She leaned forward with the knife, cutting through the fabric of my tank with ease.
I gasped for air as my head spun.
Using the tip, she pushed the tattered shreds to the side, exposing my bra.
I tensed, giving a guttural scream with a closed mouth.
“I’m sure he loves these.” She ran the blade across the tops of my breasts, causing my skin to break out in bumps.
“Please!” I shrieked, tensing my muscles. “Please don’t do this.”
She wagged the knife in front of my face, taunting me. “Are you scared, Race?” she asked, smirking.
“Yes. I’ll do anything. Please,” I begged, shaking my head as she leaned forward with the blade.
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t look. I held my breath as tears streamed down my face.
Blazing pain, unlike anything I’d ever felt before, sliced through my body so hard that I became winded. I screamed in pain, pulling at the restraints, tossing my head back and forth. “Stop, please!” I cried out, feeling dizzy.
I prayed to black out.
Begged for mercy, but nothing.
Just uncontrollable agony that radiated throughout my body.
When she lifted the knife, blood dripped from the edge, falling to my chest. Her eyes widened as her lips parted.
“You look better already,” she said as she walked around the table.
I tried to steady my breathing, focusing on something else other than the pain. I felt the blood as it oozed from the wound, traveling down my side and pooling underneath my back.
“No. I can’t.” I sucked in a breath, trying to grip the table and prepare myself for more torment. “Please don’t do this,” I cried as my body began to shake.
“Ah, pretty Race. Are you worried you won’t be perfect anymore?” she teased as the blade came down again.
As I cried and screamed, blackness took me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tyler Motherfuckin’ O’Shea
Morgan
Ikickedthe front door in, jerking my head until I found him. “Where the fuck is she?” I yelled as I headed straight for him, lunging at him.
“What the fuck?” he screamed, putting his hands up to cover his face.
“Don’t play stupid. What the fuck did you do with her?” I asked as I wrapped my fingers around his neck, holding him against the wall.
His eyes bulged out as he gasped for air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“What do you mean you don’t know what the fuck we’re talking about?” I yelled, glaring at him.
He pulled at my fingers, trying to lessen the pressure around his neck. “I don’t. I swear to God.”
“Listen, motherfucker. I’ll choke the last breath out of you right now,” I growled. “Tell me where the fuck you’re keeping Race.”
“Race,” he whispered, his eyes growing wider.
