Page 8 of Ricochet

Bracing my hands against the leather couch, I pushed against his hold, trying to keep dinner from spilling out, as he ground himself into my mouth. My muscles trembled with the effort, until, at last, he released my head. Falling backward, away from him, I muttered, “Asshole,” and wiped my mouth of his pre-cum.

One sharp blow to my shoulder sent me sprawling to the floor, and I kicked at his stomach when he advanced up my body.

Gritting his teeth in a wicked smile, he gathered my legs between his, locking them together, while I clocked him in the jaw, but my stomach twisted when he paused, the glint of insanity dilating his pupils, telling me pain would follow. Daubing the blood from his lip onto his finger, he shook his head. “This. This is why I chose you, Aubree. This is why you’ll always be mine.” He gave one hard slap to my thigh and flipped me over onto my stomach.

I pushed against the floor to slide from beneath him, but his full weight crushed down onto my back.

“You constantly give me reason to punish you. And you know how much I love to punish you.” Stuffing both of my arms beneath my body, he vised my arms with his thighs, pinning them between me and the floor.

I squirmed and screamed in defeat, but no one would come. Not even the security guard manning the door. For the staff who might’ve passed by outside, hearing me scream was nothing new.

“Do you wish to attend your class tomorrow?”

His words had my muscles sagging, and I panted with frustration. He knew I’d want to go. Knew I lived for the moments when I could escape my fucking prison for a few hours and feel like a human being.

“Answer the question.”

“Yes,” I gritted out, and bile rose up my throat as his stiffened cock slid between my ass cheeks.

“Shhhhh.” He licked the shell of my ear. “It’s been some time since we played, Pet. I’ve been so busy lately. I can hardly see the bruises on your flesh anymore. I think it’s time we bring out the toy box.”

Dread consumed me, and at his thrust, a scream tore from my throat.

CHAPTER 3

Nick

Long stretches of bright lights zip above me, like cars passing in the night. I want to shield my eyes, but can’t seem to move my limbs. The world is slipping by in my periphery, too fast to latch onto some comprehension of where I am.

Masked faces glance back at me. I hear a voice announce an open room. More bright lights flash in my eyes, these ones much more intense, and my head throbs a rhythm of relentless agony. Everything is sterile. Cold. Bright.

The masked faces talk to one another but I can’t hear what they’re saying.

The biting taste of metal coats my tongue, and a smoky scent overpowers the strong odor of alcohol.

“Where’s my wife? My son?” I think I’ve spoken aloud, but none of them answer. “Lena!” I bellow, and her name crashes against my skull in searing pain. “Lena! Jay!”

Writhing does nothing to free me from what’s bound my wrists. I catch sight of a mask covering my nose, before my field of view begins to narrow into a small circle, and the masked faces, no more than shadows, stand over me, watching, waiting for me to die.

Their voices turn distant, drifting farther and farther away, until all I hear is the swishing of blood in my ears.

Easy now, a voice breaks through the barrier. The pain dissipates. The circle of view closes.

***

A well-groomed dark-skinned man stands over me, wearing a white lab coat. His murmurs reach my ears, but I can hardly make out what he’s saying. Something about surgery. Taking things slow.

“I … want … to see … my wife.” Flames lick my throat, and pushing the words past my lips forces me into a coughing fit. “Son.”

His eyebrows come together in a frown, and he bows his head before lifting his gaze back to mine. “Do you … remember anything about them? Your name? What’s your name?”

The words don’t sink in at first, because why doesn’t he know my name? Didn’t he have my ID? How the hell did I get here?

A tidal wave crashes over me with the memory of stumbling along the side of the road. Cold. So fucking cold, I thought my heart might freeze inside my ribs.

An explosion of pain rips through my skull, like tiny bits of glass shattering inside my head. I slap a trembling hand to my face and let the all-consuming misery pull me under. Pain churns in my gut and I weep. I still don’t know if the images in my head are real, or if this is just an everlasting nightmare I’m trapped inside, but I can’t stop sobbing behind the shield of my hand.

Clenching my jaw, I drop my fist to my side, and through gritted teeth, I say, “Kill me.”