Page 31 of When Sinners Fear
Her fingers run over my head, and she tries pulling me somewhere. It doesn’t work.
“Now you hurt her again. You beat her,” Reed commands. My eyes open slowly, and I look around the cage we’re in – hers. “You beat her until she can't stand. Get up, Knox.” My hand braces the floor, trying, but I fall back on myself before I can manage it. “Fine, she dies then.” Peyton goes rigid, her hand immediately stopping its slow roll through my hair.
“Knox?” she says, quietly. My eyes close again, and silent fucking curses take over my thoughts despite my exhaustion. “Okay. It’s okay. Rest.” She pushes at me and starts moving away, like she just made some damn decision she’s not allowed to make. “Where do you want me?” she asks.
“No,” mutters from me as I brace the floor again. Takes everything I’ve got left in me, but I find it. She is not dying here. Not because I couldn’t find enough strength, anyway. My knees grate the floor, and I grab hold of a bar to pull myself upright. I pant, grabbing my ribs as I heave in some breaths. “Get back here.” She does, no fear about it.
That’s so fucked up. In fact, it feels like a bottomless pit of despair as I grab hold of her hair and push her back to the cage bars. I breathe for a moment, long and laboured, and stare at her face until my finger trails down the side of it. My rattled breath eases, and, no matter what I’m about to do, I condense the look of her pale skin into my thoughts. “Beautiful.” Her lips quiver, and she blinks through the moments like a countdown before the inevitable.
“It’s okay,” she says, quietly. Her eyes are already filled with tears. “I understand.” No, it’s not. And no, she doesn't.
Doesn’t stop me hurting her again.
I take her to the brink of pain with my own hands and then tip her over the edge so she starts falling in and out of consciousness. She flounders around the cage, dirty, blonde hair whipping by and screamed sounds of pain echoing. It damn near kills me inside, and eventually, guilt ridden and at war with my own conscience, I stop her floundering and brace her still.
Her eyes come up to mine, dazed and about broken. I swallow, knowing this can’t go on and what I need to do. It wouldn’t usually bother me. I’d do it, if need be, precisely, and without care. But now, watching her lips quiver and staring at the bruises and swelling over her skin, I hate myself.
Pulling her into me, I lean toward her ear. “You’re still here, Peyton.” My whisper rumbles softly from me. “Still alive.” She hangs loosely on me, face on my chest. “I'll make it stop now. You've taken enough.” My hand wraps into her hair, and I shove her head, fast and hard, so it rebounds off the cage bars, and she drops to the ground. No movement as I stare down at her. Nothing other than a still-breathing chest. That's all I’ve got to help her with. If she’s not in pain, they’ll kill her or me. Maybe if she’s unconscious, they’ll leave her alone for a while.
Reed snorts and laughs, not bothering to look at her body. Instead, he stays focused on me and watches the way my face reacts to what I’ve done.
“Does it hurt, Knox?” he asks, opening the cage. “To know you’re destroying something that means something to you?” I don’t answer. I look at Peyton’s sprawled out limbs instead, desperately trying to convince myself that this was the only way. What other way is there? Me dying? They’ll just do it themselves then and I’ll be useless to her. “Does it?” Still not answering that question, though. Truth or not.
“You’re a fucking asshole, Reed.”
“No more than you. Remember, this is all on you. You brought this on yourself.”
I’m put back in my cage, the locks are bolted, and I’m left staring at what I’ve done.
Time passes, and all I do is watch her breathing to make sure she’s alive. She is. One thing I know how to do well is hurt before I kill something. I’m practised at that. Taught well. My thoughts drift to Dante, and I imagine him having to do this to Wren. He wouldn’t unless it was the last resort, but that’s what this is, isn’t it? The last fucking road. If I thought letting them kill me would help, I might even do it. I’d take Reed with me, but then what for a pretty young girl in a cage in fuck knows where? I know the end of that road well, too. I’d need to kill her before they did.
The main door opens again, and I scowl at whoever’s coming. It’s one of the dicks, and all he does is place two already opened soda bottles through our cages into the corner. “For when you’ve had enough,” he says as he turns away.
I keep scowling as he leaves, damn sure that’s going nowhere near my mouth.
This isn’t over for me until Reed’s dead.
Peyton, though.
Frowning, I look back at her and flick my gaze between her and the bottle. One drink and it’ll be over for her. No more beating. No more fucking. No more cage.
She groans and moves after some time, and I keep staring until she finally tries pulling herself to the side of the cage. Every wince and grumble from her make me snarl at myself, and every time her fingers travel over the bruises I created, I feel like rubbing my own sores to feel more pain.
“Knox?” she croaks out.
“I’m here.”
She shuffles and sits up against the bars near me, hunched over and wheezing. “Are you alright?”
“Me? Jesus. You can be a bitch, Peyton. Try rallying some language at me.” She looks at me and pulls her knees up slowly, trying to get her ankles to cover her pussy.
A weak smile crosses her face, and she winces and touches her fingers to her jaw. Silence continues for a while. I’m good with it. I don’t want to discuss what I did to her, and she needs to rest it off anyway. I didn't break anything. I made sure of that, but the fact that every single movement from her is laboured is hurting something inside me, too.
“I think I’ve got a loose tooth,” she mumbles. I’m not surprised. Her shaking hand travels to her temple. “My head really hurts.” It’ll wear off.
Time seems to slip into the unknown, but her voice brings me round again. “Do you really do this to other women?” I sigh and look away from her, not prepared to discuss that despite everything she’s become a part of. “I can’t see the point of beating a woman. We’re physiologically weaker. You’ll have the advantage and always win. There’s no logic in that.”
“It’s not about logic. It’s about money.” The fact that I haven't touched a woman like that for years means shit at the moment.