Page 25 of Beautiful Scars

I yank with all my might on the straps holding me in place. He only got one ankle and one wrist tied up, which is why I could buck and squirm like a fish out of water.

For a second, I’m frozen in place.

I remember waking up unbound.

When did he come inside? When did he strap me down? Did I blackout again?

What did he do while I was unconscious? Did he—

No. No!

I can’t even consider shit like that right now. He’s gone, and that’s all that matters.

Not like last time, Meisie, my fucking shrink croons in my head.Alex knocked you out and tied you up and cut off your panties with a kitchen knife. Do you remember that, dear, or are you still suppressing that memory? Why don’t we go back to the night—

“Fuck!” I grit out through clenched teeth.

Not again.

Not fucking ever!

I yank at my restraints, and my heart leaps into my throat when I realize the straps are tightened by giant buckles and not something that requires a key. The gag finally slips out of my mouth, and I haul in a ragged breath as I desperately work at the buckle.

Hurry! Before he gets back.

My wrist slips out of the leather cuff. I scoot down the bed and yank open the buckle securing my ankle while my skin tries to crawl one way and my flesh the other.

My bare feet hit a rug and, two steps later, a cold concrete floor.

I race over to the closet. As I’m about to turn the corner, I hear the distant sound of footsteps.

Shit! Too late!

I spin around, hunting for a place to hide. My gaze lands on the wooden door, but anywhere I go, he’ll just find me in an instant. I need to attack. I wrench open the closet door, reach in blindly, and grab the first thing I lay hands on.

And come out clutching a whip.

I stare at it in absolute shock, struggling valiantly not to burst into hysterical laughter.

Could have been worse. Could have been a big, black dildo.

The metal door screeches.

I duck behind the closet, pressing the whip to my chest and squeezing my eyes shut.

Thump—creak. Thump—creak. Thump—creeeak.

There’s one more step, but he’s not taking it. What is he doing?

Sensing danger like the fucking predator he is, that’s what.

Breathe, Meisie. Breathe. Actually, fuck that. He can probably hear you panting in the shadows.

Stopbreathing.

So I do.

The smell of cigarette smoke tickles my nose. I wrinkle it, not daring to move more.