Grabbing my purse, I got out of the car. After stepping inside the house, I couldn’t help leaning back against the door as I continued to cling to my sex haze. Pinching my eyes shut, I could almost feel Deacon’s hands on my body, his mouth and tongue on my nipples, his hard erection digging into my core.
Suddenly, I was snatched out of my fantasy world as a sense of dread prickled over my skin. Swiveling my head over to the alarm pad, I realized it wasn’t going off even though I had yet to enter the code. I peered at the screen, and my chest clenched when SYSTEM DISABLED flashed on and off.
Waves of fear crashed over my body at the further realization that Atticus had yet to greet me. Normally, his pink tongue would be slurping over every available part of me as he went through his welcome-home wiggle dance. In a shaky voice, I called, “Atticus?” When no bark of acknowledgment came, I took a few tentative steps farther into the kitchen. “Atticus?” I repeated. Silence reverberated back at me.
Realizing I needed to get out of the house, I whirled around to flee. My feet slipped in something slick on the floor, and I crashed down onto my knees. As I tried to regain my footing, my hands slid through something warm and sticky. Staring down, I realized I was in a puddle of blood. A scream tore from my throat. Fumbling and flailing, I pushed my way out of it. When my feet bumped into the door, I started trying desperately to get up, but each time I pushed on my hands, my knees slid further in the blood.
Then the kitchen light flicked on above me. I once again screamed when I caught sight of a hulking man in the doorway. He wore a sinister smile as he stared down at me with one eye. A black patch covered his other eye, and beneath it a jagged scar cut across his cheek and down over his neck.
“Hmm. Just how I like my women—on their knees and screaming,” the man said.
Repulsed and horrified both by his words and his appearance, I ducked my head. A sob choked off in my throat at the sight of Atticus’s lifeless body at the man’s feet; a large gash at his throat had sent his blood across the floor, causing me to fall. “No, no, no!” I cried, hot tears streaking down my face. Concern for my own fate momentarily took a backseat to the horror of the loss of Atticus.
When I glanced up again, the man stood right in front of me. Holding my hands in surrender, I pleaded, “Don’t hurt me. I have money here. You can have all of it—you can take my car. Anything. Just don’t hurt me.”
Grabbing me by the shoulders, he yanked me up off the floor. I dangled from his hands like a puppet on a string while my legs tried to find steady ground. With a sneer, he replied, “Oh, I’m going to take from you all right. But it’s not going to be any money or your car. For this to matter, it has to be physical.”
His threat caused my knees to weaken, and if he hadn’t been gripping me so tightly, I would have collapsed down onto the floor. “Please, no,” I begged. He released one of my shoulders to send a stinging slap across my cheek.
“Don’t say another fucking word, or I will end you—no matter what the boss man said.”
Pressing my lips together, I nodded in agreement. My mind whirled with out-of-control thoughts. Who was the boss man? Why had he given this thug orders about me?
He set me on my feet and then shoved me into the kitchen table. He pressed against me, his massive body keeping me from getting away. From the inside of his cut, the man produced a long knife—one that looked like it belonged in the military. The blade gleamed in the kitchen light. After admiring it for a moment, he brought it to my throat. At the feel of the blade pressed against my skin, I began to hyperventilate. My chest heaved as I gasped for breath.
Lowering the knife, he brought it to the buttons on my shirt. Slowly, one by one, the blade popped the buttons off until the shirt gaped open. Grabbing me by the collar, he ripped the shirt off my arms. As I brought my hands up in front of my bra, he began to shred the fabric of my shirt. He slid the knife back into his cut and took one of the strips, holding it taut between his hands.
“This should keep you quiet.” Before I could protest, he had the strip over my mouth, gagging me. Now no one could hear me scream. The thought sent delirious desperation rocketing through me.
This isn’t happening. It’s all just a dream … a nightmare. You’ll wake up in a few seconds.
With another one of the strips of cloth, he bound my hands. The fabric cut into my skin, and I cried out against the gag. Then he gripped my hips and hoisted me onto the kitchen table. He brought my hands up over my head and looped the binding to the chandelier. “On your knees,” he commanded. I flailed around until I was kneeling on the kitchen table.
“Now, that should keep you quiet and still for what I have to do.” When his hand went to his belt, I began to thrash against my bindings. I tugged as hard as I could, hoping to bring down the chandelier if I had to. Once his belt was off, he gave me an evil smile before bringing it over his head. A loud crack echoed through the room before the leather bit into the flesh on my abdomen. Tears stung my eyes as I screamed behind my gag. The next blow of the belt hit me across the breasts. I didn’t even have the chance to recover before another lash broke against my back and then my thighs.
The man’s harsh voice cut through my painful fog. “Rumor is you’re Deacon’s old lady.” When I didn’t acknowledge his words, he brought the belt across my cheek. After I finished screaming from the pain, his eye locked on mine. “Answer me, bitch. Are you Deacon’s old lady?”
I shook my head furiously back and forth. My response was rewarded with another lashing from the belt. “He had you on the back of his bike. You spent the night at the Raiders compound, and he has a prospect follow you home. That is fucking old-lady territory.”