23. Camryn

TWENTY-THREE

CAMRYN

"Dom?" I whisper-hiss as I peer into the dark hallway.

Fear has me in a chokehold, my neck damp with sweat.

When there's no response, my voice breaks as I call out, "Dominic?"

Where is he? Why is the house so quiet?

I hesitantly exit the living room and skirt the length of the wall, careful to avoid the framed photographs.

Glancing back at the front door, I debate making a run for it, but I dismiss that thought just as fast. I can't leave Dominic behind.

Although…

I worry my bruised lip, my fingers trailing over the flaking wallpaper as I continue down the hallway.

Maybe I should escape? I could phone the police. What if Dominic is dead by the time they get here? What if they're too late? He could already be dead.

"Dominic?" I whisper shakily, straining to listen for a response.

Nothing.

Glass crunches underfoot, and I peer down at the broken frames, shards of glass slipping to the floor as I crouch, picking up the grainy photograph of a young man framed by fir trees.

His wide smile and high cheekbones give way to dark hair hidden beneath a woolen cap. An axe rests on his shirt-clad shoulder.

I can't stop staring at it or his eyes.

"I thought I told you not to wander into the woods."

The photograph trembles in my hand as I exhale shakily. My mouth is dry.

It's him.

I know it is. The similarities are too striking.

I turn around and scan the other photographs. There he is, barefoot, slouched on a swing seat on the porch.

My eyes drift to the next framed picture, a cold shiver accompanying the bead of sweat sliding down my spine. I step closer to the image of him on a tall ladder propped against the side of the house, a hammer in his hand.

He used to live here. This was his home.

But that means?—

The floorboards creak ominously behind me, my breath catching in my throat. I know it's Wilfred even before his southern drawl sends a spike of fear through me.

"Such a pretty little darlin'." He approaches me, his heavy steps drawing closer.

I exhale a shuddering breath, staring at the wall in front of me.

What do I do? I could run for the door, but Wilfred has a gun. He'll shoot me before I can escape.

Panic threatens to immobilize me when his foul smell of stale cigarettes and manure assaults me from behind. I dig my fingers into my palms and then stiffen as he moves my hair away from my shoulder with the shotgun, ensuring I see it in my periphery.

"It's been too long since I touched such young flesh."

"Where's Dominic?" I ask bravely, barely daring to breathe.

"Shhh now, darlin'." His sour breath heats the back of my neck, and I squeeze my eyes shut as a sob claws its way up my chest.

Outside, the sun hides behind a cloud. The room darkens further, and shadows elongate and thicken.

"You smell like a summer's day." He breathes me in, his sweaty hand engulfing my waist, squeezing tight as he pulls me back against his oil-stained overalls.

His cock digs into my lower back, so I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, hoping, wishing, and praying for this moment to end.

"Please let me go," I plead, but it falls on deaf ears.

He slips his hand between my legs and drawls, "No more talking, darlin'."

A sob tears from my lips, and I fist my hands so hard that my nails elicit a sharp bite of pain. I relish it, preferring the sting to his wandering, filthy fingers that move my shorts aside.

He huffs a breath when he finds me dry. His hand disappears, but the relief is short-lived. My heart rate spikes as he spits on his fingers and dips them beneath the fabric.

"Please don't?—"

Stiffening, he breathes in my ear.

Time stands still. Seconds extend into eternity. Dread hammers in my chest.

He shifts his grip on the shotgun, spitting the toothpick to the floor, his prickly beard rubbing against the side of my neck. "You want to see your friend again, darlin'?"

Hope flares in my chest, dancing the tango with icy fear.

"He's still alive and will remain alive as long as you are a good girl for me."

"Okay," I whisper, forcing myself to unfurl my fingers.

"Hands on the wall where I can see them."

Steadying my nerves, I press my palms to the peeling wallpaper and swallow down the terror that's constricting my throat. I can't save Dominic if I'm scared. I'm no good to anyone if I'm trembling like a leaf in the wind.

I need to get myself together.

For both our sakes.

"Where is he?"

His finger trails the length of my slit, and he exhales against the shell of my ear. "No talking, darlin', while I play with this pussy."

Gritting my jaw, I bite back a retort.

Anger is good.

Anger is better than fear.

He inches his finger inside, chuckling when my body stiffens at the intrusion. "I wonder if I can make you come harder than the boy?"

"You wish," I spit before I can stop myself.

This time, when he stiffens, I fear the worst. He'll kill me. Put a bullet between my eyebrows. No one will ever find me again.

He does neither.

"You're tight, aren't you, darlin'?"

My stomach churns as I swallow down the vomit in my mouth, focusing instead on the faded flowery pattern on the wallpaper.

Despite the anger, my body soon responds to the stimulation.

Noticing, he chuckles in my ear while grazing my clit with his thumb. "I knew you were a whore, darlin'. I saw it when you rode that boy."

"Fuck you!" I sneer.

"Such foul language. I thought you promised to be good."

"This is me being good." There's a sharp bite to my words, and I grit my teeth to stop myself from telling him exactly how I feel about dirty old men like him.

