He slams my head against the tile, and the room spins and darkens. I claw at him, hooking my nails deep into the side of his cheek before raking them down. Blood oozes from his face, and a heavy palm stings my cheek. The flame of a butane torch lights up the side of my face, heating it and making me stop fighting. “Now, listen here, pretty girl. I don’t want to burn your beautiful, young, and perfect skin, but I will. Now hold still and let me taste you.” His hand slides inside my pants, and I cry out one more time. “Mastyx!”
The bathroom darkens, the butane flame illuminating only mine and the rapist’s face. His smile widens like the Cheshire cat. “Well, would you look at that, mood lighting.”
Darkness rises behind him, darker than the space around us already is. It’s like a pitch-black shadow towering into thedarkness, swallowing the whole room. My eyes widen, so wide it actually hurts, as I realize we are no longer alone. I thrash on the ground beneath him, fighting in the dark to get him off me, when suddenly, his body lifts off mine, wrenching his hand from inside my pants. Flames rise in Mastyx’s eyes, and the man’s eyes widen in pure terror before belting out a blood-curdling scream.
Mastyx’s tail dives into his mouth, muting his cries for help and his Adam’s apple illuminates like a lightbulb inside a lampshade. His flaming tongue wedges between his tail and the man’s lips and together they pull his yap wide open, the sides of his mouth tearing with ease like paper. “You want to taste something? Taste my fury. Taste my rage.” The man’s guttural scream is quickly silenced as Mastyx’s two appendages yank the man’s mouth violently in two directions, splitting his face in half.
The pieces of the man’s face fall to the floor and burst into flames. I cover my nose, the smell of burning flesh nauseating me. The rapist’s body slams through the door of the stall, landing on the porcelain sink before dropping to the floor with a thud.
I cover my head, fear coursing through me of what my punishment for allowing another man to touch me may be. A soft set of fingers warms my chin, lifting it to meet his gaze. “Time to go, Little Sinner.”
Tears drain from my eyes and dizziness makes my head bobble as I say, “What about him?” My eyes drift to the pieces of my attacker littering the floor of the bathroom.
He touches my face, drying my tears with the heat from his hands before cupping my cheeks with both palms. “Little Sinner, I gave you an order.” I unfurl myself from the floor, a sense of trust and reassurance flowing through me as I lean into his palms and whisper, “Thank you.”
His cock rises, covered in flames, lava flowing from its tip. I try and pull away, but he holds my face firm. “Don’t worry, LittleSinner, it’s not the full moon yet.” His face shifts to the side, and his nose lightly grazes the space between my shoulder and neck. He inhales deeply, sending chills through my body, stopping right between my legs. “Oh, how I’ve missed the smell of you.”
How the fuck can someone who hurt me so bad and scares me so much make me feel this way?
“We are connected now, Little Sinner. You and I are one. You will feel what I feel, long for my touch the way I do yours. You are mine.” He releases my face and lifts me to my feet with one swift movement. The fingers of his one hand tangle in my hair before pulling my face to his, so our lips are almost touching, the heat from his chapping mine. His other hand glides down my throat with a gentle scraping of a single nail before stopping between my breasts. “Until we meet again.”
I stagger back as he lets me go, my back hitting the bathroom door.
“Go!” he roars, the flames rising in his eyes once more.
The door swings open, and I stumble through it, my palms landing harshly on the concrete before my knees come down to join them. I crawl beneath the bleachers and cower there, weeping into my palms, my head pounding, my soul on fire. It feels like it takes forever, but I know only a matter of seconds have passed before I dare to look back at the bathroom door.
A hint of smoke, like a light fog, curls beneath the door and black block letters smolder on the face of it.
Out of Order.
Chapter Twelve
Desire
I collect my composure the best I can before I stiffly walk back toward my place in the craft fair, my legs barely moving me forward. A few eyes from shoppers and other vendors drift to mine but say nothing. I force a smile so as not to arouse too much suspicion.
“Hey, you.” Ethan, the Oddities and Eccentric vendor, calls me. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Contessa,” I murmur without looking at him.
He waves a handful of twenties and tens at me. “I sold two of your pieces while you were gone—the Impossible Possum and the Roger Rabbit.”
“What?” I gaze at the cash and then at him.
His hand grips my bicep loosely. “Hey, are you alright?”
I snatch the money from his grasp and move quickly around him. How dare he? I mean, who the hell does that?
The box I brought to carry my pieces slams onto the table, and I frantically place my remaining pieces inside, my hands shaking. There’s still a couple of hours to go, but I’m already over this fucking day.
Ethan appears in front of me. “Contessa? I’m sorry if I upset you. It’s just you were gone for so long, and I didn’t want you to miss out on any sales...” His voice trails off.
“It’s fine.” I wipe a stray tear forming in the corner of my eye and stuff my phone in my back pocket. “I have to go.”
He holds up a single finger and says, “Wait one second. I’ll be right back.” He jogs toward his table as I set the last piece inside the box, place it on my chair, and rip my tablecloth off, wadding it up into a ball before resting it on top of the pile.
An infinity scarf hovers in front of my face, perched on Ethan’s open palm. “Here. It’s hand-sewn. A peace offering.” I take the black scarf with deep crimson roses embroidered into it and run my fingers over the threading. It’s tight and perfectly aligned without a stitch out of place. It must have taken hours to create, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. I raise my eyebrows. “It’s so beautiful and light.”
