Page 48 of Eternal

“I wore a skirt that drew attention,” I whisper.

His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, turning white. “That’s right. You wore a skirt that makes you look like a whore. I don’t need anyone knowing I’m dating a whore, and I especially don’t need anyone seeing any part of you.”

“I’m sorry, Tristan.”

“I’ll just have to teach you a lesson to not be such a whore. Fuck your face up until you’re grotesque. No one will want you after I’m done with you.”

“Please don’t. I only-”

His hand snatches my hair and cracks my head against the glass in a lightning-fast reaction. Again and again. My head bounces off of the glass with each shove into it.

He lets go of my head, and specks of blood can be seen on the glass, windows fogged up now.

“Take off your skirt and clean the blood up.”

I don’t dare look at him, but I hesitate for a moment. His hand comes out to hit the side of my head.

“Do it! Now!” Tristan roars.

My hands shake as I unzip the skirt and remove it. I start wiping at the blood on the window and window sill of his car, trying to make it as good as new.

Tristan starts the car up when he’s satisfied with my work.

“Keep that skirt on your wound. I’ll stitch it when I’m done with you tonight. When we get home, I expect you to be on your knees at the foot of the bed completely naked within five minutes of arriving. Do you understand?” He is calm. So calm that I question if I got the Tristan from earlier in the night back. The version of him that is who I want. Not this monster.

“Yes, I understand.” I whimper.

But luckily I’m ripped out of the dream before it can repeat.

I’m startled awake by the feeling of fingers brushing across my cheeks. I immediately fling myself to the headboard, and Soren’s eyes darken at the fear in my eyes. I take him in as he stands with his hand out still, the other clutching a glass containing a dark liquor. He’s shirtless, with his pants still on, slightly bent at the waist.

I gulp, my heart racing as I try to calm down from the nightmare that still runs rampant in my brain. His head cocks to the side, eyes narrowing, and the glass in his hand suddenly shatters. He stands to his full height as I yelp at the sudden noise. He mutters curses before storming out of the room, slamming the front door with a shake that startles the whole house.

Chapter twenty-one

Soren

Istormoutthefront door and make my way into the woods off to the left of our house. I had a tunnel built out here to transport people in and out if necessary, and I’m glad it’s already getting used.

Derek, my second in command, is waiting there with a man strapped to a hand cart, Hannibal Lector style, gagged, and with a bag over his head. He’d called earlier in the night informing me he had a gift for me. One that I didn’t think we would get so quickly.

“You’re gonna have to help me get him down here,” Derek says as he grabs the bottom of the cart to start his descent down the stairs.

The room is simple. It’s tiled with several drains and toolboxes lining one wall filled with my favorite toys. A chair sits in the middle of the room, with shackles on the arms and legs. My secret torture room.

Derek and I are coated in sweat when we reach the bottom of the stairs. At this point, he is squirming like a motherfucker, making it harder to carry him down. I’m half tempted to throw him down the stairs like a sack of potatoes, but I can’t risk him escaping. Not that he’d get anywhere anyway. Between myself and Derek, who is fucking massive, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

Derek’s dark eyes land on me, and there’s a smile on his face. “Now this is a fucking torture room, boss!”

I lean against the wall, taking a moment to collect myself.

Fuck, I need to start working out again.

“You wanna see the ugly motherfucker?” He asks, and he’s giddy like a kid in a candy store.

I stand straight and walk up in front of him. He’s shorter than me, but then again, most people are. And he has an average build. Nothing spectacular either. His transgressions make him appear even smaller.

Derek grins wickedly as he rips the bag off his head. When his hazel eyes meet mine, I’m struck with pure hatred.

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