Bound & Brockened (DARK Brock Rumlow/OFC)
Wordcount: 5787
Triggers: Violence, Non-Con, Dom/sub, slave, knife, restraints, M/M/F
CHAPTER FIVE - OWNED!
Grace hardly dares to inhale as the vehicle comes to a halt. Uncertain of what awaits her, she fears the worst based on his earlier words during the ride.
He pulls her from the car, hoisting her roughly over his shoulder, completely disregarding her cries of protest.
"Put me down!" she yells. Terror has completely consumed her, leaving her powerless to control her actions. She pounds her fists against his back, but he barely reacts.
Tears cascade down her cheeks, blurring her vision. "You’re insane! Let me go!" she screams as Jack unlocks the door. In a frantic attempt, she clings to the doorframe as Brock strides into the house, holding on for dear life.
Brock, with his superior strength, pulls her inside before setting her down. Without hesitation, she tries to escape through the door. In one swift motion, Brock seizes her hair and yanks her back. She loses her footing, crashing onto her back on the hardwood floor, with him quickly following, kneeling over her legs. Her fists flail wildly against him. "You’re a crazy person!" she shouts at him.
“ENOUGH!” He screams, grabbing her hair, while his other hand grabs his knife, placing it defiantly at her throat. “Shut up!” He breathes when she calms down enough for him to get eye contact. “I said I had no intention of wasting my million,” he informs her. “But that doesn't mean I won’t use this,” he continues, his gaze flickering down to the knife. “I’ve killed for a lot less,” he whispers in that threatening menacing tone she remembers from the ride over.
She breathes heavily, trying to position herself so that the knife won’t push so hard against her skin. He’s like triple her size, there’s no escape.
“Now,” he looks at her, eyes still black. “You’ll listen to me,” he continues, pressing the knife a bit more against her skin, as to empathize the significance of his words.
She can’t move, his hold of her hair and the knife pressed against her makes that impossible. “Yes,” she whimpers.
“Good,” he says, placing his knife back into his boot. Then he turns his head towards Jack. She follows his gaze.
Jack is slouched against the wall, one leg propped up, arms crossed over his chest. He simply watches them, observing with a detached demeanor. His face is expressionless, as if this were just another mundane occurrence. That alone sends chills down her spine.
"It’s your turn," Brock stated flatly as he stood up.
Jack detached himself from the wall, his eyes locked on her as he advanced. She tracked his movements, paralyzed by fear. He towers over her, composed and unwavering, ready to strike at any moment. Gradually, she begins to inch away from him. He mirrors her movements, step by step. There’s no urgency in his approach. He’s savoring the moment, intent on instilling dread and horror. His gaze pierces through her, icy and menacing.
Her back collides with the staircase, the cold steel railing pressing against her skin. Jack raises his hand, using his index and middle fingers to silently command her to stand. He remains wordless, his gaze as icy and unyielding as ever.
She feels compelled to obey, knowing that if she doesn’t rise on her own, he will force her to do so. Gradually, she pushes herself up to her feet.
"Take off my belt," Jack orders. It’s a straightforward command, nothing more, nothing less.
She hesitates, uncertain of his intentions once the belt is off. Would he force her to kneel? Strike her with it? These men were unhinged, twisted, and utterly unpredictable. They could do anything they wished to her, and she had serious doubts about Hades’ claim that he wouldn’t kill her.
"Remove. The belt," he repeats, his tone sharper this time.
She’s torn, unsure if she should comply. It might be a trap. It could provoke Hades, and she certainly didn’t want to anger him. He had made it clear that she was to follow his orders, not anyone else’s. She glances over Jack’s shoulder, hoping to see Hades, to gauge if she could reach for him or the belt. But he’s nowhere in sight. Panic rises as she scans the area for him. Had he really left her alone with Jack?
A hand suddenly grips her hair, yanking her back to the present moment. She gasps in pain. "I’d listen to him if I were you," a voice murmurs in her ear. How did he manage to position himself behind her on the stairs? Another whimper escapes her as he forces her head against the railing.
