Page 21 of The Rich One

My muffled cries are not for you, sick fuck.

“You’ve got a little more bite than the last one. I like it. It’s boring if it’s too easy, you know?”

Eyes wide, tears still streaming, I struggle against his hold. I can feel every beat of my heart as it pounds heavily inside my chest. Having no idea what he’s planning is probably one of the scariest things about this situation. Kicking my foot back doesn’t help me, and pain shoots through my legs as he hits the back of my thighs with something that feels like a baseball bat. My hands are free now, but I’m on the floor, the pain briefly shocking me into submission.

“Oh, you are a feisty one indeed.”

The sneer on his face as I look up at him should make me cower. But there is no way in fucking hell that I’m going down without a fight. I amnota damsel who’s going to curl up in a ball at the first sign of trouble. Pain be damned.

The back of my legs are throbbing—it’s going to be hard to hide the bruises—as I try to stand. He laughs at my attempts, just fucking laughs, twirling around… wait… that’smyfucking baseball bat! That’ll teach me to keep it by the front door.

My blonde wig is discarded on the floor next to me, no doubt some of my actual hair is mixed in there too with the force it was ripped from my head.

Standing now and facing him, I slowly back up. There’s a Venus de Milo sculpture by the door I can use to defend myself. Hopefully, I can grab it and do whatever I need to escape quickly. My hands are still a little numb, pins and needles making them tingle as the blood flow returns, which makes it difficult to feel around for the statue.

He’s too quick, launching himself at me so fast I can barely blink. Grabbing for my wrists, he misses, and I manage to connect my fist with his face. The satisfaction of seeing blood drip from his nose is short-lived as he restrains me again.

Holding my wrists with one hand, he pulls something that looks like string from his pants pocket.

Nah-ah… Nope… Not happening.

My body drops like a dead weight, catching him off guard forcing him to release his grip again. I don’t run for the door this time, I go straight for the window. I don’t give a fuck if I’ve got to smash through it to get down the fire escape, I’m doing what I need to survive this crazy asshole.

On the way, I pull out the gag and scream for help at the top of my lungs. This is a busy building, someone’s got to hear something. I scream and scream, and I’m so close to the window it hurts.

I don’t make it.

Pain surges through me again from my scalp as he pulls me to a halt by my short hair. Something heavy connects with my skull and the corners of my vision start to turn blurry, my voice no longer making any sound as the room fades in and out… and in and out…

Is this how I die…?

In… and out.

A sharp scratch on my inner thigh jolts me to consciousness. My body aches all over and I don’t want to open my eyes.

“Wakey wakey, my pretty little whore.”

A warm breeze travels from my nipple down to my core, making me scream at the sharp sting of an open wound. Thick liquid slides down my thigh, I think it’s my blood… In fact, I’m sure of it. The pain is excruciating, like a thousand salt-covered papercuts all in one place. My wrists are tied to the corners of the bed, my mouth is full of ass-flavored cotton again, and my eyes are almost swollen shut from tears.

How long have I been unconscious?

“Our time is almost over. You’ve been such a good little whore for me. Your golden skin is going to look beautiful in the new frame I bought today.” The sniffing sound he exaggerates causes a chill to crawl down my spine. I refuse to give in to curiosity and open my eyes. I do not want to know.

Muffled screams fill the apartment as the sharp pain in my thigh begins again, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt. He’s taking his time with whatever he’s doing, the torture never-ending. Thrashing my body as much as I can makes it worse, and the rope burns on my wrists are now adding to the agony.

I lie complacent, biting hard on the cotton in my mouth and trying to yell at the top of my lungs—not that it’s very loud with the gag. My face is soaked with tears, my beautiful satin pillows damp beneath my head.

“I see you’ve chosen the easy way. Shame.”

Daring to open my eyes, I am faced with something I never thought I’d hate to see. He’s jacking off, and it has to be the ugliest dick I’ve ever seen in my life. Fuck knows why I’m fixating on his dumpling of a cock, but at the moment I can’t do much else.

“You like that, don’t you.” It’s not a question. Quickly averting my gaze from the horror show standing next to the bed, I look up into the man’s eyes as they burn holes into my face. That’s when I see the switchblade. I watch in slow motion as he brings it to my cheek and wipes my own blood onto my skin.

If looks could kill, he’d have died a thousand painful deaths from my glare alone.

“There’s that fire. I thought you’d lost it. Got quite boring for a while there. Come on, little whore, spit at me, curse at me… Fight. Me.” That sinister grin returns to his face, his mud-brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

The fight in me hasn’t left, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction, so I continue to think of ways he could die. It’s dark as fuck, but that’s where I am right now. I’m scared, I’m in a shit ton of pain, but now I’m angry, too.

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