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Returning his attention to Timothy’s tattoo, he goes on to carve letters along his dick. He gives a gothic twist to the end of the lines, curling them beautifully. My jaw slackens as I watch.
When he’s done, Declan sits back and Timothy trembles, whimpering.
“How about this, my beautiful?” Declan asks in that deep, creamy voice that not even the most devout nun would resist. “Is this punishment enough, you think?”
There’s cruelty in his slitted eyes when they find me. It gives me the chills. It should be enough to make me want to run and hide, praying that I never run into him again, but I’m moored to the floor, hanging on his eyes. They move back to Timothy’s dick, and I follow them.
‘Mia Rogers’ Bitch’ is carved in black into his cheese-white skin, the lines curled beautifully at the beginning and the end, resembling a monkey’s tail.
Declan laughs again, a grating, disturbing sound.
“No, of course it’s not enough.”
“Yes, it is,” I blurt out. As fascinated as I am with this psychopath, I can’t be his accomplice in torturing another human being. Not even one as vile and disgusting as Timothy Meyer. “Let him go, Declan,” I plead. “Before it’s too late.”
Declan’s eyes flash to mine, and I stiffen against the bedpost.
“Shall I read you out loud some of the texts he sent you again? You think this little thing makes up for everything he intended to do to you?”
“I think he got the message.”
Timothy nods wildly in approval, but we both know this isn’t gonna be enough. Declan is on a revenge trip.
“Oh come on, it would be a pity to stop now,” he purrs. “Not with all the surprises I prepared for you.”
With another vicious grin, he flaps the cover off the lower part of the portable workstation, revealing rows of glinting knives. I gasp and, behind the duct tape, Timothy does the same. There’s everything in there from the slimmest, high-precision type of scalpel to large dented hunting knives.
Declan picks up a scalpel with the grace of a skilled surgeon, making me wonder in panic how often he’s done this before. The empty street flashes through my mind, the fallen powerlines, the empty house. While he couldn’t have engineered the storm, I’m starting to think he might have orchestrated this whole thing during a heavy storm so he could blame most of it on the weather. The gusts took down the power lines, and he probably did the same with the phone lines around the house, so it looks like it was the storm. It must have been easy for him to find things to do for his frat boys, especially with his family’s influence and money. It wouldn’t have been hard to manipulate each and every one of them.
Following the cabling, I see the workstation is connected to a battery, and it hits me–Declan Santori didn’t go through all the trouble of setting this up in such detail for nothing. He’s proclaimed himself the architect of Timothy’s future, and that future is nothing but doom.
“You really don’t understand how possessive I feel of you, little spy.” His voice is smooth like calm waters as he skillfully inspects the scalpel in his hands. “And how hurt I was when I realized you decided to run away from me even though you return my feelings.”
“How do you know I return them?”
“Oh, come on now, I thought we were past playing cat and mouse about that. You risked your neck to get naked pics of me in the shower, you came all over my cock when I bent you over the banister, and you melted into me when I kissed you today.” His eyes snap at me from under his eyebrows, and I go so wet between my legs that I’m gonna die of shame when he discovers it. But God help me, I want him to. I squirm against myself, desperately needing the friction.
“Yes, I’m a crazy motherfucker, and you should be scared of me. You should be disgusted, you should hate me and want nothing to do with me. You should be trying to get a restraining order. But you’re not going to, are you?”
I just swallow, holding his gaze. He smiles, and this time it’s genuine, even a little warm.
He stands, kicking back the stool and turning his attention to Timothy’s face. The man stares up at him with red, pleading eyes, shaking his head. The sheet that covered his dick before the tattooing and that now lies across his upper thighs turns gradually darker, the spot spreading into the fabric. Soon, the smell follows.
Declan laughs. “Ah, look at the asshole who wanted to fuck and humiliate my woman, pissing himself.”
His woman.
Pleasure runs all through my body, just like alcohol. Sure, who needs that when you can have Declan Santori declaring ownership over you and make you feel like a sinner in heaven?
But when the tip of his scalpel turns towards the man’s chest, I can already see his plan before it happens. By the way Timothy struggles and screams, his eyes popping out, he knows it as well as I do.
“Stop it,” I call, straining against the handcuffs, the metal biting into my skin, tightening around my wrists. These aren’t the sex play kind of handcuffs, they’re the real thing.
Declan turns his head slowly to me, arching a questioning eyebrow.
Swallowing, I say, “Take me. Do anything you want with me, but please, let him go.”
“If you’re worried about the legal consequences of hardcore bullying, don’t be. You’re not gonna have to put up with any.”
