Page 53 of Lacey's Fight

After delivering another slap to her face, he turned and stormed—well hobbled really since it was obvious from his red face and controlled pants that he was still in pain—from the room leaving her alone.

Lacey sagged against her restraints, drained now she was alone again. The pain in her wrists and shoulders had returned, along with the burning in her back, and the stickiness between her legs reminded her of what he’d done to her.

A tear leaked free, trailing a silver line down her face.

Then another.

And a third.

Before a fourth could follow she dragged in a deep breath.

Hold it together.

The reminder had her boxing up her emotions until later. If she wanted to survive this and not let The Master take her again, then she had to be smart, logical, and in control.

She had no idea how long she hung there, hurting and scared, trying to figure out a way to get herself free when there were voices, footsteps, and then all of a sudden bright light and a horrified gasp.

When she heard her name fall from the lips of the one person she desperately wanted to see but also desperately didn’t want to see her like this, her control snapped.

* * *

August 7th

3:59 A.M.

If she sobbed it was going to break him.

Ben felt frozen solid at the sight before him.

Lacey hung from her bound wrists, her feet several inches off the floor, her jeans and bright pink sleep shorts were shoved partway down her legs.

Rage clouded his vision.

A deep, dark red fury that covered everything.

Pain.

He needed to inflict pain on the person who had done this to her.

Needed to do anything that would allow him to breathe, to unlock his muscles, to think.

Hurt.

Lacey had been hurt.

Obviously sexually assaulted.

Because of him.

Because he’d gone off and left her alone and unprotected.

Because he hadn’t found her quickly enough.

Because he was too much of a coward to admit—even to himself—that he had feelings for this woman.

She must hate him.

Blame him.

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