Page 42 of Absolution

Before I have a chance to fight back, he grabs my ankles, dragging me to the edge of the bed. Kicking out at him is futile while he holds my legs, and with one harsh yank, he flips me onto my stomach. Clawing against the sheets, I scramble on my knees to get away, but he drags me back and presses his weight on top of me.

“How many times do I have to tell you? This pussy is mine! I guess we’ll have to brand it, won’t we? Make sure every motherfucker knows it’s mine. Think it’s time we plugged in that curling iron of yours, Ivy.”

“No, no!”

With a handful of hair, he drags me into the bathroom, while my feet kick and scrape against the floor. Once inside, he doesn’t release me as he kneels down.

I manage one sharp kick to his nuts, which only incites a snarl from him, and he slams his body on top of me.

My ribs feel as if they might explode, all the air rushing out of my chest. I can’t suck in a breath for a moment, and he steals the opportunity to pull a set of cuffs from his back pocket and secure me to the pedestal sink. Still gasping, I turn over, feeling a harsh yank across my thighs, and suck in the first small breath. By the time I have enough air in my lungs, he’s yanked my jeans and panties completely off, leaving me naked from the waist down.

Pushing my thighs apart pins them painfully to the floor, and he bends forward, burying his nose between them. “Smells like another man’s dick.”

Squirming fails to break his hold, and a sharp twinge of pain hits my core as he shoves two fingers up inside me, his nails scraping against my walls.

“Feels like you’ve had someone’s dick up in you. Just like a little whore.” Pushing up to his knees, he nabs my curling iron from the basket where it’s stored, and plugs it into the outlet.

Suddenly, all my fight is gone as I lay there faced with the horrific.

“Please, Calvin. Please don’t do this. Please, I’ll do anything you want. Anything for you.”

“Aww, this is what I want, love. I want to fuck you with this and make sure every bastard who tries to fuck you after knows who you belong to.”

“Please, Calvin. Don’t do this.”

“You know how they’re gonna know?” he continues. “Because if anyone tries to put their dick in you, you’re gonna remember how painful it is to be fucked with a hot ass curling iron, and you’re gonna tell them this pussy belongs to me. Calvin Bianchi.”

“No, please.”

He sets a finger to the curling iron, presumably testing the heat, and a wicked grin stretches across his face. “Ding! Ding! It’s hot and ready, baby.”

As he lowers it to me, I kick and squirm, the anxiety causing my field of view to shrink. Smaller and smaller, until the last thing I see is the curling iron set between my thighs.

18

Damon

Forgiveness hasn’t always been my best suit, oddly enough. So the fact that I’m standing outside of Ivy’s door is a testament of my faith and how far I’ve come from the man who, ten years ago, would’ve put a bullet in the skull of anyone who confessed to having murdered my family. What I know from my years of tracking people down is, this guy would’ve found the lawyer regardless of whether, or not, Ivy handed over that record. Sure, she shaved some time by offering up his exact location, but any killer worth his salt would’ve found another way, and if he has the connections she says he has, it’s a wonder he even bothered with her.

Unless he just used it as an excuse to rope her in.

It was inevitable that he’d find my family, and it makes sense that he spared me, if my father was the one to hire him. Old bastard always had a thing for making my life hell, so why not douse the flames with gasoline by taking the very thing that offered me salvation? The only thing I had to live for back then.

A noise from behind me swings my attention around, and I see Mrs. Garcia, who I remember from earlier.

“You hab to help her. Iby’s in trouble. Please, help her.”

“What’s going on?”

“Dat man came back. He’s so evil! I know he’s going t’hurt her. I called da police, but dey neber come.” Chin jutting toward the door, she scowls. “He’s friends with dem.” With a grip of my sleeve, she stares up at me, eyes earnest and brimming with worry. “Help her. Please.” Sneaking back into her apartment, she closes the door like she’s battening down the hatches for a storm.

Maybe she is.

Wrath moves through me like a dark cloud, and I twist back toward the door and pound against it. Like an old friend, something cold and familiar snakes through my veins, winding itself around my tightly woven composure and strangling my control. While the veil of righteousness clings to my skin, the fire beneath peels away the veneer, threatening to reveal what lies within me.

I drop my gaze so he won’t see my face and pound on the door, harder this time, ready to knock it right off its hinges.

“’The fuck are you?” His voice bleeds through the door, carrying a certain familiarity about it.

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