Page 50 of The Hitman's Omega Priest
“Don’t do this,” Malori whispered. “He’ll just hurt you, and I’ll go with him anyway. I adore you for trying, but let me go, Kensley.”
Everything inside Kensley rebelled at giving in and allowing Malori to simply walk away. But he was smart enough to understand Malori was right. Kensley’s defiance would get them both hurt. He met Malori’s liquid gaze. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. Be well.”
Those two words felt like a terrible goodbye, and Kensley’s heart shriveled up as he stood there, mute and useless, while Sadist and Doctor left with Malori. Once the door shut, Kensley flung himself at it, pounding with both fists, furious and terrified for his new friend. Malori knew what he was walking into, but that didn’t make it any easier for Kensley to accept. It made his own eventual fate all too clear and all too present.
Sadist would be back for him.
Tears burned his eyes, but instead of allowing them to flow, Kensley focused that energy into prowling the apartment again. Searching for any weakness, any clue, anything he could use as a weapon. But between the video surveillance that would be alerted if he began breaking furniture apart, and the apartment being sealed like a fortress, Kensley found nothing. He hadn’texpected to find anything, but it still infuriated him enough to tip the sofa over backward.
Even the damned couch was some sort of foam block contraption with no springs he could pry out and use as a weapon.
Time passed, he didn’t know how much. A lunch tray arrived, and Kensley ignored it. The food remained, though, and as much as Kensley hated giving in and taking their stuff while Malori was suffering, he needed to keep up his own strength. Plus, his maybe-baby’s. His angry stomach welcomed the turkey and cheese sandwich, and he drank the lukewarm juice to chase down the dry bread. No utensils, only a paper plate and paper cup. He palmed the apple and left the dumbwaiter.
He threw and caught the apple while he paced, gut still upset, despising this new sense of helplessness. On his fourth circuit of the apartment, something bizarre and unexpected happened: he started getting hard. He froze in the middle of his bedroom and stared down where his dick was slowly tenting his linen pants. His hole clenched, and he felt the first unwanted trickle of wetness.
“No.”
They’d drugged his food with some sort of stimulant. It was the only explanation for the awful arousal swamping his lower half. Had they drugged Malori every time, too? Forced his body into arousal and natural wetness to satisfy Sadist’s customers? How long would this last? Was someone coming for him? Malori said he was taken elsewhere for the abuse, so why was this happening here?
Kensley ignored his dick and shut his bedroom door. Tried shoving the dresser but it wouldn’t budge. Neither would the bed, which was one solid unit. Nothing he could use for a blockade. Was there a camera watching him right now? Would anything he did to protect himself matter?
With the loss of his bodily autonomy, thanks to those drugs, Kensley allowed himself to feel despair for the first time. King wasn’t coming to the rescue before he was violated. Bishop wouldn’t save him or save the day. But in the name of all that was holy or sane in the world, Kensley would go down fighting. He might find himself sobbing, bloody and broken by the end, but he’d leave his mark on whoever came through that door.
Without a clock, he didn’t know how long it took for the outer door to buzz twice. He imagined that meant there was a secondary outer door—one more level of security that worried him. Kensley moved to a position on the opposite side of the bed, the only physical barrier he could put between himself and whoever was there. With no lock, the doorknob turned easily. Acid coated the back of Kensley’s throat; adrenaline hummed in his veins.
Sadist stepped inside, dressed in the same suit and shiny shoes, his expression as bland as before. Kensley clocked his hands but still saw no obvious weapons. He abhorred that he was standing there, dick straining, pants damp with fluid, sweating with fear and hatred, while Sadist simply looked bored.
“Whatever you want, you aren’t getting it easily,” Kensley snarled.
Sadist smiled, showing off perfectly straight, unnaturally white teeth. “How do you know what I want?”
“Please. You put a stimulant in my food for a reason, asshole.”
“You’re correct, I did. And since I wasn’t clear earlier, you may refer to me as Master.”
“Not happening. I like Sadist better.”
“Oh, I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together, you and I.” Sadist closed the door, then leaned his back against it, hands resting in his trouser pockets. So nonchalant that Kensley wanted to scream.
Time ticked by, and each heartbeat only drove Kensley’s anxiety and confusion higher. What was Sadist doing? Waiting for Kensley’s guard to go down before he attacked? The guy was at least eight inches taller than Kensley and outweighed him by a good forty pounds. Kensley was a scrappy fighter, but eventually he’d lose, so what was Sadist waiting for?
“I admit, your comment earlier about your brother made me curious,” Sadist said casually, as if remarking on the room’s décor. “I had no idea I was entertaining the brother of someone so infamous in the northeast. What a stroke of luck for me.”
Kensley did not allow himself to hope. “So, you know my brother will kill you if you hurt me. You should just let me go.”
Sadist laughed. “After what I paid for you? Not a chance. As I said, I’ve been in business a long time, and I’ve survived by being smart. As much as this location has served me well, it’s time to move my business elsewhere. But don’t worry about your brother. I’ve already made sure he’s fed information that will send him on, forgive the cliché, a wild omega chase.”
Hope began to wither. “My brother’s too smart for that. He probably already knows where we are.”
“Unlikely. But if he does, I shouldn’t wait to leave my mark on you, should I? I do love a sweet, slick omega ass.”
“You can try.” Kensley pulled on all the courage he had left. “But you’ll leave your own blood on the floor.”
“Hmm.” He made no move to stand or attack, and Kensley hazarded a glance at Sadist’s crotch. No sign of an erection, despite the fact that Kensley was a ball of hormones, his body waiting and ready to be fucked. His traitorous dick demanded attention, and his slick ass demanded filling.
But Kensley remained upright, defensive, unwilling to give in to his base nature—a nature that was only awake because of drugs. Not because he was actually aroused or with someone hewanted to sleep with. Not like the way Bishop made his body sing with every touch and kiss and lick and thrust.
