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CHAPTER NINE
SYLVIE
“Not that pretty, isshe? I don’t see the appeal, but he’s always had a skewed perception of the world.”
“Pretty enough.”
A hand covered my breast and twisted, the nipple pulling tight like the bastard might rip it from my tit. I recognized Brandon’s voice, though the rest of the world remained a hollow enigma beneath the blindfold and my addled brain. My arm throbbed muscle deep, and I suspected Brandon drugged me before...this. Where the fuck everthiswas.
I wanted to mumble and fight, but I knew Beau’s rules: Don't fight, don’t talk, and never react.
Nothing about this situation told me that not abiding by them would save my life, so I held my silence.
Tepid breath dripped down my nape. A fat, thick hand massaged the spot Beau always used in acts of dominance that I loved from him. This...this was desecration of his fondness, and I hated it. My body tensed regardless of my will to be still and the man at my back chuckled.
“My son didn’t train you half as well as he thought, did he, little Toy?” he sneered in my ear.
Spittle coated my skin and I retched, doubling over and emptying my stomach, blessedly missing my feet by some miracle.
“Fuck,” someone else muttered.
Brandon, maybe? He appeared to have orchestrated this sleight of hand. While part of me understood Beau’s paranoia, and the influence of powerful men, I never really believed this part of him, of his life...until now.
“Pick her up,” Beau’s father, perhaps, suggested.
Arms slightly longer than Beau’s hiked me into the air and tossed me onto the floor.
I let out a cry as cold, unforgiving cement grazed my skin in several places, and my head bounced off its surface.
That’s not supposed to happen.
But at least nothing cracked. I could still fight if nothing cracked.
Cold fingers–slimmer than his father’s–wrapped around my wrists, dragging me back to a standing position. Rough ropes with itchy edges wrapped around my wrists, while another pair of hands fondled my tits.
His ropes are so much softer.
That I recognized that fact, even missed Beau’s hands on me, though he was the one who got me into this situation...fuck, I missed him. So damn bad.
He’ll come for me. He’s coming. He WILL.
Or he wouldn’t, and I’d die on the cement next to a puddle of puke and bile filled with my fears.
He. Will. Come.
