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Tommy’s hand snakes around, gripping the back of my head, pulling me in harder. My body stumbles into his and my hand hits the counter to brace myself. My fingers fall onto the edge of the cutting board where he was cutting vegetables.
Before I can comprehend what I’m doing, my hand reaches out and grabs the black kitchen knife he used for cutting. I grip the plastic handle so hard I’m surprised it hasn’t cracked.
It’s like everything moves in slow motion. One second I’m just holding the knife, the next I’m stabbing it into his stomach.
Driving the knife into his skin feels different than I thought it would. The resistance forces me to push with more power than I expected, but I drive it with as much force as I can.
His lips part against mine with a gasp. “Princess,” he grunts, surprise etched on his face. I don’t take my eyes off his deceivingly sweet brown eyes. “What have you done?”
My hand has a mind of its own, pulling the knife out and stabbing him over and over.
His legs give out from under him, his large body hitting the floor with a thud. He can’t get any words out; all he can do is moan. His low, gurgling sounds fill the silent house. The realization of what I’ve done hits me hard, almost knocking me off my feet.
My hand, the knife, his shirt, the floor—all covered in blood. My hand goes slack, dropping the blade to the floor. I see deep crimson circles forming where the knife cut through his soft shirt. Spreading larger and larger with each second that passes by. His mouth is filled with blood as he reaches for me, trying to pull me down.
My eyes flutter slowly, the dry air irritating the hell out of them. They’re only open for a few seconds, but all I can see is red. Tommy’s moaning rings in my ears.
He’s still alive.
I didn’t kill him.
Fuck.I need to stab him to make sure he’s really dead. I can’t leave him alive. He’ll come for me if I do.
I’ll never be safe until he’s gone.
I look down at the blood covering my body.It’s brighter than I remember. The sight of the red makes me nauseous, forcing my eyes closed.
I need to clean up this bloody mess. I need to wash him off me.
My body doesn’t move when I try. Every muscle aches, but I’m able to slowly lift my heavy, pounding head. I finally manage to get it up, but my neck can’t hold it anymore, forcing it to fall back against something hard behind me. The impact only intensifies the pain.
Where am I? Where’s Tommy?
My head rolls to the side while cold metal bites into my cheek, driving me to open my eyes. Through the terrible lighting, I can see chains hanging from the ceiling, all different kinds of knives lining the gray concrete wall, and a table full of items that look like they’re used for torture.
Forcing my eyes closed again, I take a deep breath. I’m just dreaming. This isn’t real.
After clearing my mind, I realize the moaning I heard earlier wasn’t Tommy—it was me. I don’t know where I am, but I know one thing—Tommy is dead.
He’s not here.
He’s not here because I killed him.
I jerk, trying to get out of here, but my body is stuck. Looking out to my sides, I find my wrists bound by leather cuffs. My attention darts to the rest of my body. I’m still in the red dress I wore to the club. That must’ve been the red my brain triggered as blood. My feet are also cuffed. I’m attached to something that looks like a metal table that’s hanging me about a foot off the ground, putting even more tension on my limbs.
What kind of sick fuck does this?
Movement in the room draws my attention to the fucking bastard who would do this—the three bastards to be exact.
Standing side by side are Ace, Blais, and Theon, grinning wickedly, like they’ve accomplished something.
How the fuck did I not see this coming? Was I that focused on Novak or was I too dickstruck by my thoughts of them touching me?
Looking around, I see other tables like the one I’m on, chairs that look like they could torture you all on their own, and two doors. One of them has to be a way out of here.
I need to get out.
I need a plan.
