“Today is the day you’re cleaned from them,” he says. “Then you can be mine properly.”
“No.”
The word comes out before I can stop it.
I try to shift back on the bed, but my body is too slow, too heavy, and he’s already reaching for me.
“I said no!”
“You don’t mean that,” he says, like it’s obvious.
“I do!”
My voice breaks as his hands close around me, pulling me upright with more force than I can resist, my balance slipping immediately as the chain drags behind me.
I try to push him away. My arms don’t cooperate. Everything feels delayed. Wrong.
He starts pulling at my shirt.
“Stop—”
I grab at it, trying to hold it down, but he forces it up anyway, dragging it over my head before I can stop him. The movement is rough enough to knock the breath out of me for a second, leaving me exposed, my skin prickling under the cold air and his attention.
“Please—”
The word slips out before I can stop it.
It doesn’t matter.
His hands move to my jeans.
I try to fight him again, to step back, to twist away, but I can’t get the movement right. My body doesn’t respond fast enough, and he doesn’t hesitate, forcing them down, making me step out of them before I lose my balance completely.
I’m left standing there in my underwear, shaking, my chest rising unevenly as I try to keep myself upright.
Then he goes still.
His eyes fix on my upper chest. On my collarbone.
I feel it before I fully understand what he’s seeing.
“What is that.”
The words come out low, wrong. My stomach drops.
His hand comes up suddenly, gripping my shoulder and turning me slightly, forcing me into better light.
The tattoo.
Property of Jackson.
The bite mark just above it.
Everything inside me tightens.
“Don’t—”
I try to pull away.
