Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I'm not a man to believe in heaven or hell but I know if it exists, she and I would end up in different places. Despite the devious things that I both convinced and forced her to do, Raya is inherently good.
Searing pain climbs down my spine, originating at the back of my neck. I know what the pain is from. I know that if I ignore it, it will eventually go away. That pain isn't from this time. That pain is from last time, the fiery sensation, a reminder of the possibilities.
It's possible I'll die this time around. It's possible I've made the biggest mistake of my life. I let go of the fear that this would happen to me again a very long time ago. I've been careful in everything that I do to ensure it would never happen again.
I can hope for survival but I know the chances of that are slim. Maybe the best thing for me to do is to hope for an easy death. Knowing there's very little chance for escape, I still attempt to break the bonds tying my wrists at my back. The chair is metal, making no sound when I attempt to shift my weight.
Whoever hit me on the back of the head knows what they're doing, and that's more worrisome than anything else.
“Do you really think you could get away with what you've done?” The mechanical voice gives me hope. It makes me believe that there's a chance if the people who have me are using it so it would be harder for me to identify them, they haven't decided to kill me yet. On the other hand, they could easily choose to torture me for years and years.
I know why I'm here. She's the reason I'm here. Despite Raya believing her parents don't love her, her father could never let me go unchecked. I messed with something that belonged to him.
I try to speak but there's a rope knotted in my mouth, the edges of it tearing into the sensitive corners.
“Hurting women,” the distorted voice says. “Is something you'll never do again.”
I angle my head, doing my best to follow the person in the room as they circle me. Seeing is impossible. The bag over my head is impenetrable by light. I feel suffocated, my own breath the only return air I'm able to manage. My heart rate kicks up, my body's natural instinct to fight against the lack of clean oxygen.
Focusing all my attention on the person walking around the room seems impossible, but I know hyperventilating at a moment like this wouldn't be well received. I have no doubt these people wouldn't care if I died, because that's their end goal for me anyway.
I flinch away from the touch when warm fingers brush down my cheeks. I fight futilely against my restraints when something brushes against the front of my jeans. My capture years ago didn't include that form of torture. I was never touched in a sexual way. The guys that had me preferred blood and screams rather than asserting that type of power over me.
They used the women in adjoining rooms for that. I'd always considered myself lucky not to have been violated in that way, but it seems my luck has run out. I shouldn't be surprised. The things I did to Raya. What I made her do were all sexual, from the touching to making her watch me, forcing her to ride that fake cock. All of it brought me right here.
You don't get to hurt someone in that way and expect it not to happen to you when revenge is being sought. My shoulders sag, realizing I deserve everything they plan to dish out and probably more. I tortured myself with my decisions these last couple of weeks.
Her pleasure was forced. I manipulated her every step of the way until she was so fucked up she thought it was what she wanted. I have no doubt she's come to her senses after being away from me, but I'll never be the same. In forcing her to do what I did, I changed myself. Going soft for a woman was never in my mind, but that didn't prevent it from happening.
I made her a stronger person, all the while weakening myself. For the first time in my life, I'm scared, terrified of what's to come. Before, I refused to let those feelings in. If I was going to die at the hands of my torturers, I was going to do it as a man. I’m unable to muster that courage now.
A husky laugh surrounds me, still mechanical, yet the edges of it seem familiar.
When a weight gets pressed against my lap, I fight with everything I have, but my hands are tied behind my back and my legs are tied to the chair. I'm helpless and it's the most dangerous emotion I could ever feel. It carries with it a loss of hope but it also removes the burden of trying to survive.