Page 15 of Bathed in Blood

She doesn’t offer me any pleasantries, which is a little rude but understandable, considering her position. My phone rings loudly, interrupting our staring match. I pretend to pull it up, watching her in my peripheral as she tentatively releases the sheets, snaking her hand down to prod at her sex, seeing if she’s been fucked.

I school my features against my smirk. Unconscious girls aren’t my thing.

Just as I say that, my eyes land on the overflowing wastebasket of cum-filled tissues in the corner, from when I stood over the Blood Princess, jerking my cock like I just hit puberty off and onfor the last twelve hours. Her brows furrow as she feels the thick pad placed in her new underwear.

“Would you have preferred I let your ass bleed all over the bedding?”

She doesn’t respond, her cheeks flushing a pretty color.

I wait for her answer, eyebrows raised, but when her teeth dig into her bottom lip, I realize she doesn’t feel like she’s allowed to, a dangerous status quo to break if she’s a talker. I can’t stand meaningless conversations.

A growl slips through my lips as my phone rings again, jerking it to my ear. “What?”

“She up yet? You’ve been up there for a while. No fucking around until she’s—" Jesse barks into the phone, barely taking a breath before I interrupt him.

“No.” I don’t know why I lie.

“Fuck. How much of that shit did Doc give her? He said ten hours tops.”

I hear rustling on the other end before Father’s voice takes up space here my younger brother’s had been. “She’s got a few more hours to wake before I send in Dr. Lamaison to push the matter. The sooner she’s lucid, the sooner she can be brought to terms with her new situation. We want minimal disruptions before the announcement. The watchers are already getting wind of something going down with the Blood Princess streams. Luca hacked and tore down the servers, but it’s only a matter of time. We need her performing at peak before people start making claims of a takedown.”

I don’t answer, my eyes trained on my princess as she stares at me, the same numb resolution I saw in her eyes as that fucker took her ass. My phone case creaks as my grip tightens.

“….and son?”

“Yes?” I snap a little too loudly.

“Get her the fuck out of your wing.” He ends the call just as abruptly as he hijacked it, par for the course with the head of the Vanegas family. Irritation flares in me, because he’s fucking right. She shouldn’t be here, and she’s still looking at me like that, the way she looked at them. It’s pissing me off. Any comparison to Sullivan filth would, I suppose.

That’s what I tell myself.

Their money is in the real world, fed to them by daddy dearest. They had no place down here. At least the Vanegas don’t pretend to be upstanding citizens, good, ivy league cunts. We’ve always been clear about what side of the law we stood on. Snuff, drugs, and guns were our claim to fame long before her.

Beforeher, their little videos were laughable. Then, things went dark. A small fry got tired of seeing no pay off in a high-risk world and blinked out before the heat turned into an inferno.

She works her throat again, now avoiding my eyes, looking around for something. A wince follows every swallow. I could show her where to get the water, but the idea of her leaving my bed makes me want to wrap my hands around her throat. I could get itforher. I can’t name a time I served anyone anything other than death or pain.

I give her my back.

After things went dark with the shoddy Sullivan streams, they came back, like a nasty cough. Suddenly, the production was better, the little clips turning into full length streams overnight. From her very first one, people were hooked.

I swipe the iced thermos of water from behind me, pouring her some in a small paper cup. She sits up immediately, wincing as she goes. Her little pink tongue darts out, desperately wetting her lips, and I fight the smirk that pulls at my face, my cock already growing at the idea of her needing something onlyIcan provide.

I drink the water.

I don’t know why I do it. I have no reason to be a fuck to her and every reason to make her as comfortable as I can. We want her on our side. Killing her is also an option, but talent like that shouldn’t be thrown away.

I fill the cup again, waiting.

Ask me, princess. Ask me for a drink, and I’ll give it to you.

“Were you there against your will the entire time, or did you just have a change of heart halfway through?” It doesn’t matter to me either way, but we’re building rapport. Stolen help is new here, especially of the snuff variety, but we aren’t barbarians. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

Why I’ve decided I’m the most equipped to build rapport who the fuck knows. She doesn’t answer, but she does eye the cup. Her nipples poke out from underneath the sheets like diamonds, begging to be rubbed across my lips.

“So you really were having as much fun as it appeared on camera.”

It’s bullshit. I’m positive, even before Dr. Lamaison relayed the mile-long list of injuries she sustained over the years. Fractures that never healed right, chemical burns down her arms, her x-rays lighting up like Whoville on Christmas night. None of it was as bad as the vaginal exam—seems that was the only place they were willing to purposely scar her. Even my father winced when the doctor talked about her ass. My fists clench, the paper cup crumbling in my palm, forcing the icy water out over the edges.

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