Page 32 of Still Beating

Dean’s head falls back against the pole, his eyes still closed. But when he opens them, he finally finds my face. My sad, jade eyes. My pasty skin and matted hair. Heseesme, and it feels like a tiny miracle.

I’m real.We’rereal.

“We’re getting out of here today.”

As soon as he says the words that make my heart skip a dozen beats, Earl’s boots can be heard clunking down the wooden steps.

It’s Dean’s day.Thank God.

“Rise and shine, pets. Ready for a new day?” Earl exclaims, his face beaming with evil joy.

He paces over to Dean, the sound of his steel-toed boots against the cement always so loud and antagonistic. Earl unlocks the cuffs, then steps away with the gun pointed directly at Dean’s skull.

But instead of walking towards me like he usually does, Dean remains where he stands. He is completely still, his expression blank, as he stares Earl down with a scathing glare. “You’re a fat, fucking bastard,” he says, his tone low and levelled.

Earl stands stock-still while I watch the scene in terrified silence, my fingers curling around my pole and gripping tight.

Then Earl slugs Dean across the jaw with his fist.

I flinch, crying out in protest, yanking at my chains to draw Earl’s attention back to me. When Dean slowly pulls himself up from his knees, his fist is closed tight, hiding a small treasure.

Earl presses the barrel of the gun against his back and shoves him towards me. “Don’t fuck with me, kid. Next time it’s a bullet in your face instead of my fist,” Earl warns. “You’re on borrowed time.”

My breathing is ragged and quick as Dean approaches me, face to face, blue eyes on green. My gaze drifts to his busted lip, already swelling and smeared with blood. I inhale, almost choking when the breath reaches the back of my throat. Then Dean leans in. He presses those full lips to mine, and I immediately taste the metallic, coppery blood on my tongue, mixed with sweat and a trace of mint from the toothpaste. I part my mouth, allowing his tongue to slip inside, and he breathes in deep,so deep, as if he’s sucking up my lifeforce for survival.

As he continues to kiss me, I feel him reach his arm around my body, finding my cuffed wrists. But instead of placing his thumb against my pulse point like he usually does, he pauses. His mouth breaks away from mine, and Dean grazes his lips against my right cheek until they are pressed up to my ear. The tickle of his hot breath makes me shiver.

Then he whispers in a scratchy voice, “Don’t let go of your cuffs. Don’t let them fall.”

Another breath gets caught in my throat as I instinctively curl my fingers around the metal, gripping as tight as I can. Dean takes a moment to unbuckle himself and push his jeans down to his ankles, then lifts me up with both hands.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he orders.

I ignore the tingly sensation those words procure and do as he says, holding myself up so Dean can try to unlock my cuffs with the belt clasp. It feels like an impossible feat, butmy God, I’ve never wished for anything more.

Dean enters me, averting his eyes like always, unable to witness my reaction to what he considers a horrifying violation. I should agree, I really should, but my guess is that my eyes tell a different tale.

It’s better that he doesn’t look.

When we get into a comfortable rhythm, Dean finds my wrists again, pressing his chin into the curve of my right shoulder and hiding his face from Earl. From the other side of the room, it probably appears that he’s really into pummeling me against this pole—when really, he’s trying to set me free. I don’t miss him massaging my wrist today because I’m too distracted by the notion of escaping and finally getting out of this prison.

Please work. Please, please work.

I count down the seconds in my head, trying to keep my face focused and unreadable. It feels like more time is going by than usual and a stir of panic rumbles in my belly. I attempt to keep my breaths even, my eyes closed. I wait and wait and wait.

And then Dean pulls his lips back to my ear and says softly, “I need you to moan, Corabelle.”

Moan?

I swallow with uncertainty.

“Please,” he whispers, the plea muffled against my ear and creating more goosebumps.

I nod my head and conjure up my most convincing moan, masking the sound of the cuffs releasing behind me, hiding the evidence of our monumental win.

Holy shit, he did it. Dean did it.

I clutch the metal in my hands for dear life, making sure they don’t hit the ground and give us away. Dean takes a moment to focus on his “task” and finishes inside me a minute later. He doesn’t say he’s sorry this time. He doesn’t cry or beg for my forgiveness.

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