Page 99 of Crush (Deadly Hearts 1)

“Didn’t you tell her not to move?” he asks Boomer.

“I did,” he replies tightly.

“She is meant to be like a little doll. I don’t want her moving,” he sulks and if I weren’t the object of this discussion, I would find it amusing.

“You aren’t going to move, are you?” Boomer grits out.

I don’t move or say anything.

I need to use this time to get my brain in gear, my survival is paramount now. I don’t think D.I. Smith is interested in raping me. He has moved away. It’s probably much the same as Boomer, masturbating while looking at me. It’s creepy as fuck, but not exactly invasive in any way. I will get over it with a hot shower, a good scrub and a full night’s sleep helped along by a bottle of the finest Scotch I can find.

“You have sampled her already?” D.I. Smith murmurs.

“Yes, she is a good girl.”

He nods and drags the stool over to me. Boomer hovers over me and lifts the hem of the lingerie up over my pussy, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. Okay, this is going to be slightly worse than I’d hoped. He loosens the restraints around my ankles, but only enough to position me with my legs slightly open.

D.I. Smith lifts the holdall he has with him and drops it on the stool. He opens it and pulls out a sketch pad and pencils.

He wants to draw me.

Okay, that’s not the worst thing in the world.

He removes the bag from the stool and sits, getting himself set up. I stare up at the ceiling and then feel the graze of a cold blade up my inner thigh. I freeze even more if that’s possible. Boomer trails it all the way over my pussy to my stomach and then in a motion as quick as a cat, he stabs me in the gut with it, making me buck and cry out from the white-hot pain.

“Perfect,” D.I. Smith murmurs.

Boomer leaves the knife buried in my stomach as I bleed out slowly and D.I. Smith sketches it. My brain goes fuzzy from the shock. I can’t think.

My only thought is that I’m going to die here, and no one will ever know what happened to me.

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