His lips curve into a smile against my ear. "You gonna moan for me, darlin'. Let me hear how much you like it?"

"In your wildest dreams."

"Careful," he drawls, shoving a second finger inside that forces me up on my tiptoes, and I hiss as pain ripples through me, still sore from Dominic. "I might decide not to treat you this good."

The rough scratch of his denim overalls and the stench of his breath fade into the background when my core heats with pleasure.

Fuck. How is this happening? How can it feel good, when I wouldn't hesitate to claw his eyes out, given the chance?

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

A moan tears its way up my throat. I can't hold it back.

His breathy chuckle slides over the side of my neck like a lover's caress or a blade's kiss while his hand moves at a rapid pace inside my shorts.

"There's a good girl," he drawls against my neck, his wet breath dampening my skin. "This tight pussy likes a good fingerin', don't it, darlin'?"

"Dominic will kill you," I hiss.

"That boy is in no state to do anything."

My hips move involuntarily with his movements, chasing release like a hopeless traitor.

"That boy is gonna watch his whore die first before I put a bullet in his head."

I hiss, pleasure rippling through me.

I can't help it.

Not when he's touching me with the intention of wringing pleasure from my body. He's not doing this for himself. There's nothing selfish behind it. His touch is purposeful. Designed to prove a point and instill terror of a different kind.

With the next flick of his filthy thumb, he shows me who is in control. It's not me.

My body fucks his hand like he's got the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. My hips roll with such force that I'm almost humping the wall.

It's just out of reach.

I hate him. Hate him so fucking much. Yet hate tastes so damn delicious.

Especially when it's seasoned with fear and danger.

"If only that boyfriend of yours could see you now. Fucking my hand like a dirty little whore. Tell me, darlin', would he be surprised?"

I hiss, and he presses the shotgun to my neck.

"Would he?"

"No," I reply, quivering in his grip, too aroused to focus on the cold metal against my pulse point.

"No," he breathes, but it's an affirmation. "He wouldn't. You like to have this tight little cunt filled. Don't matter whose fingers they are, as long as you get to come."

"Fuck," I choke, my nails digging into the wallpaper. I can barely keep upright. "Please, just…"

"Let you come?"

"Put me out of my misery."

"Beg me."

I whimper, shaking my head.

"Beg me, or I kill your boyfriend."

When I fail to respond, he stretches me with a third finger. "We can play this game all day, darlin'."

"Please, let me come." The words shred my vocal cords like barbed wire.

"Come on now, little girl. You can do better than that."

What the hell does he want?

Sobs rip from my chest, and I press my forehead to the wallpaper. "Please, Wilfred. Please, pretty please."

"Please, Daddy," he corrects, his beard scratching my jaw, his hard cock sliding up the small of my back through his denim overalls as I shudder.

"Please, Daddy," I force out, my knees threatening to give out. "Let me come."

"Wasn't so hard, was it, darlin'?"

Tears wet my cheeks when he flicks my clit with his thumb, and I clamp down on his fingers. Self-hatred tastes putrid even as an orgasm rips through my body.

A small part of me whispers that it's a response to the fear, but a deeper part of me—a part that frightens me more than the shotgun in his hand—wants me to admit something darker.

Something shameful.

That I like to have my will confiscated from me.

My body loves danger.

It loves it when someone takes it without asking.

It loves this…

Sliding his hand from my shorts, he spins me around. I stare at him through heavy lids, strands stuck to my wet cheeks. The urge to claw his eyes out tingles my fingers, and it takes everything in me not to spit at him when he lifts his slick hand.

Spreading his fingers, he tuts. "Such a mess, darlin'."

Unable to look at the strings of cum between his fingers, I glance away, cheeks burning with humiliation. He grips my face with his wet hand that smells of debauchery, the shotgun brushing up against my leg, like a cold threat, and I whimper.

"We're not done yet." His sour breath wafts over my face. "A sweet thing like you is too good to kill just yet."

When he releases me, I slump to the floor.

Despite the voice inside me that urges me to keep it together, tears stream from my cheeks. I don't know where Dominic is. If he's dead or alive. I feel dirty, ashamed, clit pulsing from the receding orgasm.

Wilfred's mud-caked boots step closer, my fingers sliding over the broken glass shards as I let my eyes travel up his filthy overalls until they clash with his empty gaze.

"I hate you." My raw vocal cords ache as the last note slips from my lips.

He tips my chin up with the shotgun, his eyes gleaming with sadism. "Is that any way to talk to the man you called Daddy a few minutes ago?"

This time, I spit at him, and he hauls me to my feet, baring his yellow teeth. I stab him with the piece of broken glass in my hand that I picked up from the floor seconds earlier, and he drops me with a hiss.

Blood pours from the wound, staining the grimy denim, and my own hand hurts from slicing it open, but the sharp sting is the least of my worries.

We stare at the protruding shard, then at each other. The air thickens with tension.

"Oh, darlin', he drawls, cocking the shotgun. "You've gone and done it now."

Sharp and deadly terror flashes through me as I dash for the stairs, hauling myself up. A warning shot rings out, and I scream as buckshot embeds itself in the wall beside me.

