I like the silky texture of her skin beneath my fingers. I like her smell too—the soap, her hair, the scent of a female, which is so different than that of a man. I should bring down a brush so she can take the tangles from her hair. I thread my fingers through it and she pulls away.
I cock my head to the side and look at her face with interest. “This will go easier if you do what I say when I say it.” I pull her hair and tilt her head back. “Most of it will be unpleasant, but I guarantee it can be fucking worse.” I let her go and she stumbles back against the wall and looks away. The flashlight catches a tear sliding down her cheek. She’ll be screaming when I return. Leaving her alone with her thoughts is only part of the mindfuck I’m taking so much pleasure in.
I head to the garage and one of Victor’s many vehicles—my vehicles now—and drive to my storage unit. It’s in a dilapidated section of town. I unlock and push up the large sliding door. I carefully pack my tools in their carrying case, making sure I have everything I need. I really should buy new irons, but I’m partial to the Dragonfly X2. I want this next piece to be my best.
I don’t need to think about what I have planned for my special guest. It doesn’t matter that she’s payback for her brother’s sins. I truly don’t give a fuck if she’s innocent, though I sincerely doubt she is. This is about teaching her brother a valuable lesson before he dies.
He’ll learn quickly he should never have fucked with Cindy.
Chapter Two
Melina
I’m freezing and too cold to sleep. About ten minutes ago, I heard a car drive away and I think he’s left the house. Or at least I think he has me in a house; it appears to be a basement from the short glimpses of cement block walls I’ve managed to see. He isn’t concerned with me yelling, so I’m guessing the house isn’t close to others. He’s so damn calm and unyielding. It’s seriously driving me insane.
From what I could see in the dark with his small flashlight, he’s at least six feet tall, with just the right amount of muscle on a lean frame. His short-sleeved shirt hugged a sculpted chest and his jeans looked painted on. His short, light brown hair accentuated a prominent jaw with the perfect amount of scruff on his chin. He’s gorgeous in an underwear model sort of way. At least until you reach his eyes. When the light reflected off them, I almost stepped back. They’re pale green, almost startling if you don’t look into their cold, lifeless depths. Pools of darkness lurked in the round orbs, so strong, it scared the fucking shit out of me. I’ve grown up around deadly men, but none left me trembling and wanting to escape the intensity of just a gaze.
I make a frustrated sound deep in my throat. I need to escape so I never have to look into his eyes again. Pounding the metal loop in the floor with my foot only adds to the raw flesh already there. He’s going to kill me for something my brother did. The worthless, evil, blood kin I’ve dreamed of killing for years. If only I were stronger emotionally and physically. Or maybe not. Given the chance, I’ll kill the man holding me.
I’ve thought about my own death so many times through the years I lost track. I shouldn’t be resisting the inevitable end to my life. My brother’s plans for me would pale in comparison. He’s told me often enough that I’m nothing more than a breeding machine to form better alliances.
Being given to one of the men my brother makes alliances with would be a nightmare worse than death and it’s all I’ve had to look forward to since my sixteenth birthday. That’s when the earnest threats began. To die for my brother’s sins is an ironic twist to a fucked up life I wish I couldn’t claim. So why the hell are tears leaking down my face? I’m stronger than this, and I’ve survived a household where death is around every corner, and worse things with beady eyes and snarling teeth, wait in the shadows.
When I first woke up, blackness greeted me. The blackness was so absolute, it took several minutes to figure out I wasn’t dead. The rattle of the chain when I tried to move helped. As I settled into the purist midnight black, a small spark that disappeared from my life years ago came roaring back.
The spark called life.
The man holding me has no idea that my brother will have few qualms about my death. Oh, it will piss him off because I’m a possession. More to the point, it will be the fact that someone fucked with his toy, the one he bullies constantly. I laugh at my brother’s expense and it echoes off the walls. Diego would care more about a favorite goldfish if he had one. Delivering me in pieces to my brother will only piss him off because it would be near impossible to sew me together again and stuff me like one of his prized trophies. Nothing done to me will break through my brother’s black heart. I’m but a pawn in the game of whose dick is bigger and deadlier.
