The woman lay naked atop a cold slab of metal, her wrists cuffed above her head, her legs shackled apart. Frigid air that smelled of blood and disinfectant had turned her skin into a layer of ice over muscle too weak to even tremble. Determination to escape had drained out of her after the thousandth attempt, though the tears sheâd shed forever ago were still crystallized on her cheeks.
This was it for her, she thought. The last day of her life. Sadly, there would be no changing course. The ship had already sailed and the storm had already begun.
She hadnât asked for this, certainly hadnât wanted it, but sheâd gotten it. Now all she could do was fight. And she would. With every ounce of her strength, she would.
A muffled mewling sound echoed somewhere beyond her.
Though she was bound too tightly to twist and look, she knew her replacement had just woken up and realized she was locked inside a dog cage, only a metal slab and another femaleâs shame visible. She knewâbecause she had once been locked inside that cage herself.
She had been forced to watch as the psycho whoâd stunned her and stuffed her inside of his car had finished off the other woman whoâd been on this slab. The one before her, now dead, killed in the most horrendous way.
âDo yourself a favor and shut up,â she told the girl. Now wasnât a time for gentleness. âItâs better to remain silent than to give him what he wantsâand he wants you to cry. He wants you to scream and beg and tell him how badly it hurts.â
The mewls increased in volume.
âOr continue doing that and make him the happiest murderer in the world,â she added with a grumble.
The thump of booted footsteps suddenly filled the room. Her heartbeat spiked into a too hard, too fast beat. One second passed, two, before the hinges on the roomâs only door groaned. Sickness churned in her stomach.
He was here.
Was she really going to do this?
âGood morning, my lovelies.â Such a smug tone, layered with threads of glee and malicious intent. âHow are we feeling today?â
Yeah. She was.
Cries emerged from the cage as she said, âIâm feeling like itâd be fun to do a role reversal with you. What do you think? You on this bed, me with a low IQ, a tiny penis andâstop me if Iâm wrongâbig-time mommy issues.â
A hiss of breath slithered in her direction. âYou will never mention my mother again, do you hear me?â Anger had replaced the smugness, knives and other toys clanging together as he searched for the instrument he desired.
âIf by ânever mention againâ you mean ânever stop talking about it,â then, yeah, I heard. So, why donât you pretend Iâm your therapist and this is a free-of-charge session?â
âEnough!â
Hardly. âTell me. Did Mommy Dearest not breast-feed you? Or did she breast-feed you far too long?â
A heavy silence crawled through the small enclosure.
Dig the knife deeperâhe soon will. âCome on, you can trust me. Iâll keep everything on the down low, and only bring up your deep, dark secrets on my blog. Well, and maybe my Twitter feed. Oh, and Facebook. Possibly a video diary on YouTube. Other than that, my lips are sealed.â
The metal crashed together with more force. At last he found what he wantedâan eight-inch serrated blade. Holding it up so that the silver gleamed in the too bright overhead light, he turned to face her, a half grin, half scowl lifting the corners of his lips.
âDarling,â he said to the other captive, pretending to ignore her. He couldnât hide the clenching of his teeth. âYouâll want to pay special attention to what happens next because if you displease me, youâll experience it yourself.â
The cries became muffled whimpers, the cage rattling as the female tried to slink through the bars.
Never again will I give him that kind of satisfaction. âOh, goodness, oh, no,â she said, mocking him. âThe psycho killer has a knife. Someone cue the spooky music and my terrified screaming.â
His narrowed gaze landed on her, and he waved the blade back and forth, back and forth. âHave you not yet realized the beast you provoke?â
âUh, hello. Obviously I have. Heâs as tiny as the rest of you, which is why Iâm grinning.â
He popped his jaw. He wasnât an ugly man, was actually quite beautiful, with golden curls, eyes of the sweetest honey and features as innocent and guileless as a childâs.