Page 14 of Cry, Little Dove

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

My senses returning to me, I notice that every beat of my pulse is announced by a shrill beep. Wait, this isn’t the lumpy mattress of the uncomfortable motel bed. This is worse. Hard as stone against my back. Or metal.

Goosebumps rush across my skin. I’m cold, too. So damn cold.

The effort of prying my eyes open feels like moving mountains. When I finally manage it, white light blinds me.

Where the hell am I?

“Aw, darlin’. Don’t be afraid,” a familiar, dark voice rings out. “Did you think I was gonna let you go after one night? That’s cute.”

Everything comes rushing back like a full-frontal car crash.

Cain, the handsome stranger from the vending machine. His crooked smirk that made me weak in the knees. The best fucking sex of my life, just like he promised. How he held me in the shower and washed me, carried me to bed. And then, while I drifted off to sleep—

My breath hitches and my heart skips a beat so long, I worry it’s going to stop forever. Maybe that would be better than recalling the pinch in my neck and everything going dark.

Now it makes sense. That itchy spot… I’ve been drugged.

Cain drugged me.

I want to call for help but my vocal cords won’t make a sound. In the confines of my skull, I scream and scream and scream. It’s no use. I’m a mute prisoner in my paralyzed body.

The light swivels out of my face. A shadow leans over me and crinkling green eyes look down into mine, hinting at a smile hidden behind a black surgical mask. No longer blinded, my gaze snaps around the room.

White tiles on the walls. No windows. I can’t even see a door from this angle. A sleek monitor stands by my feet, colorful lines spiking in time with my heartbeat and the beeping. Medical tools glint on a metal cart by its side.

What the fuck? Is this an operating theater?

As if my mind tried to shield me from the horrible reality for as long as possible, I suddenly realize I’m naked. Something is stuck to my chest, likely the electrodes of the heart monitor.

Cain pulls down the surgical mask and grins. It’s the same charming smile that made warmth pool low in my belly when we met, but now, it makes my blood curdle. He wears black scrubs, and my position beneath him makes him seem even taller. Monstrously so.

“I know you can hear me, little dove,” he says, honey in his voice. “I need you alert for this.”

Alert for what?

The beeping of the pulse monitor gets faster and my chest is about to explode. A morbid thought crosses my mind.

If this sicko isn’t going to hurry up and kill me, I might give myself a heart attack at this rate.

Cain shakes his head, curls bopping. “Try to calm down. You’re wasting your energy. I want you awake, but I can’t have you squirming around. So I had to do something about that.”

Silent tears pearl across my face. I don’t want to die like this. I want it to be peaceful, quietly slipping away. Falling asleep and never waking up again. No anguish. No fear.

Cain’s gloved palm presses against my cheek, black nitril sticking to my skin as he wipes away my tears. He lifts his hand and licks them off with slow strokes of his tongue. Heat flashes through me. I remember the feeling of that tongue inmymouth. His fingers in my pussy. His cock stretching me until it hurt. Him fucking me until I started to enjoy the pain.

No. I don’t want to remember.

“You’re even lovelier when you cry, little dove.” He takes my right hand and steps closer to the table to push my limp fingers against his groin.

He’s hard.

“This is what your tears do to me, darlin’.”

Terror banishes all thoughts from my head. I can’t stop crying.

Cain puts my arm back on the surgical table, tipping my head to the left. He flicks an IV taped into the bend of my elbow and a tiny sting zaps through my nerves.

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