Page 69 of Delivered to the Devil

Getting me naked is quick and easy work because I willingly lift my arms for him to pull off my blouse and lift my legs to step out of my pants. I can’t bring myself to resist. He can do whatever he wants to me—ask me to do anything—and I’ll do it just because he wants it. I’m done fighting this intense need to submit to him, even if it becomes my downfall.

When I stand naked in front of him, he grabs me by the arm and hauls me through the apartment, into the bedroom where the lanky man stands waiting in the corner. My eyes fallto the pile of sheets and pillows on the floor next to him, and horror speeds up my breath when I see the plastic cover that has replaced them on the bed.

Fear poisons my blood, causing my pulse to skyrocket and pound in my veins. My eyes dart up to Janos in the hope of finding some help—or at least reassurance. But he doesn’t even glance at me. He just pushes me onto the mattress and places me flat on my back, then steps out of my line of sight.

I don’t move to catch sight of him. I just stare up at the ceiling as I hear him rummage in a bag. My entire body trembles as I lie there on the naked plastic surface, trying not to guess at what horror will befall me tonight.

Janos returns with a first aid kit and straddles me. My eyes frantically search his—not to beg him to stop whatever he’s doing, but to stay with me. But he remains focused on the task at hand. He takes out a bottle of alcohol, sterile wipes, and latex gloves that he puts on both hands. Then he proceeds to disinfect every inch of my upper body—even my neck.

The alcohol stings in my nostrils, and the cool liquid intensifies the trembles in my body. Coldness wraps around me and bites into my bones when Janos leaves me. He takes a waiting position at the side, becoming as passive as the man at the other end of the room.

Every now and then, I turn my head, hoping to make contact with Janos, but his stiff stare straight ahead remains unwavering.

At long last, the sound of the front door breaks the harrowing silence, followed by the firm clicks of footsteps.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” Gabor exclaims, rubbing his hands together as he steps up to the foot of the bed and watches me.

Breaking from his statuesque pose, Janos retrieves two new pairs of gloves, handing one to Gabor and taking the other forhimself. Then he climbs onto the bed, kneeling beside me, and pours copious amounts of alcohol over a switchblade.

I stare in horror at the blade and flinch every time a cool drop of liquid splashes onto me.

My entire system is on edge when Gabor climbs up to sit astride me, and when Janos hands him the knife, I lose all restraint, grabbing for Janos in a pitiful attempt at seeking help. Of course, he doesn’t grant me any. He’s at work now, and his job is to keep me in place—not to comfort me. He just grabs my hands and pins them to the mattress above my head.

But despite his apparent detachment, I notice the tension in his jaw. It’s barely there, and I don’t think Gabor notices—he’s too preoccupied with his own project. But I’ve spent long enough time studying this man to notice the little things.

He doesn’t like whatever game Gabor has planned for me tonight, and seeing his reaction scares me even more than the knife. Janos is a master at hiding his reactions, and him not being able to do so means things are about to get very ugly.

But knowing he cares enough to be concerned is a reassurance in and of itself, and I cling to that notion, but it’s like clinging to slippery ice that’s melting through my fingers when he denies me any and all contact.

I pull in a sharp breath when Gabor presses the flat side of the blade to my belly, and I pray to God he only plans on scaring me. But I already know that’s not the case. When he turns it ninety degrees, I feel how sharp it is. This is a blade meant to cut—just like the one I held to my wrist earlier this evening.

How ironic. I couldn’t cut myself, so now Gabor does it for me.

I hold my breath, pulling my stomach in to keep the knife from sinking into my skin. It takes every modicum of self-control to not stare at the knife and descend into panic. I won’t give Gabor the satisfaction of my fear, so I keep my gaze trainedon Janos, who still won’t meet my eyes. Even so, I know he sees me. He always does. And when Gabor drags the blade across my skin, I have my evidence.

Moving his free hand to my shoulder, Janos gives me the slightest squeeze, as if to let me know he’s here with me. I don’t think it’s even conscious, but it works. As Gabor continues to make small cuts across my body, Janos’s hand is the only thing that holds the crippling fear at bay.

But when Gabor suddenly jerks the knife across my skin and pain flares like a lick of fire, I snap into a feverish panic. With blaring alarms going off in my mind, I thrash wildly and uncoordinated. It doesn’t matter that the knife hovers above my skin and I might cut myself on it even worse. I simply can’t lie still.

Janos reacts as quickly as I do, releasing my hands to shove both his palms against my chest, pushing me into the mattress, away from the knife. I just start flailing my now free arms instead, throwing them at Gabor and the knife.

“Lie still, for God’s sake,” Janos snaps, trying to gain control of my panicked body.

Somewhere at the back of my head, I know I should obey, but blinding flashes of red have drowned out all rationale and self-preservation.

“Tie her up,” Gabor says irritably, hopping off the bed.

Before I realize my legs are free to kick, two cold hands grab them. I jerk my head up and see the lanky man give me a disgusting grin as he wraps rope around my ankles.

I go absolutely livid, throwing all my energy into futile jerking and writhing. “Stop,” I yell, thrashing my head up and down as I try to kick the lanky man, but I don’t think he even hears me. He remains cold and cruel as he ties my legs to the bed, gripping me so hard I think my skin will bruise.

I keep screaming and thrashing to no avail until my eyes catch on Janos. He has effectively immobilized me by gathering my arms against my chest, and he’s no longer indifferent. He’s staring at the cold hands working on my legs with a murderous expression. The sight takes me aback so much I go still, and when Janos snaps out of it and starts tying my hands to the bedposts, I barely move. All I can think about is the rage in his eyes.

Gabor shoves the lanky man aside to retake his place on the bed. His irritated expression quickly morphs into a monstrous smirk as he watches the fear painted across my face.

Once again, cold steel touches my skin. This time, Gabor doesn’t bother to drag out the terror-inducing anticipation. He cuts the knife straight into me—a long gash that draws a gruesome scream from my throat. I stare in shock at the angry red line on my stomach. Blood rises from the wound in a quick stream, trickling across my milky white skin and dripping onto the waterproof sheet. I can’t stop screaming, and black spots dance in my vision as the oxygen grows scarce in my lungs. Gabor presses his hand against my stomach and cuts another long gash with the knife, studying his work with a manic grin.

Pain and panic close in on me, making bile rise at the back of my throat as my world narrows to a dark pit of desperation. I thrash like an animal up for slaughter again, but my strength weakens as dizziness takes over.

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