Page 52 of Ruthless Salvation
A toothbrush and a racing pulse. Two things that could have meant nothing or anything, yet he’d convinced himself it was evidence of cheating. I’d tried so hard to keep him from suspecting I was going to run, and I’d been successful. He didn’t think I was trying to escape. But his paranoia had driven him to an equally problematic conclusion that might mean my death.
I wanted to rage against the unfairness.
Damyon lunged for one side of the island. I ran in the opposite direction, but his hand clamped down on my ponytail in a quick end to his sadistic chase. He wrapped my hair in his fist and yanked my back against him, bringing his snarling lips to my ear.
“No other man will touch what is mine.”
Tears of agony and frustration and hatred streamed down my face. “You’re hurting me, Damyon,” I cried helplessly through the pain.
He released me with a shove only to slap me so hard that all I could hear was a deafening tone and silence. I caught myself against the far kitchen counter, my thoughts suddenly disoriented and my vision blurred. I pressed my hand to my left ear, and when I let go, there was blood on my fingers. My ear was bleeding from the inside.
I peered over my shoulder in horror, only to realize he was speaking. As though time had stood still, then slingshot into motion, my brain seemed to register sound from my right ear all at once, helping me regain my bearings.
Damyon was on a rampage. I had to stop him before he killed me.
I spun around and grabbed the only thing within reach—a handheld can opener that happened to be on the counter. As he charged toward me, I whipped back around and used my momentum to slam the can opener across his face. Judging by the gaping slash that opened across his cheek, the sharp circular cutting pieces had made direct contact. His cheek was flayed open from his temple to the corner of his mouth.
Damyon bellowed in anger, stepping backward and slapping his hand over his cheek. Blood poured from beneath his fingers. He took a momentary peek at his hand to assess the extent of the injury.
My hand shook with a vicious tremble.
If I’d thought Damyon’s stare was soulless before, that was nothing compared to the look of malignant hatred he now wore.
“I will make you suffer until the end of your days.”
“I’m only trying to protect myself,” I yelled back at him. “Can’t you see you’re hurting me!”
“As if a whore like you has feelings.” He lunged, grabbing my wrist in one hand and prying the can opener free with the other. He cut himself with his effort, but it never even registered. He was too fixated on retribution.
Again, he struck me, this time with his fist. I crumpled to the ground, and the real beating began. He kicked me … over, and over, and over … until my body felt numb and my mind shattered.
He spoke to me, but his words didn’t penetrate the fog.
I’d taken myself somewhere else.
A tire swing on a balmy Savannah night, swaying beneath a mossy oak tree. The thick shelf of greenery only allowed a glimpse here and there of the golden-hewn sky. It was sunset, and Mama would be calling me home soon…
Cold water splashed my face, making me cough and sputter as I regained consciousness.
My body was one solid ball of pain. I was on the floor in Damyon’s office. When I looked over, he had a swath of gauze wrapped around half of his head, coaxing back my memories.
My eyes clenched shut in a refusal to deal with the horror.
“You know how my men show their loyalty to me?” he asked in a low, menacing tone. “They carry my mark. That way, everyone knows who they belong to.”
Terror wrenched open my lids, demanding I do something. Anything. That was when I realized I was lying by the fireplace, and a roaring fire blazed next to me.
“Since you cannot seem to remember whoyoubelong to, let me remind you.” Damyon lifted a poker that had been resting among the logs. On the end was a glowing symbol. A brand. One I knew well—the joined letters of his name D and K in the Russian alphabet.
I’d never felt fear so acutely. I knew that because, until that moment, I’d never known what it was like to lose control of my bodily functions. Warmth radiated around my bottom and legs as urine soaked my clothing.
Damyon sniffed the air and smiled. “Now, you understand.” He ripped at the neckline of my tank top, sheer madness in his eyes.
I wanted to fight him off. I wanted to run or do anything to stop what was happening, but my body was in so much pain. All I could muster were whispered sobs.
“Please, don’t do this. Please.”
“Too late, ptichka. You should have thought of that before you thought to betray me.”