"Pl..," she begins, but Hades silences her with an even tighter hold on her hair.
"Remove the fucking belt," he growls. There’s a primal undertone in his voice that suggests this situation excites him. Here she is, caught between them, exposed and completely at their mercy.
With trembling hands, she reaches for Jack’s belt, her gaze dropping to focus on her task.
"Ah ah," Jack breathes out softly. "Eyes up here," he instructs. "Keep them on me.”
She locates the clip and unfastens it. Her hands tremble. Unable to read their faces, she remains clueless about their intentions.
As she pauses, Brock leans in, whispering into her ear, "Re.move it,"
A soft whimper of refusal escapes her, uncontrollable. Despite knowing it’s futile, she can’t help herself.
With the belt now in her grasp, she finds herself once again uncertain about her next move.
"Hand it to him," Jack inches closer.
Shit. Did they orchestrate all of this prior to tonight? It feels as if they’re perfectly coordinated, while she’s merely a piece in their game. Her heart races against her chest as she slowly raises her arm to pass the belt to Brock.
Then, everything unfolds so rapidly that she barely has a moment to process it. Jack seizes her other arm, and in an instant, the belt is fastened around her wrists, securing her arms to the railing above her head. She’s trapped. Another whimper escapes her.
Jack’s fingers glide over her face. "Now, Angel face," he exhales. "I get my taste," he adds as he gradually lowers himself.
She pulls at her arms, summoning all her strength to keep her legs together. It’s pointless. In another swift motion, both her legs are draped over Jack’s shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin as he feasts on her like a man starved.
"No," she protests, but it comes out more like a half-hearted moan. Damn it. She doesn’t want to find pleasure in this. She should be screaming for help. She should be fighting him off. But fuck. Tears well up in her eyes as she struggles to suppress her body’s involuntary reactions.
"Don’t hold back," Brock’s voice reaches her from behind. "Embrace the pleasure he gives you," he continues, panting. "Because I won’t be as gentle," he growls.
Gentle? This is gentle? Good grief. It’s the most intense experience she’s ever had, and she’s no stranger to the streets.
"Yes, that’s it," Brock whispers in her ear. "Fuck his face," he urges.
She was completely unaware that her hips were thrusting fervently into his face. "P-Please," she implores. It's unclear whether she's asking him to halt or to keep going. Fuck, she can sense every motion of his lips, each frantic lick, every plunge, every slurp. "Fsssk," she exclaims.
"Yeeeah," Brock growls from behind her. "That’s my good girl, you’re so good for us," he adds.
"Fuck," she moans. It should be mortifying, since no one was meant to find pleasure in moments like this. But fuck, the way his mouth worked on her, lifting her higher and higher, was just too much.
"Oh, my sweet girl," he rasps. "I’m going to fuck you, alright," he continues. "He’ll just make you nice and wet first, so you’re ready to take me," he says, as if this was the most ordinary thing for him. As if this was just another day in his life. And who knows, maybe it was. "All of me," he whispered into her ear.
The tension in her core grows stronger, pulling forth a series of moans from her throat as her legs tighten around Jack’s shoulders, drawing him in closer. "Ah fuck, god," she screams.
"Yes, fuck, work it," Brock breathes behind her. "Just let it go, baby girl," he murmurs into the back of her head. "Just let it all go," he continues, his breath heavy against her skin.
She erupts, her hips shaking uncontrollably, to the point where Jack has to hold them steady. "Oh fuckehhhh, Jesus, shit," she screams, moaning incoherent phrases as if she had just learned to talk. She can feel his face drenched in her essence as his tongue continues to savor her clit like it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Her heart races wildly against her ribcage, her hands gripping the belt tightly. "Oh my god, oh fuck," she gasps as she rides out the final waves of the most intense orgasm she’s ever experienced. And the most humiliating and terrifying. God, take away all the other elements, the violence, the threats. These guys were skilled, at least in that regard. They definitely knew what they were doing.
When Jack places her back down on the floor, she’s halfly thankful that her arms are secured over her head, because her legs are about to give out under her. She’s panting. Fuck.
