Page 28 of Heal Me

Then I’m running again. Down the hall, barking at the first guard I see. “Where’s Jan?”

“No idea.”

“Fucking find him.”

I rip the door open to the first whipping room in the next corridor. Empty. I try the next door to find a guy fucking a tied-up girl.

“Find Jan,” I demand and rush on. I open every door in the corridor and bark orders at two more guards before I reach the next hall. Then I open all the cell doors there, but all I find are cowering or screaming girls. My songbird and Jan are nowhere to be found. I’m halfway through the cells in the third corridor when I remember the unused rooms in the derelict halls.

My boots pound against the ground as I run there, my heart beating even harder. My vision blurs with a potent mix of rage and terror as I rip the first door open with a force that has the old door falling half off its hinges. I nearly slam my fist into it when I find the cell empty, but a scream stops me. I halt and listen, not wanting to waste a second more on empty rooms.

There it is again, pained andhers.I can recognize her voice anytime, anywhere. It’s coming from across the hall. A few cells down. I bolt in that direction and rip a new door open. And there, in the old, dingy room, I see the worst thing I’ve witnessed in all of my brutal life.

My sweet songbird, bruised and bound, face drawn tight in agony. Angry red stripes cover her thighs, her breasts, and what little of her ass I can see. Blue bruises are already forming around them, and blood trickles down her milky white skin in several places.

But the marks don’t even compare to the horror of the situation I’ve walked in on. The caning is already over, the instrument discarded on the floor.And Jan is deep inside her ass, fucking her. Taking what belongs tome.

Time slows to an agonizing slow motion as the fucker turns his head and says with a wide grin, “She’s so deliciously tight. It’s a shame you didn’t get to break in the whore yourself.”

Tunnel vision narrows my focus, anger reddening my sight.

I cross the room, grab his neck, and snap it.

It happens so quickly the shock barely registers on his face before he’s dead.

His cock falls out of her as he drops to the ground.

She has gone silent, swaying in the ropes, eyes staring straight ahead as if she were dead. For a moment, I almost think she is.

“Lavinia,” I demand, grabbing her face. “Look at me. It’s me, Dorin. You’re safe now.”

She blinks but doesn’t focus on me.

It’s reassurance enough. I need to get her down, then I can get her back to me.

I grab the switchblade in my pocket and slice through the ropes keeping her restrained to the ceiling hook, cursing at the sight of blood lacing the rough material that is wound way too tight around her wrists. With a hand around her waist, I catch her weight as she collapses, limp and boneless, devoid of hope.

Carefully, I lower her to the floor and cut the ropes from her wrists and legs. Then I hurriedly move to sit beside her and stroke the blonde tresses from her sweat-streaked face.

“Please do that to...” Her words fade into a murmur I can’t discern.

Leaning down, I place my ear close to her mouth. “Say that again.”

She clears her throat and says in a raspy voice, “Will you please do that to me too?”

Leaning back, I watch her with a frown. “What, my pretty songbird? What do you need me to do?”

“Snap my neck,” she says with more power, coughing as the effort strains her tired throat.

I almost ask her to repeat the words, not wanting to believe what I just heard. But the words were loud and clear. There’s no doubt she said what I think she did. I shouldn’t be surprised after the way I initially found her, but still, everything inside me crumbles. I glance behind her, at the dead man sprawled on the floor, his limp dick sticking out of his pants. Anger swells, and I wish I could breathe life into him so I could kill him again—in a much more painful way.

“No,” I say in a firm voice.

She reaches out for me, her small hand trembling as she tries to grab onto my jeans. “Please, Dorin, I—”

“No,” I cut her off and push up, away from her. The anger keeps coiling, twisting, and turning, expanding and breathing fury into my muscles. I want to snap her neck just for asking that. I’m afraid I’ll actually do it if I stay and she repeats those words. So I leave. I walk out of the room, slam the door, and pace halfway down the derelict corridor as if the door isn’t enough to block the sound of her frail voice.

Rubbing my hand against my scalp, I stare down the empty hall, listening to the empty silence.

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