Page 7 of Break Me
I return my attention to the girl and say with a bit more force, “Give me your hand.”
She jumps at my sharp tone and lifts her hand.
“This is ridiculous,” I say as I snatch her slender wrist and press it into the leather cuff attached to the table and buckle the strap. “This girl is not submissive.”
Mikhail lets out an even heartier laugh, and I snap at him, “What?”
He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “You told me not to interfere.”
“What?” I repeat, sharpening my tone at him too.
“Are you sure you want my opinion?” He gestures to the girl as sarcasm lights up a self-satisfied smile in his eyes. “You seem to know exactly what you’re doing.”
I rub my hand over my forehead. I haven’t slept enough for days, and my patience is running low. But Mikhail is an expert on reading people, and if he’s seeing something I’m not, I want to know. So I concede, lifting a hand into the air with a sigh. “Go ahead.”
“First off, if you want her to truly submit, you have to give her something to submit to. Right now, you’re only giving her something to fear.”
Fuck,he’s right. “What else?”
“If you don’t want this project, after all, I’ll be happy to take over. She’s already been a lot of fun, and I could use a new challenge.”
I shake my head. I’m sure he’d love that. He enjoyed Nikolai’s girl so much he would have kept her for himself if it wasn’t for Nikolai being a close friend. If this girl really is the same, I don’t want to miss out. But I can’t get into the right headspace today. Dominating doesn’t come naturally to me anymore. “No, I want her, but I need a day or two before I start.”
“Fair enough. I’ll stay off her.”
“Have you chipped her?”
Mikhail gives a nod. “It says she’s off-limits, and I’ve put an off-limits sign on her door and told Dorin explicitly. I’ve got it covered.”
“Take her back to her cell then, and avoid scaring her any further.” Arching a brow, I add, “If you can manage.” I unbuckle the strap, then press the back of my hand to her chest to feel her temperature. “And make sure to get her warm, so she won’t get sick.” Grabbing her arm, I help her off the chair. “Off you go. Nothing more’s gonna happen today.”
I wrap my hands around both her arms to steady her as she staggers on unsteady feet. Maybe it’s a good thing that I’m not up for starting her training today. She’s still recovering from the initial shock of having all her rights ripped away with one cruel jerk. We do that on purpose, but it’s not a great way to nurse submission.
She casts me a look from below her long eyelashes, and I swear I see a flicker of gratitude that stems from more than simple relief. My cock stirs in my pants, and I tilt my head slightly to examine further, but the gratitude is gone as quickly as it came as she stiffens again and averts her gaze.
5
EMMA
I spend the next few days in the cell, only leaving to get hosed down and washed in the evenings, though with warm water now instead of the icy cold spray of the first night.
The guards bring me food three times a day. I barely eat any of it, but they don’t seem to care. They simply set the bowl on the floor and leave it there until the next meal comes.
I don’t see Mikhail again, and I’m both relieved and disappointed. Relieved because I don’t want to find out what he has coming for me next; disappointed because I need something familiar to cling to. Maybe even a little conversation, if only a few exchanged sentences.
In between meals, I spend most of the time sleeping, shutting down the fear and panic in favor of blissful numbness. But when the lights turn off and darkness slithers around me, the terror hits me like a punch in the gut. I lie on the mattress, trembling, hugging the comforter, pushing it away, twisting and turning, unable to find any rest. My heart beats so hard I can barely breathe, dragging me toward a full-blown panic attack.
Sometimes, I manage to shove the fear down into a painful ball of tension, but when it explodes, I dart to the door, banging on it and screaming.
A guard always comes in when it happens, ripping the door open and shoving me onto the mattress. With a knee on my back and a hand on my nape, he pins me in place as I weep and cry, bang my feet into the foam, and claw at the wall until I’m so exhausted that I drift off.
Then I wake a while later, drenched in cold sweat, and I spend the rest of the night in restless loneliness, jerking on the mattress as my legs refuse to be still.
I’m constantly cold. The warm water they hose me down with is only a temporary fix. The cell quickly sucks out my warmth again once they throw me back in here.
Time stagnates as I fall into this numb routine of sticky porridge three times a day, warm water delivered by cold hands, and terrifying darkness.
The only thing veering from the routine is when a guard comes in to measure my neck one day. But it’s over in a minute, and I’m back to staring at gray walls, succumbing to nightmares, and fighting strangers who hold me down.