Jack looks at her with a menacing grin as he slowly licks his lips before he drags his sleeve over them. Not uttering a single word.
Then they switch places. None of them are saying anything, and every movement they do seems measured, almost orchestrated.
“She’s so tiny,” Jack says as he sits down in the stairs behind her. “Are you sure she can take it?” He continues.
His remarks make her heart jump. No, no one’s that big. She’s had her share of both big and small. She was always able to do it. Always. No one’s that big. She desperately tries to convince herself.
“She can take it,” Brock replies. But if she’s honest, it doesn’t seem like he cares. He’ll do his thing no matter what. “Can’t you?” He inquires.
She has no idea what to answer. The safest was to just say yes, but then again, she had no clue what he’d do if she actually couldn’t. And if he caught her in a lie… No, she didn’t want to test him. “I… I don’t know,” she stammers, pressing her back into the railing in a futile attempt to get away from him.
“You can take it,” he informs her. Just like she thought. He’ll do his thing no matter how much it’ll potentially hurt her.
She can hear him unfastening his belt and his zipper. Yet, she doesn’t have the courage to look down. Instead, she focuses on interpreting his facial expression. This task proves to be as pointless as it has been before.
"Good girl," he commends as he closes the distance between them. "Keep your eyes on me," he adds. His fingers slide up the inner part of her thighs, a grin spreading across his face. "Oh fuck," he growls, "you’re dripping," he continues, lifting his fingers to his mouth and savoring her essence. "Exquisite," he remarks. He seizes her behind, hoisting her up and drawing her closer to him, grinding his erection against her pussy.
A whimper rolls over her lips, and once again she yanks her arms. Futile, so fucking futile. But she couldn’t help it.
Jack’s hand slowly circled her throat, not hard, more like a signal for her to comply. “Don’t fight it, Angel face,” Jack whispered. “It’ll hurt less if you relax,” he continued. Oh fuck.
“Please be…,” she starts, but Brock puts two of his fingers over her lips, signaling for her to be quiet.
“What?” He grins. “Be careful?” He continues as his grin grows. “I’m sorry little one. I’m not known as a careful guy,” he breathes, thrusting upwards into her as he utters the last words. Filling her to the brim with that one hard motion.
“Ungh,” she half whimper half moan. Her head lolls back, eyes roll back, her breath catches. Holy fuck.
Jack lets out a menacing laugh behind her. “Oh, I think she likes it,” he mocks.
“Yeah,” Brock breathes as he ups his pace. “Are you my good girl?” He asks. Thrusting hard as to empathize that he wants an answer.
“Yessss,” she breathes. Scared of what he’d do if she kept quiet.
Another mocking laugh from Jack “Oh, the little slut likes to be filled,” he lets out, still in that mocking condescending tone.
“Yeah, my good girl,” Brock praises “taking me so well,” he continues. His voice trails off, it’s obvious that he enjoys this. “Fuck, so tight,” he goes on. “I didn't expect you to be…. This… tight,” his breathing picks up. She can feel his breath, and how his frame shivers.
Suddenly his pace picks up, his fingers digging into her flesh, as he thrusts into her with all his might. It’s painful, she can almost feel the bruises, from his hands, and every time her hips meet his. But at the same time he hits every single nerve within her.
“Oh my…. Fuck,” she moans as tears again fill her eyes. Too much, it was simply too much. The muscles in her core work outside her command, she’s powerless to stop what’s coming.
“Fuck, Angel face, so eager to be used,” Jack keeps on mocking her.
“Yes, take it, all of it. Fuck you’re my good girl,” Brock moans. “Making me feel so good, yeah that’s it, grip around me. Ah fuck. Feels so good. You’re being such a good girl for me,” he keeps on praising.
It feels weird, strange and confusing. Jack behind her with his hand around her throat, mocking her, berating her. And then Brock on the other side, praising her like she was his Princess. Jesus Christ. She really was broken. Finding pleasure in this was surely something she had from the devil. Yet she couldn’t suppress her moans, she couldn’t hold back the volcano about to erupt in her lower belly. God, this was something new.
