Page 67 of The Damsel
Struggling to her feet, she groaned at the discomfort of the blood rushing back into her legs. Rolling her head in a circle, she tried to ease some of the stiffness in her neck. She needed to be alert and ready for when one of the men returned.
As if her thoughts had set things in motion, the door swung open to reveal two masculine silhouettes beyond. The light of the lamp shining in her face kept her from discerning their features, but the cloying odor of opium told her one of them must be Downing.
“You’re awake,” one of them said, coming toward her while his companion sank into the chair. “Good.”
She squinted against the light of the lamp and made out Sir Downing’s square jaw and the sweep of dark hair over his brow. She stiffened when he drew near, but held her ground, determined not to show him fear. He’d only feed off it, use it against her. The best thing she could do was keep a level head and wait for an opening.
The ropes around her wrists gave a swift jerk, and she noticed Downing controlling the tether attached to them. With a yank, he propelled her high, until only the tips of her toes touched the floor and her arms were forced to bear the pull of all her weight. She took a deep breath and kept her focus on Downing.
The man came to stand in front of her, his teeth flashing white in the darkness as he grinned, the motion hard and feral. “I knew the Menace was a woman, but I’d never have guessed it wasyou. A dowdy, freckle-faced spinster who couldn’t turn a man’s head without stooping to dirty tricks.”
The other man gave a sarcastic snort. “Then ruins his life when he gives her the cock she was chasing all along. Venomous bitch.”
Her heart plummeted into her gut as she finally recognized the voice of the other man. He had been the first victim of the Masked Menace … the first man to ever cower away from her blade as she punished him for his crimes.
The Earl of Stratford, who was responsible for the murder of Randall’s wife.
The panic she’d been trying to avoid now rose up in her, making her throat constrict and her chest ache as she realized she’d been kidnapped by two cold-blooded murderers. That she still lived could only mean they would draw it out and make her suffer first.
She flinched when Downing touched her leg, but forced herself to show no other reaction, hanging limp from her ropes as he trailed his fingers up the inside of her thigh.
“It all makes sense, really,” he crooned, pausing at her groin before stroking his way back down her opposite thigh. “A conniving whore who hates men … the only motive you needed to hunt us down and maim us.”
Unable to keep silent any longer, she sneered down at him. “Not all men … just spineless, impotent little shits who make sport of abusing the defenseless.”
With a snarl, he swung his fist, his knuckles crashing against her jaw. Her body swung from the rope as pain exploded from the point of contact, flaring in her entire face as well as her mouth. Blood welled in her mouth, her bottom lip already beginning to swell.
She raised her head to glare at him again, her teeth grinding as she imagined using her dagger to cut out his foul tongue.
“You’ll mind your mouth unless you want me to shove my cock into it,” he snarled.
Head rearing back, she gathered every drop of blood and saliva filling her mouth and spat it at him. Satisfaction flooded her when he reared away with an outraged roar, using his sleeve to wipe the mix of her blood and spittle from his face.
“If you put that foul thing anywhere near my mouth, I will bit it off, chew it to bits and swallow it,” she warned.
He straightened and approached again, this time wrapping a hand around her throat. She made no attempt to move away from him, even as his fingers pressed hard enough to leave fingerprints and make it difficult to breathe. She heard the scrape of Stratford’s chair, and within seconds he was beside Downing, his upper lip curled into a snarl. He brandished something that glinted in the lamplight, making her mouth go dry. It was her dagger. He must have found it in her boot after knocking her unconscious. Had he been the one to remove her clothing? Had he done so without molesting her?
She shuddered at the thought, and Stratford grinned, pressing the knife against her belly. Holding her breath, she kept still as he trailed the knife downward, holding her gaze once the tip sifted through the curls over her mons, a silent threat emanating from his dark eyes.
“You don’t have any teeth here,” he murmured. “There’ll be no biting when I’m in your cunt. I’ll knock every tooth out of your head if I have to.”
Annoyance welled up in her, making her forget her vulnerable position and the power of two men who were stronger than her. She laughed, the sound harsh and deranged coming through her constricted throat. Her body shook, swinging from the rope as she became hysterical, eyes watering, lips stretched wide. Stratford faltered, his hand falling to his side with the knife. Downing loosened his grip on her throat.
“She’s mad,” Stratford muttered. “Touched in the head.”
That only made her laugh all the harder, because neither of them understood. After all she’d endured, did they really think the threat of rape was the best they could do?
“You idiots,” she managed between snorts and giggles. “You’ve got the Masked Menace in your clutches … the woman who bested, embarrassed, and disfigured you … and the best form of revenge you can think of is torape me?”
She threw her head back and laughed some more, her throaty cackles filling the dark space as the two men looked at her as if both intrigued and afraid. Suddenly serious, she stared down at them with a disdainful snort.
“As if that would be enough to break me. How very unoriginal.”
Downing delivered another stinging blow to her face, this time with an open palm. Stratford took hold of her thigh, stopping her swinging body with a painful clench sure to leave fingerprints. She bit back a cry and glared at him, her eye watering from Downing’s slap.
“That will be the least of your worries by the time we’re done with you,” Stratford rasped before pressed the dagger against the inside of her thigh.
The sharp prick of the blade preceded a searing burn as he dragged the dagger over her flesh, opening her skin and producing a font of her blood. Her chest and throat began to burn until she could bear it no longer and screamed, the sound ripping from deep within her to echo off the walls of the underground room.
