Page 68 of Blackmailed to the Altar

I screamed out, swinging back and forth, trying to get out of the way.

“Why are you doing this?” I cried when he said nothing. The whip hit my skin repeatedly as I screamed and raged at him.

“What did I do to you?” More of the whip rained down on me.

“Why?” I croaked out, my voice hoarse from screaming. He whipped me again. I could feel drops of blood hitting the floor. When I barely made a sound, he opened his mouth.

“Oh, little slave. I took you because he didn’t deserve to have you. Not after he caused a death.” His grip tightened on the whip, and his face scrunched up in anger.

“Who are you talking about?” I swallowed the bile in the back of my throat, as black spots spun in my vision.

“Sebastian Caputo,” my captor spat.

I wanted to ask more questions, but he wasn’t willing to answer any more.

“Time for more punishment, my little slave,” he cooed. He walked towards me. I weakly raised my leg, trying to kick out, but I couldn’t get close to his body. He chuckled as the fight left my body. I was in too much pain to try to get him. He unhooked my arms, and the sudden rush of blood in my circulation made me collapse to the floor.

“Assume the position,” he barked. I didn’t understand what he was saying. So I laid there on the dirty floor, my blood pooling between me and the floorboards.

“I said, ASSUME THE POSITION,” he roared. When I still didn’t move, he seemed to calm down. It sent a trickle of unease down my spine.

“I guess you like to be punished, little slave. What a dirty fucking masochist I picked up.” He raised the whip and stroked it across my face. I wailed and tried to cover myself, while he hit me over and over. My mind was confused. While I understood what sadomasochism was, this wasn’t it. There was no consent. There was only pain. I certainly wasn’t a masochist. The only pain I liked was tiny spurts. Nothing like what he was doing to me right now. I didn’t even think he was wielding the whip correctly as he beat me.

After a while, he tired out, as the human body does. He also didn’t have the upper body mass to beat someone for hours without consequences. Instead of leaving me in peace, he finally broke like I wanted him to.

“Did you know that your husband killed my sister? She loved him fiercely, and he burned her alive.”

It was then I knew he was insane. His version of events were vastly different from Sebastian’s. I tried to blink the blood out of my eye, but it came pouring out. Head wounds always bleed the worst.

“Listen, little slave. You are mine now. I’m finally able to break his pet like he broke my sister. He forced her into thislifestyle. She told me all about it. I learned the ways. I realized I wanted to do my thing. The women who said they loved pain really didn’t like the pain I showed them. They were weak,” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

I cringed and tried to scramble away from him, but slipped on the blood below me.

“I found out about you from a snitch, little slave. I watched surveillance of you, and I know you are bad, just like the supposed Brotherhood you hang around. Just like Sebastian. Tell me, who did you hurt?”

I ignored his question. I wouldn’t answer that at all. He rubbed the blood into my skin. I ignored the bulge in his pants, and tried to imagine I was somewhere else.

“Losing your sister is what’s making you do this, but you can stop. Take me home and I won’t say anything to anyone,” I stammered. I knew all about keeping what I’ve seen and heard to myself.

“Your opinion is unwanted, little slave. Time for correction. No more talking.” That was the last time he spoke to me. It didn’t take long for me to pass out in my blood and piss. Not long at all.

The first thingI felt was the cold seeping into my bones, the kind that clung to my skin and sent shivers down my spine. My eyes fluttered open, heavy and stinging, but everything was a blur of darkness and shadow. The faint, flickering light from a dim bulb above, barely reached the edges of the room, casting grotesque shadows that danced on the stained concrete walls. My wrists ached, the raw, burning sensation from days of struggling against the restraints, reminding me I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t anywhere safe. I was still in this nightmare.

The scent of dampness, blood, and fear, hung thick in the air; a sickening miasma that made my stomach churn. My heart hammered in my chest, as I slowly took in the chains on the wall, the instruments scattered across the table that still bore the remnants of my own blood. This man’s playground of horrors.

I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision, but the room seemed to sway. My body was weak, every muscle sore and bruised. But then, I saw him.

“Mya? I’m here, and it’s going to be alright.” He walked forward, closer to the light, and I gasped. It was Sebastian.

“Seb,” I cried. “H-how? W-why? I don’t understand.” I didn’t. How had Sebastian found me? When did he get here?

He took a step closer, and I flinched. I’d seen him before like this; standing over me, too vivid, too alive to be a hallucination, but too impossible to be anything else. My mind was playing tricks on me again. It had to be. I’d imagined him so many times in this room, dreamed of his face, his touch, his voice telling me it would be okay. But it never was. It was always Arjun. Always the pain.

“You’re not real,” I muttered, shaking my head, my eyes blurring with tears. “You’re not?—”

“It’s me, Mya,” Sebastian’s voice cut through the fog, deep and edged with a desperation that clawed at me. He moved closer, crouching beside the bed, his eyes searching mine, wide and frantic. “I’m here. I’m real. I promise you, I’m real.”

I pulled back, pressing myself against the wall, my chains rattling. My whole body trembled as I stared at him, terrified to blink, terrified that if I looked away even for a second, he’d vanish, and I’d be alone again in this torture chamber.

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