Page 39 of Don't Say A Word

“You’re trembling,” he says. And then he leans in close, his mouth brushing against my hair. “I’m going to have fun playing with you. But just remember, how hard we play, how much you suffer is up to you.”

Why do they keep insisting I have choice? Does it make them feel better about what they are to do? Does it make them feel as though I’m partly to blame, that I’m asking for it?

He gets to his feet again, undoing the buckle of his belt and sliding it out through the loops.

“Don’t say a word.”

I stay put. My body strains with the effort. I’ve become conditioned to obeying, but I’ve become conditioned to obeying Ryker.

His hand snakes out so quickly I don’t notice until he hits me across the face. My head flings to the side. I taste blood. Still trembling, I hold myself in that position, breathing deeply before turning my eyes to him, leaning forward and spitting blood onto the ground.

He lifts his eyebrows. The lines that crease his forehead aren’t as deep as Ryker’s but somehow, they are harsher, more sinister. And then he hits me again. Harder. Hard enough so I fall to the bed. He climbs on top of me, pinning my arms to the side of my body with his knees. His hands claw at the material of my slip, pulling at the lace until it rips. He tears it away from my body, but I don’t scream.

I don’t know why I don’t.

Maybe it’s because I know no one can hear.

Maybe it’s because I’m frozen with fear.

Maybe it’s because there’s no point.

His hands are on me and I close my eyes, wishing for escape as he roughly explores my upper body. His hands are cold and smooth and clammy with excitement as he massages my breasts between his fingers, occasionally pinching my nipples painfully. He smiles when I wince and lowers his head, his tongue, thick and wide, leaving cold trails of moisture across my chest.

Grunts and groans cut the silence. He grabs my chin, jerking my mouth open. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he growls. “I’m not stupid enough to put my cock in there.” He spits and it hits the back of my throat. I gag, but I can’t move, pinned to the bed by the weight of his body. Again and again I gag, desperate to remove his fluid from my mouth before it slides down my throat.

But it is useless.

My body convulses with the effort of trying to remove him. He grins down at me, his hands threading into my hair and tugging sharply.

“Careful,” he pants as I gag once more. “You’re getting me excited.”

Then he leans close and I’m covered in the stench of him. He smells of savage cruelty, rotten flesh and putrid blood.

“And you don’t want to get me excited, my little petal. I lose control when I get too excited.”

The bed bounces when he gets off, but his hand is still twisted in my hair. He tugs and I fall. I kick and lash out as he hauls me across the floor and over to the corner with the chains. He yanks them and they fall noisily, clattering to the concrete.

“No,” I plead, eyes wide, head shaking violently, ignoring the pain it brings with his fingers still knotted in my hair.

“It’s too late for that. I told you how hard we played was up to you. I gave you the chance to obey, to make this pleasant.” His lips curl on the word. “But you refused. Now I get to do things my way.”

Hard metal clamps around my wrists. Marcel leaves me slumped on the ground and walks over to press the button that lifts the chains back into the cavity in the ceiling. I have no choice but to get to my feet or be dragged. Higher and higher he raises the chains until I’m stretched on my tiptoes.

I start to scream.

He cuffs my throat, blocking off my air and my cries. “Scream all you want. No one can hear you. These walls are soundproof, or didn’t you know that? This place has been specifically built. You see, the man who has requested you, it’s his family business. Well, one of them anyway. They trade in women. Steal them. Break them. Train them. Sell them.”

He speaks loudly to be heard over my strangled screams. But they are diminishing with each breath whistled through vocal cords stretched too tight.

“But not you. You are special. You are chosen,” he hisses, releasing his grip under my chin. He sighs heavily when I keep screaming. My throat is raw, the pressure of where his fingers dug into me burns, but I don’t stop. It’s my only hope.

“Enough!” he orders, stepping behind me. My screams turn to a strangled cry when his fingers wrap around my throat again. This time he squeezes hard. Hard enough to cut off the air, hard enough that panic slices into my gut. I can’t claw at him. I can’t fight. I’m at his mercy. Or lack thereof.

“See?” he breathes into my ear when my screams stop. “Isn’t that better? So much quieter.”

He doesn’t release his grip.

This is it.

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