A tile shifts under me, and it’s too late when I realize my foot has dropped into a hole in the floor. Next thing I know, a rope snaps around my ankle, and I’m yanked up with the force of a giant picking up a human for his dinner. I can’t help it. I yelp when the floor approaches my face. But I don’t hit it, instead dragged up to dangle by my leg.
It should hurt, but my limb is somehow still whole as I attempt to steady myself. Heat rushes to my head when I imagine him finding me like this on his way to make coffee in the morning. And fuck, he’ll kill me, I know he will!
Frantic, I attempt to swing my upper body so I can reach the trapped ankle, but every muscle screams in protest.
I’m about to try it again when the unmistakable tap of feet on stone tiles makes me freeze.
I grit my teeth and make another attempt for my foot with my bound hands, tears of panic already streaking down my face.
I am done.
He’s gonna fucking flay me here.
Chapter 9
Victor
Sevastyan’sinnohurry.Once again, he’s drawn me into a trap, and I walked straight into it, as if he hasn’t already proved himself as superior in every way.
A sob escapes my mouth when he clicks his tongue, wordlessly communicating that he’s disappointed rather than surprised by my actions. A single light comes on, and I’m faced with the reflection of my gangly form, now awkwardly dangling by one leg.
Will he rush to bring his sketchbook and start a new tarot-inspired series? I make the most pathetic Hanged Man in the history of art, and that thought makes me weep even harder, because of course he can’t care for someone as ugly as me.
It’s all a joke to him.
“And there I was, thinking we reached an understanding. Real shame,” Sevastyan says, standing in front of me in a lightweight tracksuit.
“I… I just… and the door was open…” I’m not even making sense to myself, so no wonder he shakes his head, no less gorgeous when viewed from upside down.
“That’s a really rude and cowardly thing you wanted to do.”
“I’m sorry! I panicked!”
Sevastyan hums as he traces my ankle with his fingertips. “Should I clip the Achilles tendon, or the whole foot?”
My stomach sinks, and my heart goes into overdrive. “No! Please! I’m sorry, I’ll be good. I’ll never try this again!”
He rolls his eyes. “Why would I believe you? This was a test, and you failed.”
Despite the hurt in his words, I sense his fingertips on my skin, skimming my flank in an unexpected caress.
Of course it was a fucking test. I’m so stupid, but can anyone blame me? I’m not used to any of this. I let out a sob that resonates through my whole chest. I should yell at him, tell Sevastyan he’s a fucked-in-the-head psycho. That would only make him angrier though.
“I thought I was allowed to roam since you left the door open,” I try, even though my mind is a bucket slowly filling with blood. Is my attempt at lying pathetic? Have I already admitted earlier that I tried to escape? My thought process is chaos.
“Stop lying. That’s the worst you can do right now,” he tells me, voice sharp even as he splays his big, warm hand on my stomach and slides it over my chest, toward my vulnerable neck. He has to scoot down to meet my eyes.
I’m shaking, as if the cold waves of the ocean below us are hitting me again and again.
“I’m sorry. But you must understand how scared I am.”
A shrug.
Really? That’s all the answer I’m getting?
“I told you I won’t hurt you... unless you keep trying to run, because then cutting off those tiny feet would be inevitable.”
I’m about to confront him when he leans in and... licks my nipple?”
