Page 11 of Thorns Laced In Blood

Maeve

16 Years Old

My eyelids felt heavy as I tried to open them, but I closed them again when I felt the pain. It burned my insides, front and back. I leaned over the bed and started to retch, coughing up my dinner until there was only liquid left. I touched my throat because the pain wasn’t from my throwing up.

“I kept an eye on you, got reports from your mother and the odd one from Gavin. You’re not as broken as I expected, but that is what I am here for.”

I froze at his voice and looked at the floor. It was grey, not brown like the carpet in my bedroom. When I raised my head to look around the room, it resembled a prison cell from a movie. The room was bare, with grey walls, a bed, and a toilet.

“Who are you?” I croaked out but grimaced at the pain in my throat.

“Your Master,” he said with a malicious smile as he stepped forward. “Welcome to your new home, slave.”

Fear didn’t just claw my insides. It hatched inside me, a thousand spindling legs scuttling up my ribs. I needed Bear. God, I needed Bear. But looking away from him would be like turning your back on a knife.

Three years. Three years since that night, here he stood, looming in the light like he had every right to breathe my air. No suit now, just a tight black T-shirt stretched over predator’s shoulders, jeans riding low on his hips. Same slicked-dark hair. The same glacial blue eyes, glinting with the same knowing malice.

The flashbacks came to me against my will.

His fingers around my throat and in my hair.

The sour-clean stink of his sweat.

The way he’d smiled when I’d begged for my mother and he’d whispered—

“She’s right outside, darling. She held the door open for me.”

My bladder threatened to let go. The pain between my legs burned, fresh as if he’d just—The pain extended to my back as I jerked.

Oh, God.

Unconscious. He’d—while I was—

He licked his lips as he saw the realisation crack me open.

“I enjoyed that tight virgin shithole of yours. Your mother didn’t just sell you to me, little doll,” he murmured, stepping closer. Shadows pooled in the hollow of his throat. “She gifted you. And I takesuchgood care of my things.”

“No, she wouldn’t—" I started to say, but I stopped as my brain worked through the events of the evening leading up to his visit.

Yes, she would and did.

My blanket fell, but I stared at him blankly because I knew the pain I felt when I cut myself was nothing compared to what this man was capable of.

“We will have so much fun together. Won't we?” he said before his hand whipped back, and he viciously slapped my face.

It was nothing like my mother's slap. The force of his slap echoed around the room and made my head spin as I fell on the bed. My face burned while my head throbbed, but I didn't react.

“Silence won't be acceptable as a response. Say, ‘Yes, Master’,” he spat out.

The tears came as I forced the words out while the storm raged inside of me.

The one hidden away inside of me, locked away.

“Yes, Master,” I said, but I didn't recognise my voice.

It sounded dead.

Chapter 8

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