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“Tell me a story?” I whisper through the pain. He doesn’t respond, and I squeeze my eyes together, hating the feeling of my dripping blood and the agony ripping through me, making me weak.
Defenceless.
Alone.
“Please, distract me. Talk to me at least?” I plead, feeling vulnerable. I hate the quiver in my voice. I hate that I’m reaching out to this stranger and asking him. But there is nothing like shared trauma and torture to bring strangers closer… right?
He doesn’t respond, and my tears fall. I think he’s going to let me suffer, but then his voice rings out hesitantly. “When I’m free, I’ll start at the bottom with the bodyguards. They won’t stand a chance. I’ll kill them quickly. Once they are out of the way, I’ll hunt down the handlers. They will suffer more. After they are dead, I will find those who run this operation. Each person who bought from them, each silent investor or person who looked the other way. And then those who are the shadow partners.”
Step by step, he tells me how he’s going to kill them. From breaking bones and ripping out throats, to slowly dissecting organs and filleting skin. He gives me each excruciating, painful detail. His voice starts calm, but as he goes on, it gets deeper, gravellier, and his breathing picks up a bit. I find my heart racing, my own breathing matching his as something akin to… to desire flares within me.
Not just for him, but for his words. For the pain he’s promising.
I want that. I want the beautiful agony he’s voicing.
The oblivion, the assurance of vengeance.
He may be a monster, but for some reason, I like that. My body does too. I don’t know if it’s the strength there, the darkness and bloodlust, but I feel something for this killer—a low fire igniting in my already aching stomach.
I want to watch the blood run across him, across us both. My pussy clenches as I imagine him killing them in front of me and offering me their heads, their hearts, as he cuts them to pieces like they did me.
I’m going to fuck Boogeyman, and then I’m going to hunt with him.
He just doesn’t know it yet.
* * *
They leaveme there all night and most of the next day. I speak to Boogeyman, telling him random shit to keep my mind off my stomach. I won’t even look at it, knowing somehow, deep down, it will cut that last thread of humanity I have left.
It’s bad, I know it.
He doesn’t always respond, but he listens. I see him through the hole. He even smirks when I tell him tales or random shit that comes into my mind. I’m so busy spinning a story about breaking a boy’s nose as a kid that I don’t hear them until it’s too late.
My door is ripped open, and the man standing there smirks. Bessie is behind him, how lovely. “Get the dog.” She grins. “Let’s toss her to the assassin and let him have some fun with her.”
The guard grins at me. He’s a usual visitor to my cell. Fuck. “Can I have some fun with her first? She tastes so sweet.” I almost gag. The fucking sick bastard likes to drink my blood. One time when I had my period, they just let it drip down my legs and beat me for it, calling me dirty and disgusting… but him? He drank it down while I cried and screamed.
He likes my blood? I’ll make him choke on it when I’m free.
“Fine,” Bessie snaps, and then she grins as she looks me over. “Why not play with her in front of him and let him see what happens to those we don’t like? Show him something he can’t stop. He has a soft spot for women and innocents. Make him angry.” She laughs and walks away as he smiles and steps closer.
“Hear that, dog? We get to have some fun.”
“Amazing,” I rasp and then tense, flicking my eyes around. They are going to unchain me and put us in the same cell. This is my chance. They think they are torturing us, but instead, they are giving me what I wanted… and him?
They are providing him with an opportunity to escape.
He unlocks my cuffs, and I drop to the floor. My arms and legs are dead, and my stomach pulses in pain along with my fingers and toes. I groan, my face pressed to the wet floor as I scrabble at the stone. He laughs and kicks me, and I roll across the floor from the force. I hit the back wall, and something sharp stabs into my palm. My eyes fly open. Sticking out from the rock is a bent, rusted piece of metal. I’ve never been this far into the cell, tied up as I was.
My back is to the room, so he can’t see what I’ve found. I grab it and begin to pull with my blood-soaked fingers, but they slip and I cut myself, hissing as I hear him moving closer. I don’t have long, but I need to get it free and fast. It’s my only weapon. Maybe I can use it to escape.
It’s better than nothing.
“Get up, dog,” he barks. “Hiding won’t stop this.” He laughs, but I ignore him and grit my teeth, disregarding the pain from my ruined fingers to grip the rusted metal, twist, and yank it. My heart slams as he gets closer. When he’s above me, I curl around it so he can’t see what I’m doing, pretending like I’m crying or hiding. He kicks me softly, teasingly, as he laughs. I pull and pull, and when he reaches down and grabs me, throwing me across the space, the metal comes with me.
I roll, and when I stop, I conceal it in my palm, clenching my fingers around it like I’m creating a fist with both hands. Victory! I almost grin before closing my eyes and feigning agony, going limp. He picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder and leaves my cell.
He takes me where I want to be—with the assassin. The door opens, then there are footsteps, and another door opens as the guard who was waiting outside the cell speaks. “I’ll go wait at the end. Have your fun, but don’t be too long,” he orders, and the door shuts behind us once more. I crack open my eyes and get my first look at the assassin. My breath catches in my throat at the beauty and power of the chained man.
