Page 24 of Killer Bones

“A new question?” I laugh, feeling giddy.

“I’ve never had a girl mock me as I decide how to fuck her up.”

“I’m not?—”

He grabs my wrists and takes them behind my back, keeping them there while he reaches for something off to the side. When I try to see it, I overbalance.

A moment more and he’s slipped from under me, pinned me face-down and on my stomach, though I struggle to get free. He kneels on me, that knee a point of agony, and I shriek as he puts more pressure on my back. Loosely, he winds the chain that leads to my wrist about my neck.

“So soft and fragile. Have I found your breaking point already?”

“Fuck you!” I’m panting hard as my wrists are quickly bound with pieces of my dress. The knots are wrenched tight. He stands and rocks me with his foot then undoes and toes away the chain.

“Normally, I’d say it’s the other way around, in answer to that, but…since Montez told me I could fuck you, I decided not to. Now I’m torn.”

I turn my head, glare at him. “Do you always talk this much?”

“I could impale you on something to teach you a lesson. A broom handle? I’ll bet you wish I had one.”

If eyes can glitter with evil intent, his are beacons of Hell.

A chill crawls up my spine. It’s been a game, so far—a rough, nasty but strangely enjoyable game. A broom handle is too real, too cruel, too objectifying.

I curl and flex the fingers of my bound hands.

He hoists me onto my knees, squats before me, steadies me when I nearly fall. His erection is still sticking out from his fly, and it’s rudely wobbling.

“It’s tight?” I whimper, raise my eyebrows, twist to try to show my arm and my fingers.

“Here?” He caresses my fingers. “Of course it is, dearheart. Poor delicate girl. Now…” He looks around, searching for something. “Ah. There.” He pads over and returns carrying syringes with attached needles and his belt which trails across the ground.

“Is that clean?” I shrink away. As if AIDS or germs are the worst things in here.

“It’s only been stuck in you,” he adds casually as he threads the belt through the buckle then puts it on me like a noose. “Better. I love a woman with a leather necklace.”

The end of the belt lies in his hand. He pulls it high, forcing me to straighten and then to clumsily climb to my feet.

“Don’t slip,” he says, leading me toward the shower. Our chains follow us like silver serpents, rattling over the floor. “There. Stand, back against the wall, tits out. I’m going to play with them while I ask you more questions.”

The belt is tied to the shower head pipe. Head forced high, I totter as he pushes me into place with a hand at my breast.

I might get hurt here, but I’m beyond desiring the mundane or whatever the world beyond us treasures.

“You need me, want me,” I tell him as he ties one ankle with cloth then the other, so there is distance between my feet.

“I do. For now.” He steps back, looking me over. “Luckily for you. I’m going to toy with you, mark you, scratch my name on you.”

“Which name?”

I have hit the point of contention. Who is he?

“Adelmo?” I whisper.

The scar on his mouth twists. “You are so problematic. One.” The syringe appears and he approaches while I go on tiptoe, as he puts the syringe and needle beneath one nipple.

I’m hushed.

Achingly slowly, he ushers it inside my skin, as reverent as a surgeon making the first incision.