Page 45 of Break Me
“No, I’ll keep her still,” he says, popping a switchblade open and pressing it to her throat.
“That’s gonna cost you another five grand.”
“Fuck no, I’ve already paid you people more than enough.”
Shrugging, I grab the strap at the mid-section again. I don’t want the hassle of her trembling and jerking if I don’t get paid.
“Fine,” he relents just as I’m about to buckle the strap over her stomach. “Five grand extra.”
I release the strap and turn to the side table to get the gloves and prepare the ink. Glancing at my sub again, I find her peering up at the blonde repeatedly, and the uneasy feeling in my stomach keeps growing. I don’t know what could happen, but too many things are off about this situation—the overly eager buyer and my sub swaying from her usual obedience. And I trust my gut. Chaining her to the floor won’t cut it. I want her out of here.
Putting my tattoo gun down, I go to the door, needing to get someone to escort her back to her cell. I already have my phone to my ear to call for someone when a guard appears at the end of the hall.
“Hey!” I call out, taking a few steps into the hall. “I need a hand down here.”
Stopping, he points the way he was headed. “I need to—”
“Get your fucking ass down here,” I bark, taking a few more steps toward him. “Now!” And that’s when I hear it. A loud, angry growl followed by a chaotic clatter of the metal rolling table falling over. The foreboding sensation in my stomach crashes into full-on churning alarm. I dart back to the room, and just before I get through the door, I hear a muffled female cry that sets ice running through my veins.
The first thing I see is blood. On all three people in there. But I only care about one of them. My little sub, who’s clutching a hand to her stomach, blood seeping out between her fingers.
I don’t know what happens. It’s like I’m back in the army, bullets whizzing through the air, bombs going off with ear-splitting cracks. But all I see is the bleeding person I’m headed for—tunnel vision in a pit of red lights and blaring alarms.
Grabbing my sub, I shield her with my body as I pull her aside, away from the blonde who’s holding the switchblade.
The guard is here a moment later.
“Get her out of here,” I demand, gesturing at the blonde girl that clearly cut my sub. The moment I see him grabbing her and hear the knife clatter to the ground, I turn to the woman behind me. The small, vulnerable girl with an open gash in her stomach.My girl.
“Keep the pressure,” I tell her, placing her hand flat above the wound.
“Get her back here!” someone demands behind me.
I throw a murderous glance at the rich prick as I get up and yank open the drawer with bandages. “Get the fuck out of here. Now!” I roar.
The fucker tucks his tail between his legs and runs out as I hurry back to my sub and rip a pack of sterile gauze and press it to her wound.
“Breathe, my sweet sub,” I tell her, pressing my other hand to her cheek as I lean down to look in her terrified eyes. “Just breathe. I’ve got you. Everything will be okay. I’ve got you.”
She makes a small nod like she believes me, but I’m not sure I do myself. Panic is pounding through my veins as I wait to see if the pressure will stop the bleeding.
Someone else comes rushing in. Mikhail, to my great relief.
“What the hell happened?” he demands.
“Shut up and help me get her on the table,” I say, carefully lifting my sub under her shoulders.
“I want Lavinia brought back here immediately.” The idiot buyer is once again here, holding a towel to the cut on his arm. But Mikhail, who is quick to see that there’s something much more pressing than a furious buyer, slams the door in his face and rushes through the room. Lifting her legs, he helps me get her onto the flat exam table against the wall. “What do you need?” he asks, a worried expression furrowing his brows at the sight of the blood trickling out between her slender fingers.
Glancing at the floor, I’m relieved to see the pool of blood where she lay is small. But it’s not enough to calm my racing pulse. I’m stuck in a state of alarm as if I’m facing a man who has had his lower body blown off by a roadside bomb and bullets are still whizzing through the air, men screaming with alarm.
But even that memory doesn’t quite compare to the feeling of terror pulsing in my veins. Nothing does. Because nothing has ever made me more scared than thinking—if only just for a moment—that I’m about to lose my sub.
Forcing my focus in place, I jerk my head toward the storage cabinet at the far wall. “Get me sterile gloves. Third drawer.”
Mikhail is back with the gloves within moments, and I quickly don a pair and carefully lift the gauze on my sub’s stomach. She’s still struggling to breathe as terror tightens her features, and her nostrils flare with the effort above the rim of the mask.
“Take the mask off her. Keys are in my pocket,” I tell Mikhail. Usually, I wouldn’t order him around, but I’ve gone into full medic mode, and being there, there’s no room for that kind of consideration. He knows it too as he quickly grabs the keys in my pocket and removes the mask.