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All I know is that it’s not Finnigan. Perhaps this man will help me. Possibly he’s one of the good guys. My hands are on the ground, trying to level me, when I feel the painful sting of my hair as it’s pulled violently.
“I said move, you whore.”
I try to get up, but my body is paralyzed from fear or defeat. I’m not sure which.
I cast my eyes down to the ground. I’m too frightened to glance up, and I hate myself for it. I’ve never lived my life as a wilting flower, but I also never had to face this kind of adversity. My mother’s words about how a genuine test of strength is our actions when we’re forced into utter despair come back to haunt me. Right now, I’m an epic failure.
The man drags me until we’re in my bedroom. The room is eerily silent. There are no sounds other than my breathing and my heart pumping violently in my ears.
“I can’t believe O’Malley doesn’t want to kill you. He won’t fuck you either, so I’m not sure why you’re still breathing, but whatever the reason, I know I can’t let prime pussy go to waste.”
His fingers roam over my hair, and I gag. I understand that this is to be my fate, but there’s a glimmer of hope in my soul that I can escape reality. He tugs at my hair, forcing my head up, and just as I’m about to make eye contact, I hear a hard thud.
I’m not sure where the sound is coming from, but the aggressive hand in my hair is no longer there. My wrists chafe against the rope when I try to move my hands. I’m a captive. I keep my eyes cast down, hoping that if I stay still, I can disappear from the view of anyone that might want to hurt me.
The sound of crunching and wetness surrounds me as a rush of liquid covers my face. The man’s severed hand now lays at my knees, and the mahogany wood floor runs with a crimson river.
I can hear the scream in my mind. It’s loud, volatile, and sonic, but it’s only in my head because the fear is so paralyzing that my vocal cords are locked in terror.
Two calloused hands lift me by my upper arm. The touch isn’t gentle, but it’s not rough either. There’s a neutrality to it. It’s a means to an end.
We’re hurrying. He’s running, and there’s the sound of a door being flung open wildly. The cool air hits my skin, and I inhale, glad the smell of blood and human flesh is gone.
“O’Malley, what the fuck?” A voice calls from a distance.
A car door opens, and I’m thrown inside before it’s closed violently behind me. I gaze up at the person manhandling me, and my eyes widen. Finnigan O’Malley.
The deranged look in his eyes and the ragged rise of his chest holds my gaze. But what has me frozen is how vermillion blood covers his body and rivulets along his chiselled face. He’s the villain in a slasher movie, the monster under the bed, here to claim me. A chill moves along my body and takes hold of my vocal chords. I’m experiencing genuine fear, so traumatized that I can’t even scream.
“O’Malley,” a voice blares, pulling his monstrous eyes away from me.
Finnigan turns just as a giant steps up to him. The man doesn’t get a chance to say anything because Finn throws a punch so volatile that the man stumbles back at the blow. He tries to get his bearings, but Finn is on him in an instant, and cracking sounds vibrate throughout the parking lot. The guy’s bones must break with those punches, maybe Finn’s hand, too.
I watch in fascinated horror as Finnigan gets up and walks towards me, his vacant eyes haunted. The car shakes as the trunk opens, and Finn emerges with an axe. He walks over to the man, lying unconscious on the ground, and with four vicious blows, Finn detaches the man’s arms and legs from his body. I hold back the bile rising in my throat, swallowing whatever was coming up.
Finn spits on the mangled face of the man. “Let this be a lesson to all your buddies. Don’t fuck with me or mine.”
His.
Owned like a piece of furniture, to be used at Finnigan O’Malley’s whims. His property.
I gaze down at the bloody body, knowing this isn’t some nightmare. It’s my new reality. I no longer belong to myself. I’m now the captive of a lunatic, a man with violent, vacant eyes, no limits, and homicidal urges. My life is over.
Chapter Two
FINN
She hasn’t said a thing for the entire drive, and I’m grateful because the truth is I wouldn’t say anything back. Speaking is useless. It’s a waste of energy. Conversation just fuels rage and clouds the brain. Silence keeps things clear, emotions stay in check, and the job gets done with no destruction.
