Wrong

by LP Lovell

  “Damn”—Bob takes a drag of his cigarette, gripping it between his lips as he continues—“such a shame to fuck up a body as nice as yours.”

  He takes the knife, barely touching the tip to the skin between my breasts.

  I want to scream, but the cold is overwhelming me. I can feel my breathing getting slower, and my vision starts to blur. If Bob here doesn’t kill me, then the cold will.

  He takes the cigarette and smashes the hot butt out on my breast. The heat is searing and I make a weak attempt to scoot away, but he grabs hold of me and yanks me back. My bare back slips against the cold, wet concrete.

  “Has he fucked you yet?” He rolls his lip underneath his teeth and chuckles. He gropes my breast, pinching my nipple hard between his fingers. “Has he fucked you the way a dirty whore like you deserves to be fucked?”

  I shake my head, a pitiful moan slipping from my lips. He presses the blade harder into my skin. “I’ll be doing him a favor by killing you. ‘Cause I don’t think he’s got it in him to do it himself.”

  My chest is heaving. I can’t breathe. I feel the sharp edge slicing through my skin and pain erupts across my chest as he drags it down my body, inch by inch, stopping right before he reaches my belly button. I feel warm blood oozing down my sides. I close my eyes, and tears trickle down my temples.

  He grabs me by the throat, and leans his body weight into me, his face inches from mine as he growls, “I will cut up every”—he places the blade under my throat—“fucking inch of you, and enjoy each second.”

  He moves the knife from my neck, and the next thing I know, his fingers brush the inside of my thigh. I feel the slight scratch of the blade as he trails it lightly over my skin. He moves higher, until he’s almost at the apex of my thigh. My vision swims, and I fight the urge to pass out. I cannot pass out, I cannot let this happen, I think to myself frantically.

  “How ‘bout I fuck you with this knife?” He drags the blade over the juncture of my thigh, laughing as I whimper.

  I can’t stop the sob that slips from my lips. I want to die. Please kill me. Please kill me. I silently plead over and over again.

  He strokes my face with his fingertip before pressing the tip of the blade into my cheek. I don’t even care anymore.

  “Kill me.” It’s all I can say, all I want. I am done. I’m not strong enough for this nightmare. These are the monsters that other monsters fear. They will break me beyond reparation. Black spots dot my vision. I’m so tired. I’m so cold. I just want to sleep.

  His smile deepens into a maniacal grin as he places the blade against my throat. “Not yet, sweet thing.” His eyes trail over my naked body, and he chuckles. “Not until I get exactly what I want.”

  He palms my breast again. His harsh movements pull at the cut on my chest, and I wince. His hand trails over my stomach. “How about I finger-fuck this pretty pussy of yours.” His fingers dip between my legs, brushing against me. I squeeze my legs closed, trying to scoot away from him, but I’m too weak. Bile rises in my throat, even as my consciousness tries to slip away. Everything in me recoils violently at the thought, battling through my foggy mind and demanding I fight this. This man has stripped me, beat me, cut me, but he will not fucking rape me. I would rather die a thousand times over.

  I grab his wrist and use the last of my energy to thrust myself off the floor. The sharp edge of the knife bites into my neck. I instantly feel the hot blood rush down my throat, and I smile, falling back against the concrete. I’m so cold. My body is broken and my soul is shattered. I welcome the blackness as it consumes me.

  I open the door and hear Bob’s gruff voice. “How ‘bout I finger-fuck this pretty pussy of yours?”

  I feel a growl work its way up my throat as I throw the door to the freezer room open.

  Rage consumes me. She is sprawled on the floor, still naked, only now, her bare skin is coated in blood. Bob has a knife to her throat, and his filthy-ass hand is sunk between her thighs.

  Red. That’s all I fucking see. I‘m going to rip his fucking head from his shoulders.

  I watch her fingers wrap around Bob’s wrist, and in that moment, everything seems to slow down. She violently jerks her shoulders from the floor, forcing the blade of the knife against her throat. Blood spills from the cut. Her eyes flutter closed, and she slumps back against the concrete floor.

  “Fuck!” I shout, and grab Bob’s shoulder, shoving him away from her. “Get the fuck away from her!”