“Yes, fuck baby girl, do it!” Brock moans, keeping his pace steady, thrusting hard and deep. Making her moans intensify to the point of high pitch screams. “Come for me, fuck, yes,” he keeps on praising. “Come all around me as I fill you up,” his voice cracks under his pleasure. “Fuck… so good to me, ah, fuuuuuckkkk,” he moans, his voice turns into a growling predatorial mess as he thrusts one last time, keeping himself buried deep within her as he paints her walls.
She barely registers the moment Jack releases his grip on her throat and arms. She was so lost in her second orgasm of the night. Her senses gradually returned as Brock lifted her once more onto his shoulder, giving her a playful smack on the backside before his fingers dug into her skin. It was as if she were wading through molasses, slowly realizing they were climbing the stairs.
"Wh..Where are you taking me?" she manages to gasp, despite her heavy breathing and sore throat.
He remains silent, continuing his ascent without a word. She can hardly perceive his breathing. Goodness, this man feels like ice.
🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪
He gently places her on the edge of his bed, allowing her to sit instead of stand. She’s unaware of the reason behind it, but she feels grateful for the chance to rest. Her legs tremble beneath her, and she doubts her ability to stand upright at this moment.
"What are you going to do to me?" she inquires, her voice revealing the fear that lingers within her.
He settles himself in front of her, raising her chin to meet his gaze. "Now I’ll reward you," he tells her.
What? Confusion clouds her mind, rendering her speechless. Even his eyes have regained their color, a warm hazel brown. "Wh..What?" she stammers, her brows furrowing in bewilderment. She can’t make sense of this man at all.
“Good girls get rewarded,” he informed, tracing her bottom lip with his fingers.
"Is.. Is that… also…. Sexual?" she asks, her voice trembling. The sensation of yet another orgasm looms close, threatening to overwhelm her after the two she just experienced.
"Do you want it to be?" he replies, tossing the question back at her like a playful challenge, though his tone lacks any hint of menace.
"I’ll run us a bath," he finally states, offering her a smile that feels more sincere this time. It’s not a smirk or a sinister grin that relishes her fear; it’s something warmer, almost friendly. "You must be tired; it’ll help you rest," he assures her.
A bath? He takes baths? Jesus Christ, who is this man?
She watches him as he opens the door to the en-suite bathroom, confusion swirling in her mind. Just moments ago, she was terrified he might kill her, and now…
She hears the water running, and a fresh wave of fear washes over her. Could he drown her? Perhaps this sudden change in his demeanor is just a ruse. Taking a deep breath, she rises slowly to her feet. If he intends to harm her, she will certainly fight back. There’s no way she would go down without a struggle.
Standing in the doorway, she observes him as he adds soap to the water, gathers towels, and lights a candle. She’s trying to unravel his intentions, to understand what he’s truly planning.
"You didn’t have to walk in here yourself," he comments when he notices her. "I would have carried you," he adds.
“Ca… Who are you?” The words tumbled out of her before she could process them.
Slowly he approached her. “Oh baby girl,” he smiled. “I am the monster,” he continued. His smile widened as she sucked in a breath. “But you’re also my pet,” he breathed, leaning in closer, smelling her. “I might punish you if you misbehave,” he breathed into her pulse. It sent shivers down her spine. “But I’ll also keep you safe,” he added.
He took a few steps back, carefully drinking her in. “Now take off that dress so I can really look at you,” he commanded.
Grace inhaled deeply as she gradually slid the straps off her shoulders. Being naked around strangers was not new to her, and it felt safer to acquiesce without a second thought; after what they had just done to her, who could predict what he might do next if she didn’t follow his orders.
He scanned her body, his lips curling in anticipation. She was his, entirely his to command, and he was eager to begin. "Undress me," he instructed. He needed to gauge her, to understand who she was before initiating the training, and he craved her touch, her gaze fixed on him. He yearned to dominate her, to dictate every action she took. That was his ultimate ambition.
