Page 34 of Tortured Eyes
The food lodges in my throat at all the possibilities of my situation. Over the years, I’ve seen some horrific murder scenes. Women beaten to death. Throats slit. Death from exsanguination. My mind flicks through my crime scene memories, replacing the vics’ faces with my own. Is this part of Logan’s game? To wear me down for some reason, wound me a little each day and watch me slowly give up over time?
The food in front of me is what I need and what I focus on. I continue to devour the sandwich and drink down the last of the water. The aches from my body pulse in the back of my mind, refusing to turn off. Once the food has gone down, I start pulling what's left of my clothes from my body and check over the damage. A splatter of bruises have started to form across my chest, arms and legs. Not surprising given the last couple of days. Christ knows what my face is like. It took a few big hits right from the go when Logan lashed out. My fingers gingerly trace the lines of my face to assess the damage. There’s a split above my eye, but the swelling has lessened. I could barely open it yesterday. Red welts like bracelets decorate both wrists, and angry cuts scrape down the backs of both legs.
Every joint cries in protest from the harsh sleeping arrangements as I turn away, disgusted with what I see and refusing to put those clothes back on. Underwear will have to do. I'm a mess with or without clothing on my back.
Revenge. I know enough about the Canes to understand their business. An eye for an eye and all that—they want to make me suffer. Logan wants to make me suffer. Well, fuck them. I won’t make it easy on Logan Cane. He’ll have to come in here and kill me himself.
A wave of anger surges through me. This needs to stop. Stop fucking around pretending to be the grieving guy doing what’s expected of him. Get on and end it. The man in the bar that night didn’t take orders from anyone, and I can’t see that changing now. He’s not admitted to anything, but after hearing the pain they put Mortoni through, why wouldn’t they do the same to me? They’ve started pretty fucking well.
So why don’t I hate him? He kidnapped me. That alone should be enough for me to put a bullet in his brain, but I see myself hesitating, and that’s unacceptable. It shouldn’t matter if he's just lost his uncle. He’s crossed so many lines already. And with his death, and Nate’s, the world will be a step towards the end of the conspiracy and corrupt nature of the crime in Chicago. At least I can hope.
Speak of the devil.
The door clicks, and I wait to see if he’ll walk through it again or if this is another test. I’m not falling for his nasty trick a second time. I need to stay conscious and aware if I’m going to claw my way out of this. No more sleep, no more complacency. I need to be the woman who fought for herself and is happy to go ten rounds with Jimmy, even though we’re sparring.
The lock rings out in the room, and I wait, moving back towards the mattress and rip the single sheet from it to cover myself.
Logan enters, checking the door behind him before going to clear the plate and empty glass. “Good, you’ll need your strength.” He places something on the chair before going back towards the door. I take a harder look at what he’s left for me this time, and the sight of it makes my skin crawl.
“What is that?”
“Don’t worry. We’re going old school for you.” His face cracks into a wide smile, his persona shifting once again from the man he’s been for the last two visits. “You came to my club looking for something, but you didn’t take anything on offer. You ever been high, ever felt what it’s like to fly?”
A brownish substance fills the syringe on the chair, and I know it isn’t going to do me any good. The worst thing, I don’t know if there’s enough in the syringe to kill me, or just get me high out of my fucking mind. He's a fucking coward to pump me full of drugs. I thought it would have been a bullet for sure.
“You need to trust me, Red. It'll all be over soon.” He speaks as if he’s doing me a favour.
“Fuck you, Logan. You won’t get away with this.” I push back against the wall and look up, challenging him face on. “You might have been untouchable in my father’s day, but Cane doesn’t run the streets anymore. This won’t go unnoticed.”
His only answer is to smile at me. It’s the same smile he gave me the night we met. Full of flirtatious want, and underlying confidence that fit so well with the Logan I first met. Confident and charming.
Like a snake, he strikes, twisting up my arm in his grasp to hold me still. My chest pushes up against the wall as he squeezes my upper arm for a few seconds,his fingers gripping in hard. And then I feel the scratch on my skin. The small sting is so fast I barely realise what he’s done until the needle’s already in deep. My heart hammers in my chest as I register what he’s done.
