And despite the knife and the threat, I slide a hand to where she needs me, circling that swollen flesh I adore so much, and increasing my thrusting inside her.
Her eyes don’t move from my face for a second, herbreath becoming short as I work her clit, feeling her cunt start to engorge and tighten.
‘Just a useless fuck-hole,’ Sam sneers into her ear.
‘My darling,’ I counter, and it’s enough to tip her over the edge. Sam loosens the knife just enough that her rocking body doesn’t come apart against his blade, and the grip of her sweet cunt has me following her over the edge, hating myself all over again.
When we sag against one another, Sam steps back out of reach, looking dejected.
Whatever he was hoping to achieve, it must have left him more hollow than he expected.
Sam throws the knife at the wall and storms out, his screams echoing through the warehouse.
She’s cold and quaking, and we gather her torn clothes, pulling them on as best we can. I want to give her my hoodie, but the wrist chains mean I can’t. So I tuck my cock away and open my hoodie, pulling her against my chest and tucking it around her.
‘I’m sorry,’ I begin.
‘Stop. It’s not your fault. We’ll get through this.’
‘I’m going to kill him,’ I breathe.
‘If you don’t, I will.’ Kat’s voice is colder than I’ve ever heard it.
THIRTY-SIX
KAT
The second daycomes with burning thirst.
Sam doesn’t come back. And fearing him appearing with his knife is one thing, but fearing he’s leaving us to starve is another. It’s so cold I can’t think clearly, and my throat aches from thirst.
It’s easy to slip into my mind and look for somewhere better to be, but the cruel reality of where I am pulls me back before I can slip off for long. The chill makes it tricky to sleep for any length of time, the warehouse pulling me back.
We’ve screamed and pulled at our chains.
Hunted the floor for anything that might be useful.
And now we sit collapsed in defeat against one another.
‘Talk to me,’ I plead. Nothing but dripping water to fill my head, the repetitive noise grating againstmy skull.
‘What do you want to talk about?’
‘Anything. Tell me something I don’t know about you.’
‘I met my grandmother once.’ Liam’s voice is sticky. ‘I loved her and begged her to keep me. She smelled of fabric softener and toffees, and hugging her was something I so badly needed. I still think of her.’
‘Have you looked her up?’
He shakes his head. ‘And tell her what, that I helped kill her son?’ He threads his fingers through mine. ‘I don’t need anyone else to hate me.’
‘She might surprise you. You’re very lovable, you know?’
‘Would you forgive someone who killed your kid?’
‘I might not blame them if he deserved it. I might hold onto the family I still have.’
Liam gives a sad laugh. ‘At this rate, it won’t matter anyway.’