Diego thinks he’s God and no one’s ever told him differently. Hell, even those around him must believe it. Diego kills on a whim and if one of his men stands in the way, he brutally takes them out. No one fucks with Diego Fernandez or anything that belongs to him. I almost feel sorry for my captor.
Almost.
I wrap my arms tightly around my breasts and push away from the hard wall behind me. My ass is stiff from sitting on the cool floor and I really miss that damned blanket. Lesson learned. Mr. Asshole likes to think he’s in charge. I can play along like the good little girl I’m trained to be.
If nothing else, I’m a great actress.
About an hour later, I lie back down on the floor and manage to fall asleep. It’s the damn drugs he gave me that put me out. A bright light overhead pushes against my eyelids and I’m instantly awake. This isn’t good. With light comes pain he said. I don’t want to open my eyes. His feet make a steady noise as he descends the stairs. My shoulders tighten as I prepare for the promised pain. I will survive rape, I tell myself to bolster my courage. I finally squint against the light and watch him walk in front of me and over to the damned restraint bed that scared the shit out of me earlier when his flashlight panned the room. The bed is one you might find in a mental hospital. The thought of what will happen in that bed doesn’t help my frazzled nerves. Survive the pain, I tell myself. Survive whatever he does to you. It can’t be much different than all the other pain I’ve suffered. Just survive.
“Stand up.” His voice startles me and my eyes open wider. The room is huge, bigger than I thought when only the flashlight lit the area. The multiple overhead lights intensify the mostly white room. The floors are concrete as are the painted cement walls. White and terrifyingly sterile looking. I’m having trouble taking my eyes from the bed, but I force myself to look at him.
He stands over me, arms crossed, and no expression on his face. His eyes say he wants to hurt me. I’ve known it since I first looked into their vacant depths. What did my brother do to this man?
His gaze remains steadfast, and I don’t want to engage more of his wrath by not doing as I’m told. My body is stiff from the cold floor and standing isn’t easy. I’m also naked, which keeps my mind rebellious. To keep myself safe in my brother’s home, I wear unattractive, large clothes whenever possible. I’m unused to even seeing myself naked. Showers were taken swiftly because my brother never allowed a lock, even on my bathroom door. With a last push away from the wall so I’m standing up straight, I brave the lion. I have a feeling my nakedness won’t matter shortly. At least not to me. I can only imagine what he has planned. Survive, I tell myself silently again. Somehow manage to survive.
His dispassionate voice fills the room again and I cringe. “Turn and face the wall.”
Fear rolls through me and I can’t move. Even knowing that nothing I say will stop what’s about to happen, I can’t help trying one last time. “Please, you don’t need to do this. Just kill me and get it over with.”
He offers a short laugh that’s half snarl, but he doesn’t answer me; he just waits with his arms crossed. I inhale deeply and find the courage to turn to the wall. Is the white concrete the last thing I’ll see? I inhale deeply and prepare myself for what’s to come or at least think I do. He disconnects my ankle from the
chain. “Walk to the bed,” he says in his hauntingly dead voice.
Can’t do it. My mind rebels and the fear leaves my feet stuck to the floor like Super Glue holds them in place. He’ll need to force me. I shake my head, unable to speak, unable to grasp anything but cold, stark fear. It’s rolling through me and turning my vision dark. I may pass out. His hand in my hair surprises me by its suddenness. Pain burns my scalp and my terror actually recedes. He has no problem dragging me where he wants me. I grind my heels against the cement and grab his hand to relieve some of the pressure. It does no good, and not enough of my hair is pulled out by the roots to stop him from forcing me where he wants me. He shoves me onto my stomach on the bed so my face hangs over the opposite side.