  I look at the gash on her throat. There’s so much fucking blood. It’s trickling down her neck in a steady stream and pooling beneath her. The adrenaline jolting through me makes my head swim. I press my hand over the wound in an effort to slow the bleeding, and red liquid wells up through my fingertips.

  “Tor!” I shout at her, panicking. I take my free hand and pat her face. “Victoria?”

  I rip my shirt over my head and place it over the wound. It quickly soaks with blood. I trail my eyes down the long, jagged cut on her stomach. If I thought I could remove my hand without her dying, I would take that knife and slit Bob’s throat right now. He’s just standing behind me, watching her die, and that pisses me off. He knows this isn’t how we planned this. This is not what was supposed to happen.

  “Get me some fucking blankets, you worthless shit!” I scream, and he calmly leaves the room.

  Slipping my arms underneath her back, I pick her up and cradle her limp body in my arms.

  Her lips are deep blue, her skin a listless grey. She’s so fucking cold. Shit.

  Guilt consumes me. What the fuck have I done?

  I rush into the medical room and lay her on the gurney. I hear footsteps running down the stairs, and Bob hurries in a few seconds later with an armful of blankets, followed by Caleb.

  “What the fuck”—Caleb’s wide eyes dart up to me—“did you do to her?” He’s already at the foot of the gurney, tearing open one of the medical kits. “You’re a fucking asshole,” he growls as he throws my hands away from her neck. The bloody shirt falls from the bed, making a sickening splat when it hits the ground.

  “Watch the way you fucking talk to me.” I shove my finger in his face. “She’s not fucking dead!” I yell. “Fix her!”

  He shakes his head as he mumbles something under his breath. “Hold this to her neck,” he says, passing me a handful of gauze. “And put the blankets on her!”

  I take the gauze, pressing as hard as I can over her throat. Shit. She looks dead. I can feel my pulse in the back of my throat, and I realize I’m panting.

  “Shit! She has hypothermia!” He’s pacing, his tone frantic. His eyes widen and shoot up to mine. “We need to warm her up, right now.” He gathers her in his arms.

  “Warm her up? What are you gonna do, throw her in a fucking tub?”

  “No, you fucking idiot! You’ll send her into cardiac arrest. She needs more blankets and body heat.” He lays her back down, running his hands over his head. “Fuck, Jude! Just fuck!” He punches the wall, then leans over his knees shaking his head. I can tell he isn’t exactly sure what to do, which makes me uneasy. He straightens up and inhales. “Okay. We’ve got to warm her up. And we’ve got to stitch that cut on her neck.”

  My gaze darts to the weeping wound on her abdomen. Blood is every-fucking-where. It’s never bothered me before, but this...this makes my stomach turn. “The one on her stomach? You need to stitch that!” I shout at him.

  “Shut up and just let me think.” He grabs his head, pacing again as his eyes shoot back over to her. “That can fucking wait. It’s not that bad.”

  I stare at her, and I swear, she’s growing paler by the second. “We need to get her out of this damn basement. It’s too cold.”

  Caleb picks her up, and I immediately snatch her out of his arms, bundling her in the blankets. I nod toward the door. “Come the fuck on. I can’t stitch her up.”

  I’m taking several steps at a time with her clutched to my chest. I kick my bedroom door open. The doorknob crashes throu
gh the sheetrock.

  “This is a fucking mess!” Caleb flips back the comforter. “A fucking mess, Jude,” he shouts.

  I lay her on the bed and touch her cheek, hoping some heat has returned to her, but she feels even colder to me. “Why isn’t she warming up? Why’s she still so fucking cold?” I scream, pointing at her. “She’s got blankets. She’s colder than she was without them.” I can’t stand to look at her any longer. I don’t want her to fucking die.

  “She can’t generate her own body heat. Someone else has to do it for her.” He’s calmed down a little, and is already laying out items from the kit he brought with him. “You're gonna have to do it. I need to sew her up.”

  “Do what?”

  He glares at me as he pulls thread out. “Warm her up...this is a little fucking far...don’t you think?” Caleb’s threading the needle, but his eyes are locked on me. “Are you gonna give her some body heat or what, Jude? I’m not gonna stitch her up if you're just gonna let her die anyway.”

