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At first, I’d counted how many. I’d catalogued their hands, their mouths, their private parts. After I’d reached fifty, I didn’t want to know any longer. And that had been early on.
The basement door creaked. Heels clacked down the stairs followed by loafers. No matter how many years passed, I would always know the sound of my husband’s approach.
Air swirled around me. I sensed being circled, though I didn’t know where the person was. This had happened a thousand times, yet it wasn’t any easier. My stomach clenched as I anticipated the first touch.
In self-defense, they taught us to scream. That it would increase the likelihood of escape. The instructor had never experienced this. I could shout as loudly as I was physically capable, but no one would hear me down here. Screams brought punishment.
“Take the gag out.” The woman’s voice had a smoky hue. Seductive even. “I want to hear her scream.”
Something was familiar about her voice. I struggled to sort through my memories, failing to come up with where I knew it from.
“You’ll be a good girl. Nod if you agree.”
Huxley’s voice was in my ear.
I’m going to be sick.
Somehow, I managed to nod. The hope that had burned something fierce before dimmed.
There would be no escape.
I’d have to endure this hell until I could figure out a way to get back to Ella. Iwouldbe with my daughter again. Maybe not today or tomorrow. But some day.
Mommy will get back to you, sweet girl.
She was the reason I could get through this.
“Why isn’t she naked?” The woman’s irritation was palpable.
“Because I thought you’d like to do the honors.”
Something sharp poked at my neck, just above the collar of my T-shirt. I held still. It didn’t matter. The blade scored my skin, thick liquid dripped down the center of my chest.
A line of fire blazed from my neck to my navel.
It stings. Stings. Stings.
I bit back a hiss when the cool basement air hit the cut.
My nipples pebbled with the chill once my T-shirt was removed. Delicate fingers traced my areola with a featherlight touch before taking a nub between them and twisting.Hard. I shrieked in surprise and pain.
Huxley laughed, and the woman repeated it with the other nipple, pinching it hard. She held on with an unforgiving clamp. I balled my fists in my binds and counted to twelve before she released. I sagged in the chair but refused to make a noise.
“She’s got a high tolerance for pain,” the woman remarked as if I were an animal in a cage instead of a human.
“I’m sure you’ll test it,” Huxley said with satisfaction.
In response, the tip of the blade bit into my lower abdomen, easily slicing through the waistband of my jeans. She ran it all the way down to my ankle, leaving another stinging score in the knife’s wake. The fabric gaped open around my leg.
She worked more slowly on my other. I counted to twenty-four before the denim fell from my leg. My skin felt like a thousand lit matches digging into my flesh from my neck down to my feet.
“Aren’t these something?” The sharp point of the knife drew a pattern in my silk underwear, though it didn’t pierce my skin.
“You knew you were coming home, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Huxley’s presence was worse than all the times I’d endured this alone. He encouraged the woman to do her worst, like a devil on her shoulder, whispering evil commands.
She traced the scar left behind from Ella’s birth. A flicker of panic jolted me in my seat. Huxley didn’t know about my daughter. Did he?
I prayed that it was too dark for him to see. That this woman would keep her mouth shut.