Undress him? It was a simple command, devoid of emotion, as frigid as his demeanor had been all evening. With a deliberate pace, she moved closer to him. Not too hurried, yet not too sluggish either. It seemed wisest to avoid appearing overly eager, but also not to come off as timid or frightened. She hoped to decipher him better as time went on, though she harbored doubts about that.
"Please, go ahead," he prompted when she stopped in front of him. "Pet," he added, his voice carrying a note of warning, yet his eyes hinted it was a term of endearment.
Even though she had undressed others in the past, a wave of uncertainty washed over her. Which piece of clothing should she remove first? Did he expect her to act frightened? Should she submit completely from the start, or take charge and undress him in her own way? Without overthinking and risking his anger by hesitating, she reached for his belt.
He seized her wrist, thrusting her against the wall and pinning her arm above her head. "We begin at the top," he hissed, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "And we’ll save the best for last." His free hand slowly traced down her body, his finger slipping between her folds. "If you behave," he breathed. "I’ll treat you real nice," his finger slid inside her, quickly followed by another. "I’ll take good care of you," he continued.
The only sound she could muster was a mix of a moan and a whimper.
"But if you disobey me," his voice dropped to a dangerously low tone. "I’ll hurt you," he growled, retracting his fingers to grip her pussy, drawing a whimper of pain from her lips. "Until you understand your place."
"Please," she managed to gasp through her pain.
"Do we have an understanding?" he asked, completely unfazed by her desperate pleas for him to stop.
When she hesitated to respond, he tightened his grip.
"Yes," she whimpered, tears welling in her eyes and blurring her vision. How had she ended up in this situation? What was he going to put her through? If her instincts were right, what she had experienced tonight was nothing compared to the horrors she feared were yet to come.
"Good girl," he whispered into her neck, before slipping his fingers back in, swiftly locating her g-spot, initially caressing it softly and then increasing his pace.
Despite her desperate desire to stifle her moans and suppress her body's responses, it's utterly futile. Her toes curl against the floor, her neck arches back, granting him complete access to the delicate skin there. He lets his tongue trail upward; from her collarbone to her neck, never straying from her skin. "Do you think you deserve another orgasm tonight?" he inquires, as if it's the most casual question imaginable.
"Ungh," is the sole sound she can muster as he continues to elevate her pleasure. "Ah, fffskk," she moans, unable to contain the waves of ecstasy that escape her lips.
"I don’t," he suddenly exclaims, withdrawing his fingers in an agonizingly slow manner. It feels as if he has abruptly changed his mind, but her instincts warn her that this decision was made long before he began. They also tell her that this won't be the last time it occurs. He truly possesses her. All of her. And the realization that she is now nothing more than his slave; it sends a shiver of fear through her.
He releases her wrist, but his hand swiftly wraps around her throat. "You belong to me," he growls, a menacing tone lacing his words. "I can do whatever I want with you," he adds, inching closer to her face. His eyes are a deep, almost abyssal black, void of any trace of humanity. He was certainly truthful when he claimed to be a monster. "And I will show you," he continues, his tongue brushing against her lips. "How to savor every moment of it," he whispers softly against her mouth.
He raises his other hand to her face, positioning the fingers he had inside her just beneath her nose. "Can you smell that?" His voice is deep, steady, almost inhuman. Grace has encountered her fair share of threatening clients over her decade on the streets, but this; this was on an entirely different level. This man was beyond anything she could have conjured in her most horrifying nightmares.
When she hesitates to respond, he tightens his grip around her throat, urging her to answer.
"Yes," she manages to croak out despite his constricting hold. Speaking is a struggle, but she forces the word out, desperate to avoid him completely cutting off her air supply, as he had done in the car.
"Good," he leans closer, inhaling the scent of his fingers while still holding them under her nose. His breath is steady, devoid of any emotion or indication that he is affected by what is happening; by what he is doing to her. It’s as if he has completely shut off his feelings.
"Now taste," he growls, thrusting his fingers into her mouth.
He’s brutal, showing no compassion, driving his fingers deep into her throat, causing her to gag as he toys with her tongue, compelling her to lick his fingers clean of her essence. It’s not that she hasn’t been here before; she was even skilled at deep throating. But typically, she held the reins, and this was an entirely different experience. His force was more intense, more ruthless than anything she had encountered, and it frightened her more than she was willing to acknowledge.
