Page 33 of Last Hand

Vittorio mistakes it for a response to his actions, a small smile curving his lips. “You’ll learn to enjoy it,” he promises, his pace increasing. “They all do, eventually.”

The implication that there have been others, that I’m just the latest in a line of women he’s broken, sends a chill through me that has nothing to do with the physical pain. How many? How many have been where I am now? And where are they now? Dead? Broken? Or somewhere worse—living as his possessions, convinced they deserve nothing better?

“Please,” I gasp, the word barely audible between labored breaths. “It hurts?—”

“It’s supposed to,” Vittorio grunts, his fingers digging deeper into my hips, holding me in place as I instinctively try to squirm away. “The first time always does.”

My legs shake uncontrollably, muscles spasming from the strain of being held open, from the shock coursing through my system. I arch my back, trying to create distance, to alleviate the pressure. Vittorio follows the movement, maintaining the brutal connection between our bodies.

A particularly vicious thrust sends white-hot pain lancing through me, and I bite down on my lip to keep from screaming. The taste of copper fills my mouth again—my blood, warm and metallic. I turn my head to the side, unable to look at the man violating me, and instead find myself locking eyes with Adrien.

His face is a mask of helpless rage, tears streaming from his one good eye. The duct tape across his mouth is soaked with saliva and blood where he’s been screaming behind it, straining against his restraints until fresh blood seeps from his wrists, dripping onto the floor beneath his chair.

A particularly violent thrash from Adrien catches Vittorio’s attention. He turns, never breaking his rhythm inside me, and snarls, “Shut up! Or I will kill you.”

The threat only seems to enrage Adrien all the more. He’s trying to say something behind the gag, his chest heaving with the effort. The veins in his neck stand out, pulsing with fury and fear. The chair rocks beneath him as he struggles, the metal legs scraping against the floor.

Vittorio’s face darkens. With a growl of annoyance, he pulls out of me and strides across the room. The brief reprieve from pain is overshadowed by terror as I watch him approach Adrien, arm already raised.

The backhand connects with a sickening crack, snapping Adrien’s head to the side. Fresh blood sprays from his already split lip, soaking through the tape and dripping down his chin.

“I said,” Vittorio enunciates each word with deadly precision, “shut. the. fuck. up.” He leans in close to Adrien’s face. “The next sound you make will be your last. Understood?”

Adrien glares up at him, hatred burning in his eyes, yet he gives a small, jerky nod.

“Good.” Vittorio straightens, adjusting himself before turning back to me. “Now, where were we?”

I plead with my eyes as he approaches, silently begging for mercy, for forgiveness—though I’m not sure if I’m asking Adrien to forgive me for getting him into this situation or asking Vittorio to forgive whatever perceived slight led to this punishment. My thoughts are fragmenting, rational thinking giving way to pure animal survival instinct.

“Relax,” he orders, his tone almost gentle despite the violence of his actions. “Fighting makes it worse.

Vittorio stands at the foot of the bed, his chest rising and falling with exertion, sweat glistening on his tattooed torso. His eyes roam over me with clinical detachment, assessing the damage he’s inflicted like an artist examining his canvas. I want to curl into myself, to hide the evidence of what he’s done, my muscles refuse to cooperate, trembling too violently to obey even the simplest commands.

“You really were a virgin,” he says, sounding almost impressed. He reaches for the blanket I’d abandoned, and for one surreal moment, I think he might cover me, might grant me this small mercy.

Instead, he rips it completely aside, exposing me fully to the cool air of the hotel room. “Spread your legs wider,” he orders, his voice hoarse from exertion.

When I don’t move fast enough—can’t move fast enough—he grips my ankles and forces my legs apart. The movement sends fresh pain spiraling through my core, drawing a broken whimper from my throat.

“Shh,” he soothes, climbing back onto the bed and positioning himself between my spread thighs. “I know you’re sore, pretty girl. I can make it better.”

Better? There is no better. There’s only this nightmare that keeps unfolding in new and terrible ways. I shake my head weakly, unable to form words through the fog of pain and humiliation.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his hands surprisingly gentle as they stroke my inner thighs, smearing blood across my skin. “This part, you’ll like.”

His face lowers toward my wounded flesh, and panic surges through me, momentarily overriding the pain. My leg jerks in an instinctive attempt to close, to protect myself from whatever fresh violation he’s planning.

Vittorio’s head snaps up, his eyes hardening. “Kick me and I will bite you,” he warns, his fingers digging painfully into my thighs. “Do you understand?”

I nod frantically, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. He holds my gaze for a long moment, making sure the threat has registered, then his expression softens again into that eerie facsimile of tenderness. Unfortunately, my body doesn’t understand his words, and the moment he lowers his head, my leg moves to kick him.

Then his teeth clamp into the tender flesh of my inner thigh without warning.

I scream, the sound tearing from my throat before I can stop it. The pain is sharp, immediate—different from the deep ache between my legs. No that pain is long forgotten as this new agony tears through me as he bites hard on my pussy and clit.

“I fucking warned you,” he chides when he releases my flesh, licking the indentations his teeth have left behind. “Last warning.”

Before I can process what’s happening, his mouth moves higher, his tongue flicking out to taste the blood and fluids coating my abused flesh. I gasp, the sensation so unexpected, so bizarre in its twisted intimacy that my mind struggles to categorize it.

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