Hell by J.L. Beck

3

Rowan

“Take off all your clothes.”

That was the only instruction Alexei gave me before closing the door and leaving me alone in this dark basement room. I have no idea what’s going on in the other rooms—soundproofing again. The doors were closed as I walked down the hallway, so there was no getting a look inside.

I have no idea what’s going to happen down here.

I only know there’s a table in the center of the room—a table with straps hanging from the sides, and a light directly above it.

Okay, so the guy likes to restrain his girls. I guess I can deal with that. It’s not like I’ve never felt helpless before, though I wasn’t getting paid for it then.

Still, stripping down to bare skin isn’t easy. Goose bumps rise up all over my body as I unzip my dress and shimmy out of it. Why bother getting me dressed up if I’ll be naked when the client comes in?

No questions. I’m here to do, not to think.

Off comes my bra and panties. I fold them neatly and tuck them inside the dress, hiding them—like at a doctor’s appointment. Then, finally, the shoes. My feet thank me for it while my heart pounds loud enough for me to hear it in my head.

I don’t know what’s worse: the waiting or the dreading what might happen once the waiting’s over.

They can’t make people do really bad things. They’d never stay in business if they did. Of course, being in this basement room with its black walls and floor and no windows, it’s not as easy to believe what I told myself upstairs.

The door creaks open, and I immediately fold my hands in front of my shaved mound. Like it matters. Like he’s not going to see all of me if he wants to once I’m strapped down.

The man walks in, and at first sight, my insides feel all loose and shaky.

I don’t like this. I don’t like him.

And he doesn’t like me.

Sure, he smiles, but it’s a cold, nasty smile. There’s nothing behind his eyes but blank emptiness. I know that emptiness. Eric used to look at me that way before he’d hurt me.

It’s like being with him all over again. Only there was never a contract involved back then. I always knew in the back of my mind that he’d never hurt me badly enough for the rest of the world to know what he was capable of.

This guy? I have no idea, and that makes adrenaline rush through my veins. Every instinct screams at me to run, but I can’t. Not only because I signed a contract but I’m also completely naked. Where would I go?

“Lie on the table.” He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it on a hook near the door. His voice is flat, emotionless. He didn’t even ask for my name or anything.

Because I’m not human to him. I’m a thing. Nobody has to tell me for it to be obvious.

When he turns back to me, he’s unbuttoning his shirt. He’s fit, not even bad-looking, with a nice haircut and polished shoes. But if he approached me on the street, I’d hurry up to get away from him. Everything about the guy screams bad news.

“Are you deaf? On the table.” He points at it before unbuttoning his cuffs. “Now. I don’t have all night.”

I look at the table, lit by that overhead lamp. My blood runs cold. “Do I have to?”

“What?” It’s like the sound of a gunshot, and it makes me jump a little. I fold my arms over myself, not to hide but to keep myself from shaking too hard.

“Do I have to get on the table? I mean, we have a whole room, right?” Even though the table’s the only thing in the room, really. But the thought of being tied down and defenseless by this man is maybe the worst thing imaginable.

He’s not here to have fun. He’s here to hurt me. Bad.

“Do I have to call in the bouncers to help me get you into place? I will.” He strips off his shirt but stops there, leaving the pants on for now.

I must not answer fast enough since he knocks on the door not a moment later. It opens and in walk two enormous men. He jerks his head toward me without looking my way. “Get her on the table.”

I’m going to throw up. They can’t. Not if they know what’s going to happen in here. They can’t be human if they’re willing to do what he says without asking questions.

And they are willing.

“No, please, don’t do this.” It doesn’t matter. They don’t care that my voice is so high it’s practically a squeak. Or that I try my best to fight them off once their huge, rough hands take hold of my arms and legs. Or that I’m close to tears as they force me onto the table, flat on my back.

I twist and turn from one side to the other, but that’s no use, either. They don’t look at me. They don’t say a word. They only hold me down before tying my wrists and ankles tight enough to hurt. I suck in air through my teeth when one of them cinches the last strap, cutting into my skin. Like he’s pissed at me for making him do it.

I’m spread-eagle on the table and completely exposed. It’s cold in here, making my nipples tight, making me shiver harder than ever. I tug at the restraints, but it’s no use. They’re too tight and fastened securely to the table.

I’m at his mercy. Oh, god, I’m completely at his mercy, and nobody cares.

The man waits until we’re alone again, then shakes his head slowly. “You’ve already wasted my time. You’re lucky you look so good when you’re struggling.” Holy shit, he’s hard, like to the point where his dick is jutting out in front of him as he walks slowly around the table.

He comes to a stop at my feet, and I raise my head slightly so I can see him. As much as I don’t want to look at him, I’m afraid to close my eyes. Afraid of what’ll happen without my knowing it’s coming.

So I’m treated to the sight of him rubbing his bulge, eyes now half-lidded as they travel over every inch of my body. “So perfect,” he breathes while his hand moves. “Where’s he been keeping you? I have half a mind to complain that we’re only making each other’s acquaintances now.”

Acquaintance. That word stirs something in my brain, and all the crime movies and shows I’ve ever watched come back to me at once. If he thinks of me as a person, he might be less ready to hurt me. I have to try.