"Are you choking?" His voice rises in intensity. Damn this woman. If she can't even handle a deep throat, she's worthless to him. "Answer me!" He demands, withdrawing his fingers from her mouth and tightening his grip around her neck.
She fights for a deep breath, but his hold on her throat renders it nearly impossible. Tears begin to form in her eyes; this is too much to bear. His threatening tone, the harshness of his treatment, his utter emotional detachment, and the choking sensation—it's overwhelming. She fears for her life; there's no way she can withstand this.
"Answer me!" He barks again.
A sharp sting strikes the side of her face, and it takes her a moment to comprehend that he has slapped her.
"Let me make this clear for you," he growls into the spot where he hit her. "If I tell you to do something, you will obey," he continues. "I don't care if it hurts, I don't care if you fight back," he leans in closer, whispering ominously in her ear, "I don't even care if you choke on my cock," he lets the threat hang in the air before moving on. "If I choose to force my cock down your throat, trust me when I say you will comply," he trails his tongue along her ear, sending a wave of fear and unwanted pleasure through her. "Am I making myself clear?" He finishes.
She nods, filled with desperation. The overwhelming fear paralyzes her, making it impossible to utter even a single word.
"Words, Grace," he replies, his fingers gliding over her lips. "You part those lovely lips and say 'yes'; that's the only response I will accept," he states, and then he simply gazes at her, waiting.
"Yes," she finally manages to choke out, a mix of a whisper and a sob. She has never felt this level of terror in her life, not even when she fled from home at sixteen. Deep down, she knows that one day, this man will push her to do something so horrifying that she will refuse, and in that moment, he will take her life. She is certain of it. It’s not a question of 'if' but rather 'when'.
"Look at you," he suddenly exhales. His tone shifts to one of tenderness, as if he has emerged from a deep trance and rediscovered his humanity. "You’re trembling," he adds, softly gliding his thumb across her cheek to wipe away her tears. "Let’s get you into the tub," he says, lifting her effortlessly in a bridal carry before gently placing her into the warm water.
He positions himself behind her, gently massaging her shoulders.
She stiffens, half-expecting him to suddenly shift and submerge her.
"You sweet, innocent little thing," he murmurs into the back of her head. "So vulnerable..." he continues, still soothingly rubbing her shoulders. "So effortlessly surrendering yourself to me," his tone remains calm, almost affectionate as he moves one hand to encircle her throat again. This time, he doesn’t grip tightly; he merely tilts her head back to meet his gaze. "Don’t be afraid, little one, I won’t harm you," he whispers before leaning in to kiss her.
Kissing clients has never been her preference. It feels too close, too personal. Kissing seems like a romantic act, and what she was doing wasn’t meant to be romantic. Yet, in this moment, she doesn’t dare to pull away. Who knows what he might do if she did? Strangely enough, the kiss oddly soothes her. It’s been ages since she last kissed anyone, and she had forgotten how wonderful it could feel.
"Feeling better?" he inquires as he pulls away from the kiss.
"Mmmhmm," she responds, still reeling from the intensity of that kiss. "I... I mean yes," she adds, suddenly realizing he expects her to articulate her thoughts, and that 'yes' was the only response he would accept.
"Great," he beams. "Now let’s get you cleaned up and head to bed. You’ll need your energy for tomorrow," he says, reaching for a bottle of soap and tenderly washing her, lathering the soap across her skin, then rinsing it off with warm water cascading over her.
He smiled at her? She’s uncertain which astonished her more: his smile directed at her or the fact that he was capable of smiling at all.
Once she’s dried off, they stroll back into the bedroom. She remains unclothed, while he is dressed, save for the belt she had unfastened earlier and left on. But she doesn’t mind; over the past decade, she has likely spent more time in her natural state than in clothes, and she senses that this new chapter will follow suit. It felt simpler to embrace her destiny and go with the flow. Or perhaps not?
