Page 42 of Scarred (Russian Sinners 2)

“Sit on the chair.”

I’d become a puppet, turning off all my emotions, my thoughts of what he would do. It was the only way I could survive this again or at least try to survive it.

“Spread your legs.”

I stared at the dark lines of the cedar bookcase, following the striations as they bent and curved along the beautifully built case. There were slight engravings along the sides, the crevices carved intricate swirls into the wood. The sight of the eddies reminded me of when I was a child; when Oliver, Anastasia, and I would spin out of control on the merry-go-round. This is what I focused on.

Everything else around me wasn’t happening. Through the memory, I heard him light the cigar. The deep puffs he drew from it sounded in tandem with the screeching joy from the children in my memory.

“You know, fiancé, you cost me Anastasia Manciatti.” His wet breath was in my ear, trying to break through the memory. “And I hate to lose.”

I knew he did. Oliver’s small voice counting out during hide-and-seek echoed in my mind, and I found my body tense with each number I remember him shouting, as if he counted down to my doom here in this world as well.

Just as Oliver’s voice yelled ten a sizzling pain shot through me, jerking me back into reality. Black dots swam in front of my eyes, and I bit my lip to prevent my agony filled screams. The tangy taste of blood filled my mouth as I bit down harder. I was desperate to escape this scene. The smell of burning flesh permeated the air, but just as the burning eased from my thigh, he forced his fingers inside of me. His touch and the smell of the burnt fresh had me gagging, and my tears threatened to spill.

I wasn’t sure how I would survive this. He pressed the lit cigar back against my flesh. His wicked smile pulled across his face and his pupils dilated with excitement as I once more bit down on my lip trying to hold the scream threatening to tear me in half.

“But you turned out even better than Anastasia,” he finally tossed the cigar into the ashtray and I prayed it would stay there. “You don’t get wet at all. Once we are married, I will enjoy fucking your dry, tight pussy and hearing your painful screams. You will submit to me completely. When I want to chain you, I will. When I want to whip you, I will. And when I want to share you, I will.”

Terror shot through me, working my heart into overdrive. It beat so hard, my chest hurt. He totally got off on the pain. I saw the growing bulge in his pants and fear rippled through me. He kept saying he was waiting for us to be married to have sex and although I didn’t understand it, I was grateful for it.

Then I saw it. The Zippo in his hand, waiting to be used. And I knew it. Oh my God, he was going to burn me with it, brand me. He knew the moment I realized what his intention was because that smarmy smile grew even wider.

I wanted to die; prayed that I would. Nobody deserved to go through something like this. Why would my father allow a man like this anywhere near me?

“When you are my wife,” he purred in that creepy voice of his, “I will whip you bloody when you lie to me like you did at dinner. You’ve already experienced that once… do you really want to go through it again?”

He moved the cigar lighter, snapping open the top, and the butane-induced flame flickered to life. He moved the lighter back and forth in front of my face, and I couldn’t help but watch the flame dance. His fingers long forgotten as he lowered the flame. I wanted to beg him not to do it, but I learned long ago, that only fueled him on more. But when the flame licked across my other thigh, I could no longer contain the scream of agony as it ripped me apart.

“That’s right, whore,” he spat out discarding the lighter. He placed one hand around my throat, tightening it, while the other released his hard cock from his pants. “Now, jerk me off.”

Tears streamed down my face as I reached out, taking his half-hardened cock in my hand. I wrapped my hand around it, squeezing it slightly.

“Harder!” he commanded, so I squeezed harder before I stroked him. “Yes…” The word rolled out of him as his head lulled back and I continued to stroke his cock. Bile rose in my throat with each stroke of my hand, but his grip around my neck tightened. “Faster,” his voice was deep as his cold, dead eyes met mine and I sped up the motion. The faster I jerked, the tighter he squeezed. I knew it would leave a mark and that scared me more than anything… because it meant in the moment, he didn’t care that he was leaving a bruise that could easily be seen by someone.

He grunted his release all over my blouse. I felt cheap, dirty. Maybe he didn’t stick his dick inside me yet, but this was a violation. This was rape.

I sat motionless as he squeezed my throat one more time and forcefully pushed my head up. He leaned in until his lips were next to my ear.

“Next time, I’ll take your tight little ass,” he spat out. “If you’re lucky, I might even use lubricant.”

He bit down on my ear, before pushing away and making his way out of his office. I didn’t say a word, but in my mind, I screamed till the glass shattered around us.

“Olivia,” an unfamiliar man’s voice reached me. But I knew there was nobody else in that room but Malcome and me. I couldn’t have heard it.

My entire body ached. The seared flesh of my thighs throbbed in pain. My only relief was that I was allowed to leave, but soon, I’d be trapped behind these walls, trapped with the man that would break me down into a million shattered shards of the girl I once was.

“Olivia,” this time I felt hands shaking me.

I slowly opened my eyes and met Andrey’s green gaze.

“Are you okay?” I muttered, my voice raspy. My body was limp while his hands held my arms but he was careful not to be too close to me.

He watched me like I was crazy. There was another guard in the room.

“Yes,” he answered. “Are you okay?”

I scooted away from him and pressed my shaky hand to my forehead. I wasn’t surprised to find it sweaty. It usually came with the nightmares. It seemed sleep finally did find me and my mind trapped me in the nightmare of what I’d suffered through.

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