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The knife is under his throat before he even has the chance to see it. That smirk falters for one glorious moment as his eyes drift down to take in the blade. “Come on brother,” he teases, his mouth snapping over the word. “Didn’t our whore mother teach you to share?”
“My mother taught me many things.” I assure him. “We had housekeepers and cooks and drivers, but it was always important to her that we knew how to take care of ourselves, just in case. I always hated when she would teach me something about cooking. It was just so... mundane.”
I can see the question in his eyes, wondering where I’m going with this. I pull the blade away from his throat and appraise him a moment before lunging at him, the tip of the knife now sitting firmly in the middle of his pants. If he moves right now, he runs the risk of my hand slipping. “One of the most… illuminating lessons was when she taught me how to filet a fish. You start with a single slice, right down the center.” I draw the blade over the crotch of his pants, just firmly enough to leave a rip in the wake of it, the fabric giving easily under my blade. I think of how he held a camera in Claire’s face while another man dragged a knife down her chest much the same way and press harder, until I can just barely feel something under the tip of the blade.
I feel rather than see him shudder as realization settles in, his eyes wide.
There’s so much more to it, so many more threats that I could make, but that look tells me there is no need to go any further. Wes doesn't know yet whether I’m prone to violence, whether I’ll follow through on such a gruesome threat. And he doesn't need to know yet, because the look of terror in his eyes tells me I’ve earned his compliance.
“Oh, brother.” I laugh, throwing his words back in his face. “What's the matter? You can dish it to innocent women, but you can't take it?”
“Why are you so interested in my cock?” He manages, trying to deflect.
His family may suck, and his childhood may have been unhappy, but growing up with a father as powerful as Alexandre Davos had surely spoiled him into becoming a bully. I'm sure it’s easy to make threats when you have a pack of lions at your back, but Wes needs to understand that he doesn't have them anymore. He only has me.
Or rather, I have him. And I need everyone to know it.
“Don’t worry, Wes.” I chuckle, straightening and stashing the blade. I have no interest in cutting off another man’s dick. And while I’m not necessarily aroused by the idea of watching Claire do it, I would.
I laugh when his chest heaves with relief. My back is already toward him when I speak again. “You get to keep your favorite toy for another day.”
Chapter six
Claire
I dragged myself back to the bed using what little energy I did have and crawled under the covers. I’m just about asleep, floating on the fringe of consciousness, when there’s a light knock on the door. I don’t have the energy to tell them to come in or to go away, but thankfully it doesn’t matter because the door opens regardless. There’s a moment of quiet, and then Elaine comes around to the center of the room, holding a small tray in her hands. “Rhea said you needed something to help you sleep.” Her voice is gentle, soothing.
When I first met her, Elaine looked at me like I made her want to crawl out of her skin. But then she shifted to acting like I was a part of the family, like we’ve known one another for all my life. It’s weird, and while it may have sent alarm bells going off if I had the chance to really think about it, I can’t focus on it. I’m not sure I can trust her. My instincts are clearly terrible, seeing as how I allowed myself to get into the car with Jovich despite my better interest.
But if Elaine is going to kill me, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Anything would be preferable to the tortured coldness I’m stuck in, the damp and dirty feeling of what I’ve done, the guilt like a collar notched too tight around my neck.
My head spins and every time I close my eyes, I can feel the hands on me… so many hands, dark and decaying demon hands, tearing at my skin and trying to drag me to Hell. If Elaine is going to kill me, it could be chocked up to a mercy killing. At least I won’t be tortured by the prospect of hope anymore.
Elaine moves closer, and I, unable to focus my gaze on her, find myself staring at a spot on her skirt. She drops to her knees at the side of the bed and then her hands are under me, guiding me into a sitting position so that she can place the pill she brought me on my tongue. It starts to dissolve immediately, leaving a bitter taste there before she lifts the water bottle to my lips and tilts it for me.
Swallowing takes too much effort, but I manage to get the water down. Elaine tips the bottle toward me as if offering more, but that was all I can manage. I shake my head just a little, almost prepared to fall back on the pillows again when she lifts a hand to my forehead. Her skin is cool, a comforting relief against the burning of my flesh. My face is hot, but at the same time, I’m so cold that I’m shivering, my entire body trembling so hard that it all aches. I didn’t even notice until her gentle touch on my skin makes me realize as much.
“You’re burning up.” Elaine says, her pale lips drawing into a frown. Concern etches her pretty face as she appraises me. “Lie back.”
I don't need to be told twice. The suggestion is welcome, and I gladly fall back against the mattress, letting my eyes flutter closed. She hovers above me for a moment, moving just a little, and I’m not sure what she’s doing until I feel the comforter being tucked around me. I can feel the weight of it, but not the warmth. “I am so sorry Claire.” She says it gently, but sincerely. “You’re safe now.”
Safe?
I’m not sure I even know the meaning of the word anymore. I’m not sure I ever will again. “Let me check your bandage.” She says, peeling back the hem of my shirt. Her fingers brush against the gauze, sending a wave of discomfort through me, and then I feel the gentle pull as she lifts it gingerly.
A strange sound rolls off of her tongue, and then she replaces it, drops the blanket back in place and pats my arm gently. “You get some sleep Claire. It's the best thing you can do right now.”
I’m not sure I even have a choice; It isn't like I can do anything else. I’m vaguely aware of her walking to the door, and then I let my eyelids close, and the current of sleep takes me.
But it’s not a peaceful sleep. Those same charred hands still claw at me, only this time I don't startle myself awake. Maybe it really is death. I deserve nothing less after what I’ve done. And if it is hell, at least it isn't a stagnant nightmare, the repeated loop of being pulled into the abyss.
It goes on for what feels like an eternity, but then all at once that stops and I’m lying still on a bed staring at the ceiling. It’s quiet... until it isn't. It’s quiet until the screams encompass me, agonizing sounds that come from somewhere I can't see, from people I don't know. And yet, those screams set a crack in my stomach that shatters, sending shards of glass through me and opening up a chasm so deep I fear it will swallow the world.
Instead, it only swallows me, taking me away to another place… a memory.
The whisper in my ear holds me hostage just as much as the fingers on my mouth. “Shh.”
It’s the sound you make to soothe fears, to calm an infant’s wail, to allay someone’s frustration. But it is none of that which leads him to make me quiet. It’s a threat of compliance, a warning not to fight. I’ve never been much of a fighter… not then, not now. So, I allow myself to be hushed and empty my mind, trying not to let myself drown in the memory… or the recurrence of my earliest nightmare.
