But it isn’t the bed or the bathroom that makes my stomach twist. It’s the thing in the middle of the floor. At first, I want to believe I’m just imagining it. That this whole day has been a bad dream. I close my eyes, pinch myself, but nothing changes. It’s still there — a round piece of metal, a chain coiled like a snake beside it, cuffs gleaming as if they’d been waiting to wrap themselves around someone. My breath stutters, shallow and uneven.
No. No, it can’t be what it looks like. It can't be for me. But there’s no one else here. They can’t be this deranged. Or could they?
The denial screams inside my head, even as the truth digs its claws deeper into me. My heart pounds so hard that it drowns out everything else. The air feels too thin, too sharp, and I feel as if I’m suffocating. My body wants to run, but my legs won't obey. Fear pins me as surely as the cuffs already have.
This isn’t a room for living. It’s a room for breaking. And I fully believe that’s what they plan to do to me. Fear tears through me as he pushes me farther inside, my feet dragging against the floor like they no longer belong to me.
I hear my voice whispering in the back of my head as I stand there trembling.
He’s planned this. He’s thought of everything. And you… you’ll never get out.
“I’m going to leave you here to think about your behavior. I’ll remove the tape and the cuffs on your hands. When I get back, I expect to see you in one of our shirts and nothing else.”
He doesn’t wait for me to reply. He pulls out a knife from his pocket, flicking the blade open.
My eyes go wide in fear. This is it. This is where he kills me.
“I’ve been imagining what you look like underneath all these clothes.” In one swift movement, he takes hold of my shirt and pulls me toward him, using the blade to rip it down the center,exposing me to him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He rips it completely off of me.
He steps back, his eyes roaming my body appraisingly as he runs the pad of his thumb over his lower lip.
“Now take the pants off.”
I shake my head and step backward. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let this man rape me.
“I said take them off.” He barks, and I can’t help but crumple under his dominance.
Again, I shake my head no. But he’s not taking that for an answer.
“Either take them off and get to keep your panties or I’ll be removing them as well.”
My hands trembling, I lower them and undo my jeans, taking my time to slowly slide the zipper down. Before I remove them, I slip off my shoes, then shimmy the pants down, stepping out of them. A small part of me is thankful for the coverage my bra and panties give me.
“See, now was that so hard.”
I close my eyes, holding back the tears. I’m not breaking down in front of him. He’s not worthy of my tears.
“Put on the shirt.”
I force open my eyes and glare at him. How stupid is he? I’ve got the fucking cuffs still on my wrists. Throwing my hands up in the air, I make a big show of the predicament he’s placed me in.
His lips press together into a thin line, his jaw tightening as if the mistake I’ve pointed out to him has left a sour taste in his mouth. He arches one eyebrow high while the other pulls down, knitting a crease between his brows. He draws in a slow breath through his nose, but it comes out in a sharp huff, betraying the flicker of anger simmering beneath his annoyance of someone showing him his error.
If I could flash him a gloating smile, I would. He moves forward, and my body freezes, unsure of his intention after pissing him off. But he doesn’t hit me. Elliott moves over to the metal fixture like this is a normal everyday routine. He bends down and securely places the cuffs around my ankles, the last fragile illusion of my escape shattering — there isn’t going to be any running away from this.
He does just as he promised. He rips the tape from my mouth, the sting tearing at my skin. Every nerve wants to scream, but I clamp my teeth together until my jaw aches, refusing to give him the satisfaction. My hands jerk as he frees them, but I keep my glare fixed on his face.
“I hate you,” I cry out.
He doesn’t say a word; instead, he bends down and picks up all my clothing, including my shoes and heads to the door. Stopping only when his hand is on the handle, and he turns back to me.
“Good. It’ll make the fight even more appealing. And Guinea Pig, this is your cage whether you like it or not. The only thing missing is the wheel. But don’t worry, I can bring one in if you like. It’s a delightful little toy.”
He steps out of the room, shutting the door behind him.The echoing click of the lock tells me I’m caged for sure. I can’t run, can’t hide, can’t do much of anything. But there is one thing I can do. So that’s what I focus my energy into. I scream. Loud and long. But no one comes running. There's no rescue. No one cares.
I take hold of my chain, yanking on it with all my might. Nothing happens. I stumble backward and fall on my ass with a hard thud.
“Fuuucckkk! Stupid controlling alpha assholes.”