Horror of horrors, I can’t stop the tears. When he releases me, I kick out in anger and frustration. He makes a small grunt, but it’s my only satisfaction. The front of his body presses into mine. I’m still fully aware of my nakedness but too terrified to care. I struggle in earnest when his hand slides under my neck and around my throat, squeezing until he completely cuts off my air supply. I try to push away by arching my back and flailing my arms, but his body presses me into the table and there’s no escape. With the loss of oxygen, my entire body is in panic mode. Black dots appear in my vision. I should give in and let him finish it. I’m to the point of passing out, when the pressure against my windpipe recedes and he backs off. I gasp for needed air as he quickly pushes my legs onto the bed and adjusts my body so I’m lying properly on the plastic sheet covering the thin mattress. He secures the leg restraints with me facing down. My arms are next, followed by a thick strap across my waist.
“Simple or hard, your choice,” he reminds me in a slightly winded voice.
I have no idea where my sudden sense of survival comes from. “Please, I’ll give you money. More than you’ve ever dreamed of,” I beg in desperation.
He doesn’t reply. I hear him messing with things on the opposite side of the bed and I can’t help but turn to look. He has a contraption in his hand that looks like a torture device. It’s like a gun…it dawns on me. It’s a tattoo gun. “No,” I shout. Why this should scare me more than a blade to cut me into tiny little pieces is a mystery.
He moves a rolling stool closer and sits down. “Be still.” He slaps my ass cheeks several times in succession, leaving an intense burn behind.
“You bastard. Why?” I don’t heed his advice to stay still because panic sucks me into a terrifying state.
He doesn’t answer and this time when his fingers circle my throat, I know he will kill me if I don’t comply. I go limp on the bed and try to control my sobs after he loosens his grip. I cringe when his gloved fingers rub something cold and wet across my lower back. The smell of soap enters my nostrils. Why the hell would he bother? Dying of infection is sounding great right now. He rubs the soap from the bottom of my burning ass cheek, over my back, sliding it beneath the strap and then clear to my shoulder.
This can’t happen, and panic takes over again. I begin struggling against the restraints like my life depends on it. If he marks me and doesn’t kill me, my brother will. The cold swab lifts away, and he allows me a minute to fight. A scream of frustration echoes in the room. I’m so fucking angry that it overshadows fear because once again I have no choice over what happens to me. His fingers move to my throat again. This is nothing, I tell myself silently. I’ve survived worse. I’ll handle my brother when the time comes. The sudden need to escape fades and I go lax in the restraints. This is going to happen whether I agree or not.
My captor remains silent and begins washing my skin again.
“What time is it?” I ask desperately. It doesn’t really matter, but I can’t stand the silence. Barely speaking to me scares me more than his deep voice.
Silence.
“I, I… please just say something.”
Silence.
I scream as loud and high-pitched as I can. His punishment is swift as a hard slap from his hand lands on my already sore ass. It cuts off the scream instantly because I’m fighting through the pain just to breathe. Damn that one hurt like hell. I get about thirty seconds of silence before the hum of the tattoo gun starts up. I can’t help it and tighten my entire body in dread. This can’t be happening to me.
How wrong I am.
Chapter Three
Austin
The hysterics were nice until her screams semi-damaged my eardrums. I expected her to fight and she almost disappointed me. She’s different than I thought she would be. The excitement I feel over terrorizing her is a surprise. I kill with cold dispassion. This is different, a methodical game of restraint not to kill that I’ve never experienced.
I step on the foot pedal and the Dragonfly fires up. I delight when her body goes rigid at the sound before I depress the pedal and the room is quiet again. The sound of her harsh breathing thunders through my veins and I swear our hearts sync.
Normally I would tell a person to relax. Not because I care, but because it’s what you do when someone’s in your chair—or bed as the case is now. I don’t want her to relax, though. I want this to fucking hurt. I want her to feel every fucking needle prick as I mutilate her lovely skin. I want to penetrate her skin further than I should and watch the colors bleed into her flesh. I want my ink to be as ugly as what they did to Cindy. I want the beauty of my art to be the most wicked thing ever created so her brother knows true fear. This piece will say I’m coming for him next.
