Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“I-I only wanted to get away. I didn’t plan it. I just wanted to run.”
“Because you knew someone would come out firing at us.”
“That’s not true,” she says. I press a little harder, causing her to wince. “I swear!”
“I don’t believe you,” I growl, frustration mounting. “Why do you keep lying to me?” With my free hand, I begin unbuttoning the shirt from the bottom up, and each button bares more skin for me to run my blade over. The muscles jump and twitch in her abdomen.
“I’m not.” Tears start to roll down her cheeks, dripping from her quivering chin. It’s a true sight to see. “I’m not lying. Stop saying that.”
“I’m sorry. Did you just tell me what to do?” I pop another button, another, then spread the shirt open to bare her tits. They’re nice tits, even better than I imagined, full and heavy with light pink nipples. “It would be a shame to slice up tits this nice.”
She releases a shuddery breath. “Oh, god, please.”
“This is entirely up to you.”
“I don’t know what you want from me!” She’s breathing so fast that I wouldn’t be surprised if she hyperventilates. Her eyes are glued to the blade, and a high-pitched whine works its way out of her. “Please, don’t do this.”
I barely hear her. Not when my entire awareness is focused solely on the way her flesh reacts to the steel threatening to pierce it. I can’t take my eyes from it, her soft, supple breast and the light gleaming from the knife.
“What am I supposed to do about this?” I look up into her eyes, pleased to find them wide and brimming with fear. “How do we handle this?”
“I don’t know. Please, I don’t know. Why are you doing this to me? I’ve never hurt you. I’ve never hurt anyone!”
“Now you’re boring me.” Finally, I reach for her nipple.
“Oh, my god,” she whispers.
“You don’t need both of these, do you?”
She flinches away from the tip of the blade, now circling her nipple, her high-pitched whining fading to the background of my awareness in favor of the blood rushing in my ears. The power of holding her in my hands like this, knowing I could change the course of her life with a single flick of the blade. She would never fucking forget me, would she? And every time she looked down at herself, saw herself in a mirror or watched a man’s expression turn to one of horror at her mangled flesh, she would remember how she screwed with me. Lied to me, kept me dangling like I’m some sort of fucking joke.
“Set up another meeting!”
I pause, looking up at her. “Excuse me?”
“Ask for another meeting. Tell him…” Her eyes dart around. “Tell him you’re not happy about what he did, and now you want him to make it right by meeting for real, face-to-face. Tell him it’s his last chance or something like that.”
“You believe he would respond positively to an ultimatum?” I’m close to sitting back, her response having caught me off guard.
“Do you have any other options?” When I lift an eyebrow, she recoils. “I’m just saying.”
“And this wouldn’t be an attempt at getting me killed, would it?” I add the slightest pressure and marvel at the speck of blood that seeps against the silver blade.
“No! Oh, please, don’t hurt me!” She moans, and it’s the sweetest sound.
“Because it sounds a lot like you’re suggesting I give it another try since your father wasn’t successful in killing me the first time around.”
“No, no, that’s not it. I swear. Please, believe me.” She hangs her head and weeps—and the sound grows louder, almost gusty, once I pull the blade away. Instantly, she closes the shirt and curls into a ball, arms around her knees, her chin tucked close to her chest.
I can’t bring myself to take pleasure when there are too many questions fighting for control in my tired brain. Is this all an act? Is she plotting behind those tears?
If I’m not careful, this supposedly simple mission is going to drive me out of my head.
13
ALICIA
At least I’m not tied up anymore.
It’s amazing how something as small as that can end up meaning so much. Is this how Stockholm Syndrome develops? Things are so bad at first that when they get incrementally better, the person being held captive is so grateful they end up becoming attached to the person who took them?
That must be what’s going on now, and all I can think is that I have to stop it. I can’t let myself start thinking about him as anything more than a monster. And he wonders why I can’t relax around him? Then he goes and pulls some psychotic nightmarish shit like he did earlier.
I guess it’s better that I don’t understand. If I did, it would mean I was no better than him.