He and his muscle leave me in the alley, clanging the metal gate shut behind them. I’m alone, suspended, bleeding, and completely fucking helpless while Sophie waits for me with her ass in the air. And Rocco’s heading for her now?
The image of her won’t leave my mind: kneeling on that table, the spatula between her teeth, butter greasing her ass and thighs. So eager to please.
My answer to you is always yes.Those words loop through my head on repeat. I have no idea why, but she trusts me. And I left her exposed and alone.
FUCK.
I test the chain, pulling down with all my weight. The pipe groans but holds, the zip ties cutting deeper, blood running down my forearms. I barely feel the pain.
The dumpster is five feet to my left, too far to reach. Behind me, broken glass litters the ground, useless when my hands are tied, and I can’t fucking reach it. Overhead, the pipe runs the length of the alley, bolted into the brick at regular intervals.
Bolts. Old bolts. Rusted bolts, judging by the orange stains streaking the brick.
I start swinging, using my body weight to create momentum. Each swing sends fresh agony through my shoulders, but I don’t stop. The chain grinds against the pipe with each swing, creating a rhythm.
Sophie’s waiting.
Grind.
Rocco’s heading for her.
Grind.
The rhythm builds, my body a pendulum. Blood makes my grip slippery, the plastic biting to the bone now.
Grind.
One of the bolts overhead shudders, raining down brick dust. I swing harder, throwing every ounce of my 230 pounds into it. The bolt groans. More dust. A chunk of brick falls, shattering on the ground near my feet.
I picture Rocco walking through Sophie’s door. Her looking up, confused but obedient, still in position like I told her. Him seeing her spread open, marked, mine—and touching her with his filthy fucking hands.
The rage gives me strength I don’t have.
One more swing, harder than before, and the bolt rips free from the wall with a screech of protesting metal. The pipe sags, and I crash to the ground in a heap of chain and agony.
For a moment I just lie there, gasping, shoulders on fire and wrists screaming. But there’s no time. I roll onto my knees, ignoring the glass cutting through my jeans. My hands are still zip-tied, but at least I’m not hanging like a fuckingpiñata.
I stagger to my feet and spot what I need: a jagged piece of metal sticking out of the dumpster, sharp and rusted. Perfect.
Quickly, I start sawing the zip tie against the edge. Every stroke sends fresh pain through my wrists, but I don’t stop until the zip tie snaps.
My hands are free, bloody and inflamed, but free. I flex my fingers, forcing circulation back into them despite the pain, and break into a run.
“Hold on, princess,” I mutter through gritted teeth, pushing my legs faster. “Just fucking hold on.”
31
Sophie
The table bites into my knees. It hurt for awhile, but both knees are numb now.
I’ve lost track of time. Two hours? Three? The oven clock ticks somewhere behind me, each second pecking away at my resolve.
His command echoes in my head, the growl of it still vibrating through my chest.Be a good girl and wait for me.
My thighs are shaking. Not the good kind of trembling, but the violent shake of muscles about to give out. My palms are numb against the wooden surface, too, my fingers tingling with that pins-and-needles sensation. My knees scream where they press into the wood, the ache spreading up through my hips into my lower back. I’ve tried to shift my weight, but I find no relief. My body is betraying me.
Knees spread wide, pussy pointing toward the front door, ass high in the air just like I was told. Like a whore. Vin’s whore.
