Objective (Bloodlines #2)(46)
“What was that?” he asks.
“Not enough,” I counter.
“What?”
“More, Bentley,” I command. My heart beats double time and just as I knew he would, he complies and buries his face between my legs to start round two. It’s now that I realize no one can be saved. This game is going to end badly for everyone, and I’m okay with that.
Three hours later he is fast asleep, sufficiently spent from my hearty appetite. I reach down to the floor and grab my shorts and tank. Throwing them on quickly, I jam a hand into his jeans pockets until I find the key. I slip my feet into his slippers he has lying by the couch and exit the trailer. It’s chilly in the crisp early dawn air as I hurry toward home. A shiver rips through my body and my skin prickles. I stop moving and look up from my feet. I thought my heart was the pound of flesh the devil took from me when I pulled the trigger but this...this is more. Now it seems as though he’s come for my soul. He stands three feet away and sure as the sun is rising in the sky, Cane Ash is alive. I was free before, but all freedom is an illusion. If my heart could stop beating without sending me six feet under it would have stopped at this moment.
All the air rushes from my lungs and my vision blurs slightly. My heart sweats, my teeth grind.
“No, it’s impossible…” I whisper, throat tight, shaking my head. “Aster went to your funeral.” My body is shaking violently, but I’m rooted in my spot. He glares at me but doesn't respond. What is happening? Before I have time to put a thought together, he rushes me. I’m hoisted up over his shoulder and thrown into a trunk. Cane slams the trunk lid down on me, sealing me in darkness. “CANE!” I scream. Fear rips through me. I scream and kick at the back seat, and then at the tail lights, hoping I can break one or something. It works in the movies. I try to calm myself enough to plan something. I feel around but there is nothing in the trunk with me. Tears fall freely down my face as I desperately try to figure out what Cane is capable of. The car starts and the tires spin against the dirt before gripping and jolting forward.
About twenty minutes later the car stops, the trunk pops open, and Cane’s arms shoot down to haul me out. I immediately scream like a lunatic. Then I flail wildly as his arms tighten around me. I kick and bite his arm and scream some more but there is nothing but a dilapidated cabin around us.
“Bitch!” he roars when I sink my teeth in his arm. He rights himself, catches me by the back of my shirt, swings me around and punches me square in the face hard enough that I’m sent sailing down to the ground. I clutch my nose as blood gushes out. I’m kneeling in dirt and little chunks of rock are cutting into me. One. Two. Three. My mind is racing with thoughts that I don’t want. How is he alive? Was this all somehow orchestrated? Why me? Scooping me into his arms, bigger, stronger now, he carries me into the cabin and ties me to a bed. There are no blankets. There are no pillows. There are no sheets. Just a beat-up looking mattress and me, spread eagle on my back, tied down. He ties a bandana around my head and threads it through my mouth.
Cane stands over me. He grips my shirt tight and pulls it away from my body in one hand. His other hand moves a hunting knife. His eyes are crazed with rage and hurt. “Leave me. Leave me here,” I pant through the bandana trying to reason with him.
“Sure, when you stop breathing,” he grunts at me without making eye contact. “Don’t worry, this won’t take more than a second,” he spits. He slides the blade across my collarbone and then twists it into the fabric he’s holding. He rips the knife down the front of the tank, cutting it open down the middle from neck to hem, leaving me in just my bra. I whimper and try to talk around the gag.
“Uh-uh, baby girl, no talkin’ till we’re done.” He hops up on the bed and straddles me. Tears stream from the corners of my eyes as the knife slips under one shoulder strap of my bra and with a flick of his wrist, cuts through. He repeats this on the other side and then cuts the middle, sending my bra flopping to either side of me. He unbuttons my shorts and yanks them off. “This is all evidence that will need to be burned,” he growls while tossing my shorts to the floor. His mouth comes to my neck and sucks, hard. I cry out, and try struggling against the ropes binding me. Why would he do this? I’m trying hard to put pieces together, but none of them fit.
Cane’s head shoots up and he snickers at me. “You like it rough don’t you?”
I roll my head to the side, go limp and stare blankly at the wall. Please just get this over with quickly. Just do what you’re going to do and kill me. Please. I check out mentally. I will never live through this moment; it will drive me to insanity. He moves his mouth down my collarbone, leaving a wet sticky filth behind. Every second he touches me like this is devastating. This is not my Cane. This is not the man I was in love with. It’s clear I’ve ruined him. I’ve turned him into something monstrous…like his uncle. He shifts down and brings the knife to my underwear and stares at me. I refuse to meet his lecherous gaze.
“Look at me, you filthy bitch,” he seethes as one last sob tears through me. I crane my head toward him and look through his rage and hate. I look deep into his face, his eyes. I look until I can see through all the hurt and anger, I look until I see my Cane. His expression shifts then and his gaze drops slightly. The whole world is torn, shifting off its axis. None of this is right. None of it makes sense. I can feel his indecision and torment. I can see my Cane battling this new one. This, surely, is what hell is like.