  “Shit.” I yank the comforter back to crawl in the bed next to her.

  “Skin-on-skin,” he says. “It needs to be skin-on-skin to work.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I’m not gonna watch her die, Jude! Take your fucking clothes off and warm her up!” he shouts. Caleb’s on edge, and I can’t really blame him. This is fucked up, even for us.

  I strip down to my boxers and pull the comforter over us both. I drag her lifeless body to mine, wrapping my arms around her. I immediately cringe away from the chill of her skin.

  Caleb kneels beside the bed. He pulls the gauze from her neck and tosses it to the floor, then shakes his head. “You’re gonna have to lay on your back and pull her on top of you. I can’t reach her throat this way.”

  I do as he says and roll over, pulling her body on top of mine. He tucks the sheet up over her shoulders to cover her breasts. “This is all your fault!”

  “Shut the fuck up and stitch her.”

  He sweeps her damp hair to the side, and it falls onto my shoulder. I feel ice-cold water drip down my bicep. “I told you this was bullshit, Jude. I told you she didn’t know anything.” He jabs the needle through her skin. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t move.

  His face grows redder with each passing second. “She’s innocent, and you knew that, deep down inside.” He works the thin black thread in and out, quickly sewing up the wound. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his disgust with the situation all over his face. “I’ve spent the last week locked in a room with her, remember? I think I would have had an idea!” he shouts, his voice slightly shaking.

  I adjust her on top of me, tightening my hold around her to provide as much warmth as possible. “You can’t ever be too sure. You should know that.”

  “Well, looks like you got what you wanted.”

  “I didn’t want this, Caleb. She’s linked to fucking Joe. Joe! There was a chance she was in on it. I had to find out.”

  He pulls on the thread and cuts it. Then he lifts the covers and stitches her stomach. Once he’s finished, he pushes himself away from the bed. Leaning down to me, he narrows his eyes. “There was a chance. A very small chance. Hell, you’re a fucking genius with numbers, how small was that chance, huh?” He straightens up and wipes his bloody hands down his shirt. “You think everyone is a threat, why not just go on a mass killing spree? She’s just a girl.” He points at her. “A girl who was taken against her will. And I told you that. But guess what, now she’s a girl you almost killed because you're paranoid. She’s gonna be fucked in the head for the rest of her life because you had to be sure!”

  “You need to shut your mouth right now,” I slowly say, my tone calm and collected and deep.

  He turns to make his way across the room, but stops at the foot of the bed. “I know we have fucked-up lives, but everybody needs a limit. This should have been yours!” He can’t even look at me now. His eyes are locked on her. “You’re fucking soulless.”

  He’s right. I close my eyes and exhale. “You may be my brother, Caleb, but tread fucking carefully. It’s me that keeps this business and this family alive. Everyone outside of this house is a threat.”

  “Right now”—he points to her—“I trust her more than I trust you. You better hold her until she comes to. I’ve done all I can fucking do.” He opens the door and slams it closed.

  I stare at the wall, holding her so damn close to my body that the cold is bleeding into me. “Bring me some clothes to put on her, do you hear me?” I yell, my voice straining from the volume. I want to scream until my throat fucking bleeds.

  I roll her onto her side and slide up behind her. I rest my chin on her shoulder and breathe over her neck to try and warm it. She’s not near as cold, and her breathing is growing less shallow and erratic. I pull her closer, my palm slipping over the mutilated flesh on her stomach, the thread coarse against my palm. I have to swallow down the acid rising in my throat. Her blood is all over my hand. Shit.

  I grew up in the middle of violence. This life has been all I’ve known. I can’t count the number of times as a child that I watched my father rough someone up. Violence surrounded me, and the only pure things in my life were my mother and sister. In my family, women were respected, worshipped almost. They were like a forgiving light that shined through the hell that surrounded us, and then that light was smothered by Joe.

  This life will damage and ruin anyone I become involved with. It’s an evil that seeps its way into things, and this right here just proves that to me. I watched her try to kill herself. Out of all the people I’ve seen die, I have never seen someone beg for death. They beg for life, they plead, they bargain—but she saw death as a better option. What the fuck have I done to her?

