Page 72 of Triple Protection

I have to pretend like I love him. Like I want to be with him. Like we were meant to be together. I mentally catalogue everything I know about Marshal, creating my own little dossier to help me with my role. Just like DigiCon.

I take a shaky breath in and a shaky breath out, willing my body to still. Resisting the tears and the sobs that are trying to escape, and the panic attack threatening to take me over, is impossible. After almost an hour of deep breathing, I pass back out again. Whether from the drugs, or the panic, adrenaline or lack of oxygen, I don't know, but I'm grateful because it gives me more time.

"Good morning, sweetheart." Marshal's sickeningly nasal voice wakes me.

I can't pretend anymore. I groan and roll onto my back as he sits on the bed next to me.

"Marshal?"

"Yeah, baby, it's me." He says, petting my hair. I want to recoil, but this is a game, a role to play, so I still.

"What happened?" I groan. I want him to think I'm still drowsy from the drugs.

"I had to get you away from those men. They weren't good for you. I rescued you."

"You did?"

"Yes, sweetheart," he says, his voice turning serious, almost angry. "Those boys took advantage of you. You were supposedto wait for me, but they came in and you're so sweet they took advantage of you and almost took you from me. But they won't anymore. We're together finally."

My brain scrambles for an angle.

"You, you were my stalker?" I blink open at him, rubbing my eyes with my left hand. His thin blonde hair is plastered against his forehead and his pale face looks sallow. He isn't an attractive man by any means, but whatever has happened in the last 24 hours has made him look positively deranged.

"Stalker. What an ugly word. I was your secret admirer. I wasn't ready for you, but I wanted you to know I was thinking about you. That you would be mine, eventually." He drags his knuckles down my cheek, and I have to resist the urge to vomit or cringe.

"You never told me you had feelings for me. What do you mean, you weren't ready?"

"The house wasn't finished!" he said cheerfully, waving to the house around him. "I wanted someplace remote, somewhere it could be just you and I, without the fans, without the crowds. Someplace we could live together, love together, raise children together."

I swallow a ball of emotions. Think. Act. What does he want me to say?

"Oh Marshal," I say, taking on a sweet tone in my voice. "I wish you had told me! I was so scared because I didn't know who my secret admirer was. If I'd only known that it was you..."

He shakes his head and pats my thigh. "No need to dwell on that now. We're together now, and nothing will be able to keep us apart."

"Marshal?" I begin to ask before swallowing hard. "Honey? Can I use the restroom? How long have I been out for?"

He looks at his leather watch. "About 8 hours. And of course, sweetheart. But don't even think of running away. The windows and doors are all locked and won't open without my fingerprint."

I shake my head as he comes over and unlocks my handcuff. "Of course not, babe. Like you said, we were meant to be together." I lie through my teeth. While I'm used to putting on the "role" of bubbly influencer, lying does not come naturally to me. He looks at me for a moment, as if he can see my lie, but removes the handcuff anyway.

I excuse myself to the restroom attached to the bedroom and shut the door. I empty my bladder before washing my face and brushing my teeth with the pink toothbrush on the counter, I assume is for me. I look at myself in the mirror. I have dark bags under my eyes and a bruise on my shoulder from where he must have dropped me? Put me in a trunk? Thinking back, after the hug and the gunshot and the sting is completely blank.

I reluctantly walk back into the bedroom to see Marshal standing at the foot of the bed, holding his belt in his hand. I raise an eyebrow at him in question. He's serious, now, frowning.

"Unfortunately, before we can consummate our union, there have to be some... corrections." My breath starts picking up again as my eyes dart from his to his belt and back again. "They touched what is mine, Angela. And Mama says the only way to be cleansed is through pain." He stalks towards me, causing me to stumble backwards against the bathroom door frame.

"How many times did they touch your pussy, Angela? How many times did they touch what is mine?" he stops inches from my face, his stale breath invading my nose. I'm trembling now, eyes closed, cowering back into the door frame as much as I can.

This isn't like when Alex uses the belt on me and part of me is sick with that thought. How one scenario, a belt used by my loverand friend, and a belt used by a psychopath for punishment, can elicit two completely separate emotions in me.

"Take your shirt off and lie against the bed," he demands, grabbing my bicep roughly and pushing me down. He's thrown me so my knees are almost on the ground while my top half lays across the musty mattress. I peel my shirt off when trembling hands, afraid of what he would do if he had to remove it himself. I lay face down on the bed, my hands covering my chest as tears trail down my face and onto the mattress.

"We'll start with ten, shall we? And see if that helps you forget those other men."

Thwack!"One." Marshal's voice has gone eerily flat and emotionless.

The belt slices through the air and lands across my shoulder blades, and I cry out as pain burns across my back. I'm a shaking, trembling mess, terrified of the belt, but more terrified of what happens after the belt. After I'm "cleansed" he wants to consummate our relationship. My breath picks up as a panic attack threatens me.