Page 15 of Cry, Little Dove

“Your pale skin and pretty blue veins are a doctor’s wet dream. This needle is your best friend right now because it delivers my special blend of drugs into your bloodstream. That way you stay nice and still but…”

He grazes the side of my breast, drawing inward circles. When he reaches my nipple he runs his thumb over it, and a damning tingle sweeps low in my stomach. Lower. Lower.

Focus, Erica. You are not enjoying this.

“But you can feel everything. Ain’t that right?” Cain asks.

I’m glad I can’t answer, can’t writhe and press my thighs together like I want to.

He smirks, smug as can be. Locking eyes, he works my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Softly at first, then he pinches and pulls. He does the same to the other one. The pain feeds right between my thighs and my clit throbs. Being entirely motionless amplifies the sensation of his touches like a magnifying glass highlighting every traitorous reaction of my body.

My frozen muscles scream with the urge to get away, out of his reach, but wetness gathers between my legs. I pray he won’t notice. Desperate, I tell myself that this perverted arousal is a coping mechanism.

I’m not really getting turned on from my kidnapper playing with my nipples.

“I’ll give you a chance because I like you, darlin’,” he says, caressing my face. “And because you’re such a perfect lil fucktoy. Your cunt felt so good squeezing around my cock last night, you deserve a reward.”

I wish I could shout at him. My blood simmers with too many emotions at once. Shame and fear and rage and lust and—

He tips my head again, to the other side, and a suppressed frown twitches on my immovable forehead.

Why does he have a freezer box in an operating theater?

I remember a hospital documentary I watched during one of many sleepless nights right after I lost my job. They showed similar boxes when the surgeons performed a kidney transplant. My sluggish brain puts two and two together and a scream lodges in my throat.

This box is formyorgans.

He’s going to gut me.

Cain holds a shiny scalpel above my face. I flinch internally as he tilts it and a flash of my reflection in the blade catches me off guard.

My pallid skin. Pale lips. Red-rimmed eyes.

I look like I’m already dead.

Cain trails the flat side of the cold scalpel down the bridge of my nose, and a shiver courses through me.

“Don’t worry, I’m an experienced surgeon,” he says calmly. “I’ve never lost a patient on the operating table. Well, not until I literally steal their heart.” He lets out a bubbly laugh like he told a harmless joke.

My chest swells with a sob I can’t let out.

He’s fucking insane.

I believe his story about being a surgeon, but that doesn’t make my situation any better. It makes it worse.

How terrifying that someone sworn to help and heal people is such a depraved monster. I can’t imagine how many patients trusted this devil with their lives. How many has he fooled with that sweet smile and his relaxing voice?

“We’re gonna have a bit of fun, Miss Erica Dellinger from Kansas,” he says, his tone saturated with playful anticipation.

How does he know my name and where I’m from?

Cain clicks his tongue like he can read my mind. “I had a quick peek at your wallet while you were out, sleepyhead. Found your driver’s license. The whole anonymity thing you insisted on in the motel is too impersonal for something as intimate as this, don’t you think? And it’s a very pretty name. I like saying it. E-ri-ca.” He cocks his head, every letter melting on his tongue, drawing out the vowels.

Oh no, a part of me likes how my name sounds from his mouth. What is happening to me? Am I losing it?

Cain props my head up with something soft to let me see the rest of my body better, and fresh tears spill when I notice the marks on my skin. Thick lines of black sharpie. I saw that part on TV, too. Doctors always mark their patients before surgery.

Cain’s free hand slides between my breasts over my stomach, stopping above my sex by my spider tattoo. A whimper dies in my lungs. I hate how much I want him to go lower and touch methere.

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