Page 8 of Wicked and Bound

“Exhibitionism? Sex in front of an audience?”

Even the thought made her recoil. “No.”

“Had multiple sexual partners at once?”

“No.”

“Been the recipient of breath, fire, blood, or knife play?”

“No!”

Question after question followed about what she’d done in the past before morphing into questions about what she enjoyed. The doctor carefully noted each answer. The humiliatingly clinical questions exposed the most intimate details of her life and stripped bare her soul.

She wanted each and every one of these monsters behind bars for life.

Finally, the doctor glanced at her watch. “We’ll have to finish the rest of the questions later. If there is a later for you…”

Haisley’s heart stopped. What the hell did that mean?

“Sit on the table,” the doctor demanded.

Once Haisley complied, she drew blood, swabbed her cheek, and demanded a urine sample.

When Haisley returned from the little adjacent bathroom, the doctor was waiting. “Strip.”

When Haisley hesitated, glancing back at the male guards, the doctor raised a brow. “Get used to men seeing you naked and learn to follow directions. Or else.”

The threat in her voice had Haisley quickly shedding her clothes and leaving them in a neat pile on the corner of the nearby desk. The air-conditioned atmosphere in the exam room felt like ice against her bare skin. She felt the guards’ searching stares roaming her naked body, homing in on her breasts and between her legs.

Reflexively, Haisley tried to cover herself with her hands. One of the goons lunged for her and cuffed her wrists at the small of her back. “If you want to survive, never cover yourself without permission.”

“You’d do well to listen.” The other woman shoved her toward the exam table. “Bend over.”

She didn’t wait for Haisley to comply, merely planted a palm between her shoulder blades and shoved her cheek down tothe paper-covered surface, leaving her bare buttocks and vagina completely exposed to the two male guards behind her.

After the snapping on of latex gloves, an unorthodox but thorough gynecological exam followed. It was humiliating, and she swore she would make sure all these people paid—somehow, someway.

Just when Haisley didn’t think they could debase her anymore, the doctor plucked her phone from her pocket again. “4479 is ready for cataloging.”

After a short answer on the other end, the woman ended the call and tucked away her phone. Haisley wondered what the hell “cataloging” her would entail, but she didn’t get far in her imaginings before another man entered the room, gave her a lewd once-over, then pulled out a digital camera.

These fuckers were taking nude pictures of her?

Yes. The guards uncuffed her, then began photographing her. Clinical shots first—front, back, profile. Then poses that showed every private, intimate inch of her and made her skin crawl.

“Marketable attributes?” he asked the others. “Besides her tits, obviously.”

“Well, the red hair is clearly real,” another guard remarked with a lecherous glance between her legs.

The other piped in. “She’s been mostly quiet, but she’s got fight. You can feel it under the surface. I’d love the chance to break her.”

It took everything inside Haisley not to cringe in fear.

The photographer scribbled notes. “Good points. Pussy, doctor?”

“Based on my exam? Tight. According to her, she’s an anal virgin. Another bonus.”

“Excellent.” The photographer’s smile made Haisley wish she could cover herself. “Too bad they don’t let us sample the merchandise.”

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