He strides over to a closet and swings it open. Inside, it’s a treasure trove of dresses, luxurious lingerie, shoes, trousers, and pantsuits—every piece of clothing she could ever dream of. It appears to be worth a small fortune.
She gazes in astonishment, rendered speechless.
"Why are you just standing there? It’s all yours, take a look," he says. His tone isn’t as commanding as before, but it still carries an authoritative edge.
After a brief moment of hesitation, she approaches the garments, her fingers gliding over the fabric of a stunning red dress; it feels luxurious to the touch. "Why?" she exhales, overwhelmed by his unexpected generosity.
"Merchandise loses its value if it doesn’t look appealing," he replies flatly, devoid of any emotion. His aim is clear: to train her, to shape her into his ideal slave, one who looks and feels desirable. He wants the other men, his men, to covet her just as he does, so he can showcase her and offer her as a reward when he deems it appropriate. It would take some effort, but he was confident she would reach that point; with his firm, dominant guidance, he would teach her to submit without question or doubt.
"You will wear this tomorrow," he commands once more, presenting her with a set of red lingerie that seems like it was plucked straight from a risqué film.
"Wha… err," she stammers as he hands it over. His mood shifts so abruptly that she struggles to keep pace. Perhaps this is part of his strategy, to leave her speechless and perpetually on edge.
"We need to discuss the rules," he states, his tone as flat and icy as before. As if this were just another ordinary day for him.
"Rules?" She repeats the word, bewildered.
"Yes," he exhales, his voice softening as his hand glides up her spine. "I have rules," he elaborates, reaching her hairline. "And if you can’t follow them," he grips her hair, his voice regaining that menacing edge; a growl lacing each word, triggering her instinct to flee or fight. "You hold no value to me," he concludes, pressing the knife back against her throat. She’s bewildered by how swiftly he moves, her mind racing to keep up.
"I’m of no use to you dead either," she responds, struggling to decipher his movements, breath, or demeanor, unsure if it was wise or not.
He releases her, returning the knife to its rightful place. This situation called for a different approach. Training a street-smart woman might be more challenging than he initially anticipated. But, he had never been one to shy away from a challenge, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now.
"You’re free to leave if you wish," he says, motioning towards the door. "You can slip back into that silly little dress you arrived in and go. I wouldn’t advise it, but the choice is yours," he continued, moving to the window and pulling back the curtains to reveal the unyielding rain pouring outside. "Oh, look at that," he remarked, turning to face her, "it’s raining," tilting his head slightly. "That flimsy little dress won’t do you any favors, and all of this," he gestured towards the closet, "will vanish the moment you step out that door."
She simply stares at him, torn about what the best decision might be. It would undoubtedly be cold outside. Yet, she had endured worse. The real concern was whether he would pursue her, perhaps not today, tomorrow, or even next week; but she would never truly be safe. The echo of his shout, ‘one million dollars,’ plays on a loop in her mind.
"So...," he exclaims. "As I mentioned, you’re free to go, and I’ll have Jack stand down. But I believe that shelter from the rain, a warm bed, a soft pillow, and the company of a man," he gestured to the various items as he spoke, concluding with himself, "would be far more pleasant than whatever awaits you out there," he finished, pointing towards the window.
She feels an overwhelming urge to scream in her frustration. How on earth is she supposed to make a decision like this? Sure, stepping outside could lead to her death; he might hunt her down and kill her for no reason, or one of the clients she would inevitably encounter could end her life. She was painfully aware that such things happened all too often. But remaining here? Going over the rules tomorrow, living under the oppressive reality where he, in his own words, claimed ownership of her, and could do whatever he wanted with her. Was that really any better? Oh, damn it. If death was inevitable, she thought it might be more peaceful to die here, at least she had a bed to sleep in, complete with a pillow and a duvet. Right now, that felt like paradise. With a heavy sigh of resignation, she sank onto the bed, setting the alluring lingerie beside her.
"That’s what I thought," his voice dripped with condescension. It was as if he silently communicated that he already knew her thoughts, and that this choice would be twisted against her.
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