“My name is Rowan. What’s your name?” God, it’s fucking impossible to keep my voice from shaking. I hate how weak and scared I sound, mostly because I know he’s getting off on it. His hand is moving faster, his breathing picking up.

“I don’t remember asking for your name. And I don’t care what it is.” He walks slowly up the length of the table, unzipping his pants. I don’t want to see what he pulls out, but I can’t help myself. I need to know what he’s going to put inside me.

Oh fuck, he’s going to be inside me. This sick, twisted piece of shit. He hasn’t laid a finger on me yet, but I know this isn’t where our night together will end. He’s not satisfied to look at me or know how completely terrified I am.

It’s like he can read my mind. “You think this is bad?” It’s almost a sigh, almost gentle. “You think this is the worst that’s going to happen to you tonight? Oh, no. We haven’t even gotten started.”

Suddenly, he reaches out, taking my right nipple between his thumb and forefinger. When he pinches brutally hard, I let out a yelp that only makes him tighten his grip. It’s like he wants to tear it off me.

“Please, stop! Stop!” I squeeze my eyes shut and beg myself not to cry, but I can feel the tears welling up, and oh, god, he’s laughing. I’m struggling not to cry as he’s practically tearing my nipple off, and he’s laughing.

Somebody’s got to be watching, right? They must have cameras around here. No way a guy like Lucian—in control, powerful, rich—would let anything happen without him knowing about it and being able to watch.

When I open my eyes, I look around, desperate, hoping to see a tiny red dot in a corner or something. Anything that will give away the presence of a camera. “Please, I can’t do this. Let me out of here. I’m begging you.”

“Who are you talking to?” He finally lets go of me, and the tears start flowing, more out of relief than anything else. They soak into my hair and leave trails down the sides of my face. “Nobody can hear you. Nobody can see you. Only me.”

In a swift move, he leans down, leaving maybe an inch between our faces. I twist my head away, but he grabs my jaw and squeezes, turning my face back to him.

Those empty, soulless eyes bore into me. I grit my teeth to hold back the whimpers threatening to get out.

“And I’m not about to let you go anywhere,” he whispers. “So don’t waste your breath.” His fingers dig into my jaw, harder all the time. I can barely keep from crying out.

It’s like with Eric. I used to try so hard to stay quiet so he wouldn’t have the satisfaction of hearing me cry.

Except this sick piece of shit seems to like that. “You’re a tough one.” When he smiles, I start trembling—and this time, I can’t control it. “But you’ll break. They always do once I really get going. I’ll remember you fondly for a long time. Believe me.”

Like I care. Like I want him to.

Like I don’t already want to forget ever setting eyes on him.

He releases my jaw before continuing his slow walk around the table. I twist my hands around, trying to reach the buckles on the restraints, but it’s no use. It’s like being in a nightmare I can’t wake up from. The worst nightmare I’ve ever had.

Only there’s no actual pain in a nightmare.

When he climbs onto the table between my spread legs, I’m almost glad. He’ll fuck me and get it over with. Maybe he’ll be rough, but it won’t last forever. I’ll get through this.

“So perfect. Such smooth, soft skin.” He drags a hand over my calf, my thigh as he moves over my body. I have to take a deep breath to hold back the bile rising in my throat. A shudder of revulsion runs through me, which only makes him chuckle.

It’ll be over soon. He’s practically ready to come now. Yes, there’s precum dripping from the head of his substantial cock, now poised over my pussy. It won’t take long. It’ll be over soon.

Only he doesn’t shove his way inside me.

He doesn’t even touch me down there.

Instead, he straddles my hips, one leg on either side. I wonder if he plans on fucking my face or my tits or what. I don’t care, so long as he finishes. My heart’s about to pound out of my chest, and cold sweat is now rolling down the back of my neck.

It’s the waiting. The not knowing. That’s the worst part.

And he knows that, too, which is why he’s smiling as he strokes his dripping cock, poised over top of me. “Now, it’s time to really have some fun.”

Which is when he uses his free hand to reach into his back pocket and pulls out a switchblade.

All the air in my lungs leaves in one huge exhale, like somebody punched me in the stomach with all their might. He didn’t punch me, but he might as well have.

“No. No, no, no way.” My body takes over for me, bucking off the table. I barely feel the pain in my shoulders as I jerk my arms harder than ever.

He smiles wider than ever. “Shh. It’ll be over soon.”

“No! What do you think you’re doing with that?” I watch in horror as he lowers the blade a little at a time. The light glints off it, blinding me, but I can’t take my eyes off it.

He sounds genuinely happy when he laughs. “Wait and see, bitch.” The blade touches the right side of my chest above my bruised nipple.

Then it presses. Harder. Until blood seeps from under it.

Instinct must be what freezes me solid—he could stab me for real if I keep bucking up and down. All I can do is watch in shock as he drags the blade from right to left, splitting the skin open, leaving a dark red line behind it.

I don’t beg or plead this time.

All I can do is scream—loud, long, high-pitched—while I fight like I’ve never fought in my life. My shoulders, my arms, my wrists feel like they’re going to break. My feet pound the table, and my head swings back and forth. He’s going to slice me open. I can’t let him do this, and nobody’s coming to help me.

“That’s right.” He’s laughing softly, jerking himself off, raising the knife again. “Keep fighting, bitch. I’m just getting started. We’ll see how long before you give up.”