Page 41 of The Monster of Hotel No. 7
“We won’t let you go back—”
“Don’t.”It’s a harsh command, and I bite my bottom lip, staying quiet. “I can’t live with false hope. Iwillgo back, and I will pay for this. And I’m going to ensure it was allveryworth it.”
Chapter20
Sullen
Isnap the last buckle, the metallic click in the room echoing in the darkness around us. I did everything by feel alone and it was difficult, what with her thrashing and pleading, but she cannot overpower me. Not physically, anyway.
I did not strap down anything below her waist, which could prove to be disastrous but… her legs are so pretty, and I would really like to spread them, even if I cannot see.
The rolling stool I procured from the small closet at the back of the room—which leads further under the hotel, but I didn’t mention that to her in case she decides to bolt—is black leather and while it squeaks a little when I shift myself toward her, hands on my thighs, gloves clinging to my fingers, it is at the perfect height for me to reach out and touch every inch of her.
The feel of wads of cash in my jeans, from the small safe by the light I destroyed, is uncomfortable and odd; the exact reason I left it here before I cut Cosmo and stole her. But I am worried I will get lost in her, in this, and when we have to run again, I won’t be able to grab for the money. If there is one thing I know about Karia, it’s that she likes everything it can buy.
A spoiled, soon-to-be broken little princess.
I press one hand to her chest, feeling it move rapidly in and out. I can hear her breathing, too, little gasps in the night. I trail my fingers down past the hem of her shirt, to her stomach muscles. They clench and release with every breath. She is terrified.
Lower, I caress the denim of her skirt, note by feel how it has shifted up her legs with her position, and I think I sense goosebumps along her thighs.
So scared.
She should be.
In my mind, I picture how she might look, wide-eyed and repulsed, staring at me as if I am her creator.
There is a strap just above her breasts, another below her belly button, several on her arms and wrists, and one smaller band over her throat. That last one I want to see most, but not now. I cannot handle her staring back at me. As it is, even the whites of her eyes and the blue of her irises is enough to strangle my thoughts.
To want to reassure her, somehow.
Being in a position like this when I was with Stein, I know how she feels. Frightened and vulnerable and maybe, sickeningly, curious.
This is the way Stein would quiz me for my homeschool lessons. Me, strapped down, and him with a scalpel he would use to dig into parts of my flesh if I got anything wrong. He once carved anFinto my thigh, to denote my failing grade. That wound became infected; I prayed I would die from it.
My prayers, though, are forever unanswered.
I keep my eyes on hers as I grip her thigh, and with howlargeher gaze is, eye sockets round whiteness in the dark, it’s as if she’s looking at me like I’m God. But much like the real one, I won’t be listening to her invocations, either.
I know, though, her pretty mouth is capable of sweetness, like when she called me handsome. When she lied to my face. And although I do plan to answer some of her questions in this room she may never leave, I worry she will use her ability to speak to try and… consume me. Possess me, more than she already does. She might talk me out of her own escape, convince me to watch her run.
I wish I could sedate her, but getting an anesthetic would require going to the lab and I don’t want to leave her alone. There could be other monsters in the dark here. Who knows, at Stein’s hotels?
I was once tormented by our family doctor, in a room several floors up. The hatred I have for Stein is only rivaled by how I feel about that man.
“Why don’t you go first?” I ask quietly, caressing her thigh with my index finger and feeling immensely grateful for a thing like gloves, even in the dark. Her muscles quiver and jump beneath my touch, and I smile, unseen by her.
“I want to see you,” she whispers.
“It’s a shame I shattered the light.” I trail my finger up higher, until I feel the edge of her skirt.
Her breath catches, but I only trace a pattern the way I came.
“I helped you,” she says, as if it was altruistic. She wants to examine me like I want to her, but it doesn’t mean anything. Specimens are corpses, after all.
I could remind her I strangled a man for daring to point a gun at her head, for grabbing her arm, but she will think that was selfish, too, much how I feel about her own motives.
“How would you like me to thank you?” I ask all the same, continuing my circling path along her thigh as she shakes beneath my touch. If only she could see my bare fingers; she would really fear me then.
