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Until I was moaning and writhing against him.
Only then did he pull away.
My eyes opened slowly to see him looking down at me.
“Now go wash the sheets or you'll be sleeping on the floor tonight.”
Then he was gone.
As I was still sputtering.
Sputtering.
Because what the hell was that?
Also, no way was I sleeping on the floor. So I did actually have to wash the sheets. Without knowing where the washing machine was. Or how to use it even when I found it. But I guess I didn't have a choice.
I walked over to the bed on wobbly legs, cursing Reign No-Last-Name seven ways to fucking Sunday. Because, really, who kissed you until your damn toes tingled and then told you to wash the sheets and then left? Assholes. That's who. So much for thinking he was a decent guy.
I stripped the bed, gathering the sheets inside out and still feeling like I was going to need to burn my clothes after they came in contact with his skanky bed clothes. I walked along the hallway Reign had led me down earlier, trying to ignore the strange sense of unease in the unfamiliar area.
“Oh yeah, fuck, yeah. Fuck me, harder. Harder!” My eyes widened, my head snapping to the side and then immediately regretting doing so when, inside one of the rooms with the door open, there was a woman spread eagle and a man clothed from the waist up and naked from the waist down plowing into her.
My head dropped immediately, a blush creeping up my cheeks, as I ran forward. And plowed into someone.
I struggled straight, my head snapping up when two hands landed on my shoulders to steady me. My eyes met the hollow honey ones belonging to Wolf and I almost wanted to cry in relief. He looked down at me for a second. “Laundry?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, finding myself gushing yet again. “Reign went all bossy asshole on me and told me to clean them since I said I wasn't sleeping on his disgusting sheets. Then he neglected to tell me where I could go to do the cleaning of the sheets because, as I said, he's being an asshole.”
Wolf's head tilted and for the barest of seconds, I thought I saw light in his eyes before it got quickly extinguished. “Basement,” he said and lumbered away.
Basement.
The word left me frozen in the spot for longer than I cared to admit.
Basement.
And I was sure it wasn't going to be the comfy finished kind. It was going to be the cinderblock and cement kind. And, knowing their illegal status, likely barred.
I could do it.
Hell, I had to do it.
I took a deep breath, moving toward the far end of the hallway where I had seen a staircase when we came in. I reached up, flicking on the light, and very slowly descending the narrow wooden steps, my heart wedging further into my throat with each step. I reached the bottom landing, seeing the two sets of washers and dryers. Keeping my focus on them, I quickly went about figuring out the buttons, putting the sheets in one machine and the comforter in another. I stared at them for a long time before I turned back around.
And froze.
Froze froze.
Because there at the other end of the basement, was a metal chair. And that metal chair had three sets of handcuffs attached.**“You're only making this harder on yourself, Summer,” V said, raising a hand to Martin who had me by my throat on the chair, pushing my neck so far back I was worried it was going to snap. “All you have to do is tell your father you changed your mind. To go along with the deal.”
Martin's hands were pressing hard enough to bruise and make my throat feel like I swallowed razor blades, but not hard enough to be of real concern. They didn't want me to pass out. They wanted me to suffer. His hand lifted and my head snapped to face V.
“Fuck you, V. He's never going to take your deal.”
“All this could stop,” he offered, waving a hand at Martin and Deke.
Deke had already had a go at me and was standing against the wall, smoking, enjoying the show. If you looked, you could see how hard he was through his jeans.
I tried to not look.
“Doesn't matter what you do to me. He won't agree,” I spat.
And it was the wrong thing to say.
I knew this when V nodded at Martin and suddenly the ropes were gone from my wrists and Martin was pulling handcuffs from his pocket. Three sets.
“No where obvious yet,” V warned, his voice unaffected.
Martin nodded and I was dragged out of the chair, turned around, and made to straddle it.
The handcuffs opened.
One set for each of my ankles, the metal way too small, cutting painfully into the skin there. And then one set for my hands which were pulled forward to hug the chair, but cuffed so low down that the pressure of the chair on my chest made it hard to breathe.
This was new.
There had never been cuffs before.
I had never been restrained to the chair before.
So I knew it wasn't going to be good.
Then Martin reached into his boot and came back with a knife.
A knife.
He flicked it open, the blade long and dangerous.
Then he was coming toward me.
Nowhere obvious.
My tank top was hauled up my back, tucked up near my shoulders. I barely had a moment to register the genuine fear before the blade started slicing into my skin.
And it burned. It burned.
And it was everywhere.
It was unrelenting.
I clamped my eyes shut, forcing the tears away, biting the insides of my cheeks until they bled to keep myself from screaming.
But it wouldn't stop until I screamed.
Then the knife found a spot it had already torn open and slipped back into the cut, digging it deeper.
I screamed.**“Cherry? Hey, Cherry. Summer!”
I was vaguely aware of the voice. Newly familiar. Close to me. But my focus was on the chair and the cuffs. My body felt unbearably cold, goosebumps all up and down my arms and over my chest. On my back, the scars felt raw. They felt like they were new and bleeding. They felt like they were being aggravated by my tank top rubbing against them as I was strapped back to the bed on my back.
