Page 93 of One Cut Deeper
“He has excellent taste.” The voice comes from the dining area. I strain my eyes, trying to see anything that will help me. The outside lights aren’t on and the moon’s barely a slip in the sky. Not enough light for me to see. “I couldn’t have picked a better slave for my next conquest.”
“How did you find me?” I allow my voice to shake. I want him to think I’m scared to death.
I am. Even though Charlie promised he’d never be far away, I can’t feel him. Only a heavy, empty coldness.
“You can thank him for that. He led me straight to you, pet. Such a delicious little morsel. You’ve got spunk, though, I’ll give you that.”
His voice echoes, hollow and thin as if he’s a specter. I’m honestly not sure that it’s Rusk’s voice. He might be in the kitchen now. Or the living room. The hallway to the bedroom is on my left. I could get to Charlie’s room. But it’s a trap back there. I won’t be able to get out unless I climb through a window.
I could leap to my feet and race outside. Try to find Matheson, assuming he didn’t already kill her. But I’m not a runner. I’m already exhausted and he’d be on me before I could clear the porch. Worse, he’d love a good chase before the main course.
My best bet is to play submissive and helpless to buy me time. Bring him in close, like Charlie said.
I duck my head and shift onto my knees. Shaking, I press my face to the floor and wait to see the intruder’s reaction.
“Very nice,” he whispers a bit closer. Though I still can’t be sure it’s Rusk. “He taught you well.”
Charlie didn’t teach me this. He didn’t want this kind of submission. What I gave to him was my own free will, my own desire to be his slave.
Fingers settle on my head. I flinch but don’t rise. Not until he orders it.
He tightens his grip on my hair and jerks me upright. Pain sears my scalp, making my eyes water, but I don’t resist. I keep my eyes down but don’t make a sound.
“What else did he teach you, pet?”
I’m not your fucking pet!
I want to scream and slice at him with all the rage and fear bubbling up inside me, but he’s still wary. He holds me at arm’s length. At most, I might get his leg, but his arms are probably much longer than mine. I’d be lucky if I get a piece of him at all, and then he’d take away my only protection.
His fist slams into my face, turning my head with so much force that some of my hair pulls loose in his other hand. My cheek explodes in pain, my eye already starting to swell.
And I learn something very, very important about myself.
I’ve always hated my need for pain. I thought it made me weak. I hate being a doormat for guys to treat like crap. A victim. The next wannabe dom’s punching bag until I wised up. Deep down, I always feared that I’d settle in with some horrible abuser and I’d enjoy getting the crap beaten out of me. Like I’m too stupid to know the difference between abuse and a masochist’s pleasure.
No ill-trained dom I ever picked up in a club ever punched me in the face.
Even better, I feel no pleasure in this pain. It’s only pain. Ugly fear. Helpless terror.
No pleasure whatsoever.
“Answer the fucking question, pet.” He bends down enough that I see he’s wearing a black ski mask to hide his face. But I can see his lips, and that arrogant sneer is definitely Rusk’s. “What else did he teach you?”
My mouth doesn’t want to work, garbling my words. “If I’m weak, he would make me strong. If he was bad for me, he’d let me go.”
He shakes me in his grasp by my hair like a rag doll. “Utter crap. Of course he was bad for you. He drew my attention to you, and then he abandoned you to your fate.”
He slings me down the hallway. I skid across the floor and almost bang into the wall. Dizzy, I stumble to my feet, propping myself up against the wall, and run toward Charlie’s room. I know it’s a trap, but I don’t have anywhere else to go.
I don’t want to be murdered on his bed where he made love to me, slaughtered to feed Rusk’s sick plans. But I have a feeling that’s exactly where he wants to finish me.
“Did you enjoy his bites, Ranay?” Taking his time, Rusk follows me, laughing as I stumble and crash into a decorative table. A vase tumbles off and shatters on the floor. “Did he beat you? Whip you? Did he fuck you so hard you bled? That’s what I want to know. How good a fuck is Charlie Gyres, anyway? When he had you pinned on that table, did he make you play with those knives first? Did he threaten to dice you up into little pieces while he fucked you?”
I push open the door to the bedroom and then slam it shut behind me, locking it. He’ll get through, but maybe it’ll buy me some time. I whirl around, hoping to find a way out. Although I know this room, it’s pitch dark. I can’t see a thing. Not even a hint of where the window is.
Someone grabs me and I almost scream. But I know this hard, lean body. I know these big hands. I know this simmering, powerful energy that rolls off him in waves. I relax into Charlie’s embrace, tears flooding my eyes.
He’s here. Everything’s going to be okay now.