  She moves her arm, and a muffled whimper escapes her lips. I know she’s in pain. I’ve never felt remorse like this for hurting someone, and I’m finding the guilt slamming its way over me right now to be fucking unbearable. This right here has fucked me in a way I’ve never been fucked. She was good and pure. She was everything I’m not. I took that innocence from her. This girl makes me have a fucking soul, and I can’t have that.

  It’s late. And here I sit, slumped against the wall, staring at her asleep in my bed. I feel a need to protect my family, my business, but, for whatever reason, I also feel the need to protect her.

  Bob defied me; he went against my orders and he hurt her. What he did to her will be permanently marred across her body, and fuck knows what it’s done to her mind. He’s made me no better than Joe. Every time her hands brush over that scar, she’ll see Bob’s face, and she’ll hate me for leaving her, for allowing it to happen.

  I bite down on my lip as anger slowly swallows me like a black void. She turns in the bed, the pain causing her to cry out in her sleep. That sound flips the switch in me.

  I jump up and leave the room, storming through the house. “Bob?” I shout. “Where the fuck is that piece of shit?” With each step I take, I feel my pulse behind my eyes. I can’t get the image of him on top of her out of my head, and it’s making me enraged. “Bob!” I yell, balling my fists.

  I come into the living room, and he’s sitting on the sofa.

  “What did I tell you I’d do if you disrespected me?” My fingers dig into my fists, and tension courses through my muscles.

  His eyes hone in on me as he takes a sip of his beer. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked the bitch.”

  I feel my eye twitch, and I inhale. Gritting my teeth, I slowly cross the room. Without thought, I raise my hand back and slap the beer from his hand. Frothy white foam spews through the air. Bob’s eyes fly open and he attempts to stand, but I grab him by the throat, jerking him to his feet.

  “You don’t deserve to live after what you did.” I squeeze my hand around his thick throat. The tendons pop beneath my grip as my fingers dig into his sweaty flesh.

  His fingers clench into my arms, clawing at me to let him go. He strains his neck to the side, managing to ch
oke out, “You’re no better.”

  I shake him, my hold tightening. He’s thrashing around, trying to fight me. In a moment of strength, he grabs my shoulders and manages to force me back. My legs bang into the coffee table, and we both crash down on top of it. I hear the glass cracking beneath me, and before I can stand, the glass shatters, sending us both crashing to the floor.

  I lose my hold on Bob, and he attempts to roll away, crawling on his hands and knees as he pants for breath.

  I go at him, grabbing him by his hair. “Family or not, I’ll teach you to fuck around with me. Blood holds little meaning when you can’t trust a person.”

  I pull him to his feet and drag him down the hallway to the basement door. He’s screaming like a bitch the entire way. “Caleb! Paul! Help!” he shouts. “He’s gonna kill me. Help!” He’s pleading, groveling; his voice has a prominent tremor behind it.

  I open the door to the stairs and pull him behind me. His body bangs down each step. He’s scratching at my hands to let him go. When we get to the bottom I hear footsteps running down the stairs.

  “The fuck, Jude?” I hear Caleb mutter behind me. “Jude!” He tries to get my attention again, but I just keep walking to the door leading to that room.

  “Jude!” Caleb keeps shouting after me.

  I open the door to the room Bob tortured Tor in. The cold air rushes around me as I step in. I pull the thin, worn string that hangs above my head, and the dim light buzzes on. The floor is still covered in Tor’s blood and a thin layer of water. “Cut the temp up to sixty, Caleb.”

  He says nothing, but I hear him fumble with the dial outside the room.

  I eye Bob, my nostrils flaring. “Get me some chains.”

  “Jude, man, you can’t be serious.”

  “Did I fucking stutter, Caleb? Get them. Now!” I growl.

  He turns, and I glance down at Bob. “You will be sorry for what you did to her. You will regret disobeying me.”

  Bob tries to shake free from me and I twist a fistful of hair, jerking his head back. “Don’t fucking fight me. I will win. Don’t fuck with me.”