Page 43 of Enemy of the State

“Scream for me, Lou. I love that sound. Make it again,” he purrs from behind me.

I do as I’m told—though the screams I make aren’t for him right now, they’re for me—as he hits me several more times. I’m about to go somewhere else, desperate for more savory memories of dinners at Conall’s place in Boston, having a Michelin star meal while his friends make me laugh, when the torment abruptly ends.

The whip clatters on the table as he tosses it onto the metal surface. Now that I’ve caught my breath, my dark soul claws its way to the surface, and I find solace in myself again.

“Quitting already? I thought playtime was just getting started?”

My teary gaze meets his shadowy thundercloud-colored irises. As he prowls over to me, I imagine he’s snarling underneath that mask.

With heavy breaths, his entire aura is coated in dark ferocity. He snatches me by the throat roughly, and growls, “Is that what you want? To play? You want to be a sadist’s little whore?”

I say nothing, keeping my eyes bright and locked on his, but his naughty words send a surge of wetness directly between my legs.

“Are you wet right now, Lou? Or do I need to use your blood as lube?”

Fuck, why is that turning me on?

He studies my face like it’s a treasure map with all the answers, and when I don’t answer, there’s amusement in his tone as he informs me, “Oh fuck, you want that. You want me to smear blood all over your cunt, don’t you? You want me to use my cock to coat your insides in your blood.”

My voice is small, but strong when I answer him honestly. “Yes.”

I have no idea if I’m going to die here before I have the chanceto escape, so I have nothing to lose by telling him the truth. I may as well have some fun before I enter the next fiery realm.

Digs disappeared.

Apparently, all it took for him to leave me alone was to utter a single honest affirmation. He vanished into the storeroom, slamming the door shut behind him. It’s alongtime before that door reopens and Honey Eyes slips into the room with me.

His golden irises flicker over my nude body as he approaches, carrying a new uniform set. The color of his eyes caramelizes, the hue deepening with lustful heat, but he says nothing as he releases me from my restraints. He scans the length of my body as I don the fresh uniform, carefully ignoring the way my new welts and cuts sting as they cleave open further. As I tug on the black cotton top, Honey Eyes’s attention lingers on the years-old scar left by a snake whip.

The upside to constantly having my uniform cut from my body is that the new uniforms keep me from becomingtoodirty and disgusting. In addition to my disdain for concrete, I’m going to have a very real aversion to grime after I escape. And Iamescaping—or at least attempting it.

Once dressed, I start for the door to presumably return to my cell, when Honey Eyes’s deep, liquid voice stops me. “How’d you get that scar?”

Something about the question gives me pause, and I turn around to find both curiosity and something that looks a lot like vulnerability sparkling in his vivid gaze. The way his amber eyes glow reminds me so much of the glittery look I once had. But that was a long time ago, before I becamethisversion of myself.

Maybe it’s the way he’s exposing himself a fraction of a degree, or perhaps it’s just the fact that I was stripped and beaten after nearly unraveling, mentally, a few days prior, but either way, I find myselfanswering honestly. Nodding toward the metal table that boasts the variety of whips Sean brought, I say, “Snake whip.”

His gaze goes steely, the molten caramel hue from a few moments ago crystalizing at my admission. “You were whipped?”

I dip my chin.

Honey Eyes’s chest rises and falls evenly as we study one another in the middle of this concrete torture room. A hundred questions swirl in his gaze, but he only chooses one. “You don’t have many other scars. Why not?”

I’m not sure if he’s attempting to inquire cryptically about my lack of a scar where I had my uterus removed, or if he’s wondering how a criminal such as myself could survive this long without having marred, storied skin depicting years of hard-fought wars.

Sure, parts of my body—inside and out—tell snippets of my life’s story, but it’s far from the entire tale. That’s how scars work; they’re fractions of a whole. They’re simply the rough grooves and bark on a tree, and digging into the dirt is required to glimpse the roots.

“Not every scar can be seen,” I answer instead, somewhat enigmatically. It’s the truth: most of the coarse, jagged ridges of my bark are invisible.

Sean

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,I’m so fucking fucked.

Lou’s admission jacked me up. I couldn’t get out of that playpen fast enough, sending Jace in to clean up my mess, as I beelined straight for the roof for a smoke. These damn cigarettes may not be the healthiest coping mechanism, but it’s this or yank on my cock for what’d probably be the thousandth hour in months.

Any semblance of calm doesn’t return until my second cigarette. I knew her “yes”was in response toeverything,and it hit my dick like a lightning rod. I wanted to thrust into her right then and there. But I had—have—no business fucking her, especially since she’s not really mine. Normally, that wouldn’t bother me, but for some unknown reason, I want her to be mine if I’m going to slide between those perfect thighs.

She doesn’t belong to me; she’s property of the United States. Sure, the argument could be made that, as a representative of the government, she’s mine for the moment. But I don’t want her like this. I want her mind, her body, her fight, her trust, her loyalty. I want her outside of these concrete walls. I want her of her own volition. I want her to want me becauseshe wants me.

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