Page 16 of Delivered to the Devil

Rebecca can barely stand on her own two legs when we get to her apartment building. It’s a struggle for her to get up the four flights of stairs, and she looks like she’s about to pass out when I unlock the door with the key I had made.

“How much have you eaten today?” I ask as I grab the lapels of her jacket from behind to take it off.

The small shake of her head tells me she probably hasn’t had anything. She’s been going on adrenaline, and with that having faded now, there’s nothing left to hold her up. Her whole system is probably in shock, and she doesn’t have any kind of fuel to run on. No wonder she’s about to collapse.

Before that happens, I take off her clothes, leaving her bra and panties, then lead her to bed.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she says in a voice so small it’s barely audible. “I—I’m sorry I tried to leave.”

She’s probably expecting some kind of punishment, but my only order is to make sure she stays put. Gabor will make sure she won’t get the inclination to leave again. He’s quite effective about such things.

I’ve offered different methods, but those usually risk breaking the girls, and he prefers to do that slowly, little by little.

I flip the comforter aside and gesture to the mattress. “Get some rest.”

She looks up at me, confusion swimming in those big doe eyes of hers. She still doesn’t believe I’m not here to hurt her. So I lean down and scoop her up, enjoying the small yelp that escapes her lips. She’s about to push against my chest when I place her on the mattress.

“Rest,” I say, and her eyes drift shut the moment I flip the comforter over her and tuck it around her slender body.

I go to her kitchen and find the shattered mug that must have caused the cut on her hand. After cleaning up the mess, I scour her cupboards and fridge for food—or clues as to what she likes so I can get her some. But all I find is a brown banana, a few cold cuts, oatmeal, and some dry bread. It doesn’t tell me much more than the poor state of her finances—which I already knew, having hacked my way to all the information I could possibly get about her online.

Opening the freezer, I find a tub of Ben and Jerry’s Caramel Chew Chew.One clue.I huff a small laugh. That’s my go-to flavor too. I pull off the lid and find a meagre inch of ice cream covered in a layer of ice. I wonder if she has been saving it for a special occasion.

With a shake of my head, I put it back in the empty freezer. Someone needs to take care of this girl because she surely doesn’t know how to do it herself.

I leave her apartment to go get something for her to eat. When I return half an hour later, Rebecca is fast asleep. I move quietly to avoid waking her as I go to the kitchen. To make sure there’s something she likes, I’ve gotten a little bit of everything. Fruit, meat, rösti, cheese, and fresh langos with sour crème andcheese. I fill a plate with a bit of everything, then stock the rest of the food in her kitchen.

I pour a large glass of orange juice, pop a straw in, and head to the main room. She doesn’t even stir as I place the items on the nightstand and bring a chair up to the bed, and I’m of half a mind not to wake her. But this girl needs to eat. I take a seat in front of her and reach out to stroke the edges of her hair. It’s silky and soft—good genes rather than good care, I’m sure.

A soft moan slips from her lips, and I keep touching her silky tresses as she slowly drifts back to consciousness. But she doesn’t quite seem willing to return. After blinking weakly a few times and moving her head just enough to see me, her eyelids fall shut again and her head falls limp on the pillow.

“You need to eat,” I say, but she only responds with a tiny whimper. So I take the glass and press the straw to her lips. A parched cat will drink when presented with water no matter how weak. “Drink,” I say, and her lips move slightly against the straw as she takes a tiny sip. Like I figured, she’s parched, going on instinct, and soon her lips are rounding around the straw as she greedily sucks up the sweet juice.

Halfway through, she seems to regain some awareness and pauses, staring up at me. Her eyes blink as worry and confusion seem to swirl around her green irises, and she slowly pushes the straw out, although reluctantly.

“It’s just orange juice,” I say.

She glances suspiciously down at the glass, then back up at me, and her head seems to whir with a million different questions and uncertainties.

“If I wanted to drug you, I’d simply use a needle.” I poke my finger into her arm, the same place where I stabbed her with a needle when administering the contraceptive shot.

Her eyes become distant for a moment, and then she seems to resign herself, and they drift shut as she pulls the straw backbetween her lips and sucks anew. In barely half a minute, the rest of the glass is empty.

When I prod a piece of fruit between her lips, her eyes stay closed. This time, she doesn’t hesitate to take what I offer, but her lips move slowly, her jaw the same as if so weakened it takes more effort to chew.

Slowly, she regains some vigor, chewing faster, opening her eyes to follow my fingers as I break off pieces of food and bring it to her lips, and widening her eyes as I lick my fingers then bring them back to her lips with a new piece of food. My cock stirs at the sight of those eyes, but what has it straining against my pants is when her tongue darts out to lick her now rosy lips.

I realize my jaw has gone hard when I move my eyes from her lips and find her pausing, watching me wearily.

“Eat,” I say and shove another piece of food to her lips.

She opens up, and her obedience damn near has the same effect as her tongue, and I struggle to rein in the hunger that threatens to harden my entire face.

Once the plate is empty, I take it away along with the glass and retrieve the first aid kit I’ve brought from my car. Pushing the cover aside, I find her wounded hand and bring it into the open. She’s hesitant about letting me have it, and when I begin to peel off the bandages, she tries to pull it away.

I give her a direct glare and a shake of my head, and her lips press together in worry as her hand goes limp in mine.

“Did you do this to yourself?” I ask as I slowly take off the creased roller gauze.

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