Nowhere to hide.
His hand lingered for a moment too long
Panic surged, sharp and suffocating.
“Let go, you bastard!” I screamed, my voice breaking, raw with fury and desperation.
“Get off me—don’t you touch me!”
He only laughed again, low and breathless, like he was enjoying this far too much.
Then he stepped away.
My heart stuttered.
For a second—
I thought maybe—just maybe—he was done.
But instead—he crossed the room.
Straight to the instrument tray.
Metal clinked softly as his fingers hovered over the tools, selecting something with slow, deliberate care.
My blood ran cold.
He picked up a scalpel.
The blade shimmered in the surgical light, silver and sharp.
He turned it in his fingers, admiring it.
Testing its edge.
“I don’t need to take your boyshorts off,” he said casually, like he was discussing something trivial. “Just cut a nice little opening right here—”
He gestured crudely toward my body, toward the space between my thighs.
“—and I can fuck you deep.”
My stomach twisted violently.
“Nice and easy.”
His grin widened.
“You might not thank me now, but you’ll sure as hell thank me when you get to hell.”
He took a step closer.
Then another.
The scalpel gleamed in his hand.
My pulse roared in my ears.
Loud. Relentless. Drowning out everything else.
