I press my forehead harder into my knees, trying to smother the heat crawling up my throat. It doesn’t work. The reminder of last night has me buzzing, my treacherous body alive with the memory of my orgasm as if it just happened.
I give in, replaying the moment, the way I bit my lip as my back arched off the bed, the way I whispered his name when pleasure consumed my senses.
Except it couldn’t have been a whisper. He wouldn’t have heard that. I must’ve been loud.
My stomach lurches, shame poisoning the blood in my veins. I want to claw the memory out, pretend it didn’t happen, that he didn’t hear me, but it’s impossible.
And what’s worse, despite being rejectedtwice, my body’s still betraying me. Even curled on the floor, close to tears, my thighs press together, spurred on by my imagination.
What would’ve happened last night if he knocked? How would he react if he found me flushed and needy, fingers buried between my legs?
I wish he’d seen me like that, taken in the whole picture, and decided to finish what I started. I can’t stop picturing his toned body hovering over me. His hands closing around my wrist and pinning me down.
Pathetic. That’s what I am. He doesn’t want me.
If he did, he would’ve knocked last night. It washisname I moaned when the orgasm washed over me...
I screamedhisname, and he still didn’t come.
He didn’t knock.
17
Koby
“Can’t you just shut up?” I mutter, adjusting the gag in Phill’s mouth for the fifth time.
He’s been screaming like a choir of demons for the last hour. The old, worn rag I shoved between his teeth muffles the worst of it, but he’s making awful wheezing noises that drill into my skull, summoning a badass migraine.
I’d love to say I’m above getting annoyed by such things, but I’m not. Not even a tiny bit. Especially today, when Leilani’s words loop in my head. I can’t stop thinking about all those fucked-up things Anton did to her. Can’t stop imagining the way she described Octavius looking at her... Can’t stop fantasizing that instead of Phill, it’s Anton strapped to this chair.
I’m agitated, furious, fuckingderanged. My mind’s on the highest spin setting and I’m only on the third little piggy, which means Phill won’t shut up anytime soon.
If his agonizing sounds could drown out Leilani’s stories, I’d torture him for days, but somehow, his screams only amplify the horror she narrated.
“This little piggy had roast beef...” I mutter, lining up the pliers under Phill’s nail.
The wet, crackling tear of flesh is fucking grotesque. The kind of sound that raises the hair on the back of the neck and burrows deep under the skin.
It bothered me when I first started... made me so nauseous I had to bite back my own bile, but I’m immune now. I’ve had years of practice. I know how to grip, how to bend, and how hard to pull.
Phill spasms in the chair as if he’s plugged into the mains. Sweat beads at his hairline, trickles down his temples, and his pink-veined eyes leak bloody tears.
The not-yet-mangled hand holds the metal armrest of the medical chair Carter brought from Lakeside. I love that thing to death. It’s my favorite toy ever, and I’ve been using it a lot over the past few months. So much so that I had to replace the worn leather straps last week.
Phill’s screaming yetagain.
I sigh, knowing damn well that getting noise-canceling headphones, however tempting, would be a bad idea.
Torturing and interrogating the fuckers we drag into the warehouse would be tricky if I couldn’t hear them beg for mercy. And it would slow me down too much having to peel aside a headphone every time it looked like they’d started to squeal.
I take a long, hard look at the torn nail squeezed between the pliers, then toss it aside. Two to go on this hand, five on the other, though our guest might not last that long. The pain’s starting to overwhelm him. It’s clear from his begging, fearful stare that he’s nearing a breaking point.
I drop my gaze back to the job at hand.
Pun fully intended.
Phill’s glassy eyes remind me of when Leilani spoke to Anton and I can’t fucking look at them for long.
