Which one do you think, stupid slut?”

I went over to the exam table with the stirrups, hoping that was what he meant. It seemed to satisfy him, because he didn’t shout at me or slash me with the knife again. He simply smiled and put his bag and knife roll down on the other table.

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