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Our connection holds me hostage. He straightens his back, and somehow in that second, he becomes even bigger, wider.
The door swings closed . . . with Dale’s head in the doorjamb.
My whole body flinches.
I don’t look down at Dale. I keep my eyes on my guy. It’s the only thing I can do right now as I swallow down bile. I flinch as the door opens and closes a second time.
And again.
And again.
It feels like I’m in the room with them. I can hear the sound of Dale’s skull crunching as it’s being bashed against wood, over and over.
He finally releases me from his invisible hold when he turns away and steps over Dale’s prone form.
Sobs wrack my body. I don’t even know how I get into the kitchen or into the arms of a killer. But here I am, surrounded by the smell of iron once more.
I feel his chest rumble as he tries to make shushing sounds to soothe me and strokes my back.
It’s not working.
I don’t know how long we stand here, but it’s long enough for a third hand to join the soothing as it firmly squeezes the nape of my neck.
“We are running out of time, brother.” The warning is gentle, like he hates that he has to interrupt us.
There’s no audible reply from the man holding me, but he must have signaled somehow because his brother pushes on.
“I’ll go up and take care of the other two.” My blood turns to ice at his words. “Leave out the back as planned.”
I’m not going anywhere, not without warning my friends!
The scream that leaves me is short-lived. His gloved hand cuts me off. The speed of it forces an oomph sound past my lips. The hand at the back of my head holds me just as tightly, the two working in sync to shut me up. The tightness of his fingers on my face tells me how furious he is.
I look at his brother beside us, whose eyes tell me how disappointed he is in my actions.
The room has frozen, and my heart beats in time to the music floating from upstairs. After a few minutes, when no other movements sound, the man beside me in the white mask gives us a nod.
He’s going upstairs.
I cry more even though I know it won’t do anything to save Amy and Jason. I hit the chest I’m pressed against even though it won’t stop the horror about to happen.
The left hand holding the back of my head drops, the smacking sound telling the man in front of me where it went. White mask just spanked me, this time while his brother is here. And even though it’s not the worst thing to happen tonight or even remotely the most shocking, embarrassment fills me. My face heats, and I drop my eyes, avoiding looking at either of them. Why does it feel different when his brother spanks me?
“Clearly, a good spank isn’t enough for her. Maybe she’s a more visual learner,” the white mask suggests.
The words hang in the air between the three of us. What does he mean?
I get my answer when I suddenly find myself being pulled up the stairs behind them. I dig my feet into the old linoleum floor, my tennis shoes scuffing as we go. I don’t stand a chance, not as he drags me and certainly not when he lifts me.
“No, no, no,” I chant as we make our way up.
I watch his brother round the banister at the top of the stairs.
“Please, please. I don’t want to see this.” He’s not listening.
Twisting the top of my body, I reach out to get a grip on the wall. Old wallpaper embeds under my nails, but my actions don’t slow him down, not one bit.
His burlap mask stares at me blankly. His hands pull at my waist, maneuvering me where he wants as if I am a doll that weighs nothing at all. He turns me, and together, we stand on the last step, my back to his front with my feet dangling. Our bodies press together tightly, but his left hand sits on my stomach, pulling me in even closer, enough that I can feel the ridges of his stomach muscles as they ripple, and the thickness of his cock presses against the seam of my ass.