“Shhh, don’t fight it or you’ll break the vein.”
“You’re sick. And a fucking coward,” I spit, as terror pumps around my body at the same time as the drugs. “What have you given me?”
He doesn’t say anything more but smiles and lets go of my arm. I slump back against the wall, forgetting about the sheet that covers me, the drugs already running through my veins and poisoning my system. It’s fast. Fuck.
Fire burns through me, heating me up from the inside, and I slide down the wall behind me. My eyes drift closed, happy to be going to sleep. Drifting off where I can’t think, or don’t have to. A sense of calm grows through me, making me feel at peace. I blink a few times and struggle to focus.
Movement. I feel like I’m floating.Like I'm in a lake. It’s so quiet. Relaxed. Long,slow breaths ease in and out of me, arms floating alongside me in this water. I smile and tip my head back, thinking of the sun beating down on me,the heated rays warming my skin. It’s nice. I'm on holiday. Somewhere hot where the world is just as I want it to be. No thoughts, no worries. No care. I'll stay for a while. Take some time.
There’s someone with me now. I look to see what they’re doing. They’re walking around a room, long strides creating a rhythm to draw me from the lake I'm in, but my focus is hazy. I don't know him or can't remember him. He’s sexy, though. Big. I run my hands down my heated body and over my breasts. Why am I in my underwear? Have we had sex? My memories scramble into a jumble of flashes, but they involve this indistinct man. So handsome. His eyes penetrate me and flare the heat under my skin to life once again.
“Sexy.” The word echoes around me, making me smile again. I am sexy, and I want this man. The moment the thought enters my mind, my body reacts, suddenly desperate for hands on my skin. I reach up to him and pull him towards me.
Our lips mash together as I keep pulling the body towards me. My tongue snakes into his mouth taking possession of every element of him. Our bodies fuse and we fall back to the bed, and I relish the feeling of weight on top of me. My nails reach for his back and pull the material from his skin. I want him to be naked, I want to look over his body and see how gorgeous he is—to feast my eyes over every asset he has. With a few sharp yanks, the shirt is gone and he’s all mine.
I twist and push him down onto the bed while my eyes eat him up. My hands work their way over his chest, caressing each muscle as if it’s a work of art. He’s beautiful. I straddle the hips, suddenly overcome with the need to have this man inside me. Bowing my head, I lick the centre of his chest and the taste of salt fills my mouth. “Hmm,” I purr, arching my back and pressing my chest against his.
A low moan rumbles in the back of his throat and I stare at his eyes. Mischief and lust—a possessiveness that I want to consume and feel against every cell of my body—stares back at me. It gives me pause, and I stretch up, lifting my arms to the ceiling before running my hands over my breasts. I grind my hips back and forth over his erection, enjoying the feeling of power. He shudders at my movements, and his hands grip me to him. The pressure is intense as if he’s desperate for me to keep still. But all the muscles in my body are primed and amped up, desperate to move, desperate to let loose all the energy they’re containing.
“Are you going to let me fuck you?” I ask, not really caring for the answer. I can feel that he wants this. He’s ready to explode already. He leans forward and takes one of my nipples in his mouth, rolling the tip between his tongue and lips driving me to distraction. It’s like each touch is connected to my clit and sets my nerves alight. It’s delicious, and I could let him lap at me all night.
My eyes close and I rock back and forth, feeling the desire build in the pit of my stomach, but then I’m on my back looking up at a gorgeous face. I plant my hands and push on his chest, knocking him back so I can climb back over him.
I lean down and kiss those lips, taking everything I want. Another low moan, although it could be from me this time. My hand reaches back behind me and grabs his erection, glad to feel him so hard and so ready for me. Shuffling backwards, I run my body over his, needing to ensure I rub over every part of him and mark my territory. I push the briefs down to give me room before guiding his cock to my entrance. There’s an impatience, a desperation to feel him inside of me, and as I sink down, taking him deep, we both groan in pleasure.