With a slow steady, exhale, I place my gloved hand on the middle of her back and smile when she jerks. She needs to be still. Even the slightest wiggling can cause a blowout. It happens if the needle pierces the skin too deeply. No matter the smeared beauty of that pain, I don’t want that or at least try to tell myself so. It doesn’t stop the fact that I want to destroy her perfect flesh and leave my imprint in every pore.
Her head goes down, forehead against the top of the bed, so when she talks it’s muffled. “Don’t do this, please.”
I almost refuse to answer again because I know my silence drives her crazy and adds to her fear. Unfortunately, she needs the rules. “This won’t be finished tonight or tomorrow night. Depending on the design that takes shape, it could be weeks.” I don’t tell her I could have this done easily in a week. I won’t complete it quickly, though. I want her brother angry and frantic. That means I’m allotting only a small amount of time to work on her each day. “Begging and crying will lose you meals,” I continue dispassionately, “or the blanket. If the lack of those items don’t put you in line and your actions persist, I’ll administer drugs that will make you feel everything I do. The only difference is you’ll be unable to move at all even when I take breaks. I won’t repeat the rules and they’re non-negotiable.” My hand travels higher and I smooth her long hair off her back and run my fingers over the area between her shoulder blades. This is where I’m starting and I’ll allow the design to build from this center piece. I have a rough idea of what I want and I only ever ink freehand. The people who wear my art are connoisseurs and they get what they pay for. And they pay a lot. Her body will be my masterpiece and Fernandez will understand that I’m destroying everything he cares about—beginning with his sister. When every last person in his life is gone or branded with my mark, I’ll kill him. He’ll thank me when he’s on his knees. It still won’t matter, because I have no intention of making it quick.
Before I begin inking her lovely flesh, I admire the flawless canvas waiting for my art. She doesn’t carry an ounce of fat, she’s slim and lean, and I can see strength in her muscle tone. She works out and enjoys hot yoga, which I discovered when I was looking for information on her brother’s organization. She’s also in college working on an accounting degree. Commendable, I guess. Sucks that she’s attached to her shitbag brother. Sucks for her that I’m destroying her perfect skin. My lips quirk; I feel not one ounce of pity. Sometimes, for some people, life sucks, and right now this woman’s life sucks more.
If I’
m honest, I admit I feel something. Excitement maybe? I know I’m not a good man but I’ve never thought of going to this extreme. Victor enjoyed reigning in the monster. I was his toy whom he kept on a tight leash. His death released me from those constraints. Maybe it would be kinder to kill her. If I were a kind man, I’d give it more than a second’s thought. No, little miss velvet skin’s brother is a vital part of my vengeance and I’ll be damned if a pretty face or beautiful flesh sway me.
To my delight, as I hesitate, more small quivers run across her flesh. And, because I’ve learned how strong she actually is, her fear excites me more than it should. The chair squeaks when I move it forward using my foot. I sink into the well-used black leather and roll just a bit closer.
The bed adjusts too and I have it at the desired height. I found the bed in Victor’s attic storage. I removed the thick mattress and replaced it with a vinyl covered pad, which I then covered with painter’s plastic and secured with every kidnapper’s favorite toy—Duct tape. Cindy’s mother used this bed in her final months of life. I didn’t know the woman; Victor kept me out of the wing she occupied, and I felt no remorse when she died. Not that this would have changed even if I did know her. There was a twinge of something when it came to Cindy’s personal heartbreak at the loss of her mother. At the time, it proved I might have a soul. Now, looking down at the woman I’m about to mutilate, I’m assured having a soul is far beyond me.
“This will hurt. Lie still,” I order.
Another round of trembling passes through her and I give her a moment to gain control. She finally sucks in a long breath and goes taut. The room is cold and she has goosebumps on her flesh. I grab a blanket from the low shelf where I’ve stored my supplies. I cover her from her hips down. “Relax and it won’t be as painful,” I say before I can stop the words vomiting from my mouth.
Combust (A Hotter Than Hell Novel Book 6) Page 2
