Page 91 of Deadmen's Queen
A white ceiling, papered with that old fashioned wallpaper… woodchip it was called. I was confused. They guys didn’t have woodchip in the student house. I blinked stupidly at it, still struggling to form coherent thoughts. I dragged my eyes down, noting the faded, floral wallpaper, the pale pink dressing gown hanging on a hook on the back of the door next to a blue velvet jacket that seemed out of place. Something sparked in my memory telling me the jacket was important, but I couldn’t place it.
The room was chintsy—lace doilies, porcelain figurines, a vase with faded plastic roses. It was an old lady’s house, but a strange one obsessed with preservation. Everything gleamed under plastic sheeting; even the lampshade beside me was cloaked in it, the light beneath it muffled and sickly. Outside, it was still dark.
I shifted, and a cold shiver raced down my spine. Naked. I was naked and... My wrists pulled tight, clinking metal sounds piercing the heavy silence. Handcuffs. Attached to what felt like a wrought iron headboard. My heart skipped as I turned my head, finally taking in the dark figure who sat next to me on the bed and I screamed.
The skull face just looked at me, making no move to silence me or reassure me. My senses started to return and I felt the pressure of his hand against my bare pussy.
Realisation dawned with a sick twist in my stomach. His finger curled inside me and I cringed away from him.
“Welcome home, Paige,” he whispered. There was something familiar about his voice, but I couldn’t place it. He was a Reaper, maybe I’d seen him at the club.
“Stop,” I begged. “Please.”
I twisted, a futile attempt to escape his touch, but the cuffs held me fast. He continued to touch me, slowly sliding his finger in and out and I felt sick.
“Get off me!”
He pulled away this time, standing up and moving away and I took a deep breath, trying to stop shaking. I wasn’t sure whether it was from the cold or the fear, but it was making my head hurt worse, and I just couldn’t think clearly.
I watched him cross the room, bending down to pick up a bucket and carry it back over to the bed. Dread curled in my stomach.
“Where am I?”
“You’re home, Paige. You’re with me.”
He kept whispering, and I wondered whether it was because he was trying to disguise his voice. He’d kept the mask on, so maybe he was going to let me go.
“This isn’t my home,” I said carefully, trying to stay calm. “I want to leave.”
He shook his head. “No. Not after what I did to get you here.”
I shivered at his words. “What did you do?”
He stared at me, the blank mask chilling me. “She tried to hurt you, Paige. I couldn’t let her hurt you.”
My mind started to clear and then I remembered. My mother in the kitchen, the horrific story she’d told me about Bast’s mother, her lunging at me with the knife… and then him. He’d been there, watching. He’d picked up the knife… My blood ran cold as I remembered how he stabbed her brutally over and over again, the sound of the knife thudding into her flesh, her screams and then her moans….
“You killed her,” I whispered, terror crawling up my spine.
He shook his head, dismissing my words. “She was hurting you. Only I get to hurt you.”
I was shaking hard now, the chains of the cuffs clinking against the metal headboard.
“Please let me go,” I begged. “Please.”
He sat down on the bed, setting the bucket by his feet. I couldn't see what was inside it, and I didn’t think I wanted to.
“Please,” I tried again. “I want to go home.”
“You are home,” he said, reaching out to twist a lock of my hair round his fingers. “You don’t understand how much I’ve done for you.”
Blood drained from my face. “You’re the one who’s been following me, sending me notes. You trashed my room.”
He nodded. “I tried to get to you first, but they keep manipulating you, worming their way in, corrupting you.”
“Who… oh… no, they weren’t, they-”
“You are mine!” he screamed, and I shrank back as he leaned forward. “They ruined you and you were mine!”