Gaslight (Crossbreed #4)(67)

He scrunched his face and gave me a baleful look. “Why don’t I believe you? Seems you would have tracked me down by now. It’s not as if I’ve changed jobs. Could it be that you’re afraid of me?”

When his lips thinned, I felt myself shudder.

In truth, I’d kept Fletcher’s name because it marked the end of my human life. It also seemed fitting since a monster had created another monster. I already had his Creator’s mark behind my left ear, so there was no point in trying to erase everything.

Fletcher lifted my shirt up and looked at my stomach. “Such a shame to see how everything healed up. Maybe next time I’ll use liquid fire.”

I turned my head to the side, the cool manacles touching my forehead as I tried to distract myself from the distant memories of him beating me with his belt until the buckle split my flesh open. Those were only the first weeks of captivity. I’d never imagined it could get worse.

But it had.

His knuckles brushed across my stomach. “I missed my little pet.” His hands traveled over my breasts, up my arms, and to my tightly clenched fists. “Come on, love. Give daddy a drink.”

Fletcher’s malodorous breath made me hold my own as I clenched my fists even tighter. A smile touched his lips, and he reached for his zipper.

“You know how I love it when you fight.” He pulled himself out and stroked his flaccid penis.

Nausea crept up fast. What aroused Fletcher wasn’t nudity, sex, or even touching. It was pain. My core light had eventually healed all the scars from the beatings where he’d punched, kicked, whipped, and even twisted my skin until it left dark bruises. But sometimes when it rained, I had phantom pains of his teeth biting into my flesh until they drew blood.

Hot, angry tears stung my eyes, and I turned my head to the side. How the hell could I be here? Was this punishment for my sins? I’d thought I could atone for the killings by changing my life, but maybe karma really did exist.

I’d fought him for months—verbally and physically—to the point where I thought he’d kill me. Maybe hoped was a better word. As a sadist, Fletcher fed off defiance, and he was skilled at unearthing what hurt and repulsed me the most. It was his method of breaking me down to submission, because things were easier when you didn’t resist. I grew tired of the pain, the suffering, and the constant battle. I’d never seen him as complacent as when I’d stopped resisting and let him drink my light.

In time, Fletcher began trusting me, certain he’d finally broken my spirit. He rewarded my behavior with hearty meals and a soft mattress. Part of me wanted to surrender if it meant putting an end to the torture and ridicule. Once I gave in and willingly let him steal my light, the beatings and sexual assaults ceased. Fletcher never raped me; his capabilities in that department were questionable. I’d learned early on that his impotence was only partially resolved when he tortured me. Then it was like Beat the Clock as he pleasured himself to a quick and unrewarding climax.

That vile display had crippled me emotionally. But fuck him if he thought I was going to break as easily this time.

He poked me in my stomach, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Where have you been all this time?”

I peered at him with one eye, my head still resting against my arm.

He flipped back a few chunks of my wet hair to get a good look at me. “I paid half my fortune for you, love. Best not make me regret it.”

My heart seized in my chest when the door behind him opened.

“I brought what you asked,” a woman said.

A grin widened on his face like the Cheshire cat. “Come in, Rachel. I’d like you to meet your sister.”

What the hell?

Fletcher stepped away, tucking himself back in his pants. The woman at the door had a boy’s haircut and sultry lips. I suspected she also had large eyes, but she kept them downcast.

What an odd dress, I thought. Old-fashioned, reminiscent of what Kira had worn upon her arrival.

Fletcher looked between us, a grin plastered across his smug face. “I’ll be back later for my drink. Let you two get acquainted.” He strode toward Rachel and tilted her neck to the side so he could kiss it. She kept her eyes low, allowing him to touch her without invitation.

Once Fletcher left the room, Rachel approached me with a bundle of clothes in her arms.

She risked a look. “He told me you bite.”

When I turned my head and glared, she immediately averted her eyes.

“I can’t charm,” I said.

“I know.”

After a beat, curiosity got the best of me. “Are you his girlfriend?”

“No, I’m his Learner.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Four years.”

“Of your own free will?”

“Fletcher is good to me. He takes care of me.”

“Fletcher can’t even take care of a houseplant.” The chain rattled when I leaned forward, and she hopped back a step. “Will you help me? He can’t hear if you whisper.”

“I have to put you in these clothes,” she said, clutching the bundle meekly.

“Then you better get the key and hurry up.”

Rachel didn’t have a very expressive face. She worked hard to hide her true emotions, so I had a difficult time reading her.

She kept staring at the shiny pair of scissors on top of the fabric. “I have to do this. If I don’t, he will.”