I blink at it for all of a second before my survival instincts take over. I'm on the run again, fleeing from the monster behind me, who takes the steps slowly as if to heighten my fear.

"You goin' to die, darlin'."

"DOMINIC!" I scream, propelling myself onto the landing. "Where are you?" I throw one final look behind me, fleeing down the hall. Another shot rings out, and I tumble to the floor with a blood-curdling scream as agony sears my calf. Gasping, I roll over, blood gushing from the graze of a pellet that almost took me out completely.

If I was scared before, it has nothing on the noose that tightens around my throat now when I look up to see Wilfred walking toward me with the shotgun tightly clasped. My chest heaves, yet I struggle to inhale a full breath as icy panic threatens to steal the last sip of oxygen.

"You thought you could get one up on me, little girl? You thought you was being clever, darlin'?"

The shard is still embedded in his waist. Is he immune to pain? What the hell is wrong with him?

I dart my gaze around and then crawl toward the nearest door that's open an inch, leaving a trail of crimson behind.

Wilfred follows it like a bloodhound, chuckling deeply. "Not so brave now, are we?"

"Please," I beg, digging my nails into the worn floorboards and hauling myself forward, my calf throbbing with blinding pain.

"Please what, darlin'? Kill you or fuck you again? Maybe with my cock this time?"

"Don't," I choke, grabbing hold of the doorframe.

He aims the gun at me again, and I sob, crawling away. The door slides open behind me, and he follows my blood trail as though he has all the time in the world to torment me.

Once inside, I try to shut the door, but he wedges his boot in the gap and tuts.

"That's not very nice." He kicks it open, and I scramble back, pausing as my eyes land on the slumped, tied-up body by the bed.

"Dominic?" I gasp.

He's unconscious, his chin touching his shoulders, blood coating the sides of his neck and dampening the front of his T-shirt.

I'll never forgive myself if he dies because of my own stupid curiosity.

Wilfred clamps his muddy boot down on my injured calf, and I scream in torment, writhing on the floor. My distress rouses Dominic from his slumber, and he lifts his heavy head, a choked groan vibrating through his chest as he winces.

Cold metal meets the back of my head, forcing my cheek to meet the hard floor. I sob, watching Dominic's hazy eyes connect with mine. Every muscle in his body stiffens, but then his head lulls and he tries to shake it, his movements sluggish.

"Who should I kill first, darlin'? You or your boyfriend?"

"Please don't hurt us," I beg around a sob. "I'll do anything. Just…please. Let us go."

"It's a little too late for that, don't you think? I've had a taste of that pussy. If I see you 'round town, I might be tempted to drag you back here. Besides, you going to tell the cops."

"I'm not going to tell anyone. It stays between us."

"Why would I believe a cheatin' whore?" He digs the gun into my head, and I hold my breath.

My voice is much quieter this time when I whisper, "Please."

"Camryn?" Dominic's raw voice crackles in the silence. He swallows thickly, wincing, then tries to sit up straighter. "Let her go."

Wilfred looks away from me, and relief floods my chest. Relief and terror. Now, his attention is on Dominic, which fills me with renewed dread.

"Loverboy is awake," Wilfred drawls in his southern accent. "Welcome back. I was just askin' your girl who I should kill first. You or her?"

"Let her go and kill me," Dominic offers, his eyes flashing with pain when he shifts.

My head flies up, and I plead with him to keep quiet. To not make this worse. "No, Dom."

He ignores me. "Let her walk."

"How 'bout this?" Wilfred says, leaving me on the floor and striding to Dominic. He presses the gun to Dominic's temple, forcing him to tilt sideways. "How 'bout I put a bullet in your brain and keep the girl? She can warm my bed while you rot in an unmarked grave in the woods."

Dominic clenches his jaw, his eyes boring into me.

"No one will find you."

"I don't care if you kill me, but lay a fucking finger on her, and I will haunt you."

The tips of my ears burn when Wilfred laughs cruelly. I can't even look in their direction as the monster slides his eyes to me and smirks.

My stomach curdles.

"Your whore already came on my fingers." He aims the weapon at me. "Ain't that right, darlin'. You creamed all over my hand like a good little slut in heat."

The temperature in the room drops, and Dominic's eerily deep and calm voice sends a chill racing down my spine, "Camryn, look at me."

I shake my head, pressing my forehead to the ground.

If I see the anger in his eyes, I'll break. I'm already ashamed of myself. While he was tied up and bleeding, my body betrayed me in the worst ways possible.

"Look. At. Me."

I slowly slide my gaze in his direction.

"Is it true?"

"Dom—"

"Is it true?" he asks again with enough venom to make me flinch.

When I still don't reply, Wilfred shoves his fingers beneath Dom's nose. "Smell that. Answers your question, don't it? She's sweet like a summer's day."

The deep throb in my leg has nothing on the insistent ache in my chest, the agony of seeing his face drain of color.

A muscle tics in his cheek.

"I'm sorry..." My voice breaks, and I quickly look away, resigned to my fate. We're going to die here. Dominic, with the taste of betrayal bitter on his tongue because of me.