Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

JUSTICE

30 years old

I try to ignore the desperate, aching need to be filled, but he's relentless.

He knows where to touch me. Where to hurt me, and how to break me.

Year after year it's the same thing.

He captures me.

He sets me free.

I run.

And he always finds me.

I've fought the hold Salem has over me for as long as I can remember. I've ignored his calls, ran from him, escaped his chains countless times. I've endured more pain at his hands than I have any other way over the course of my life.

Hot breath ghosts my ear, followed by the soft caress of his tongue tracing down my neck. My body hums with anticipation while my mind screams at me to fight, and to run.

As he bites into my collarbone and sucks on my flesh, his hand reaches down… down… down… until a slick, wet finger slides into my ass. He fingers me, slow at first, each suck against my flesh matches each long, gentle stroke of his finger.

I'm helpless to stop him. Powerless against his touch.

Another finger slips in, his thrusts go deeper, and the sucking continues.

By the time he's done, my neck and collarbone will be covered in bruises. He wants his marks on my flesh. It's all he's ever wanted. To claim me. To break me. To scar not only my body, but my mind as well.

Salem wants nothing more than to engulf me in his insanity.

When a third finger breaches my hole, my back arches and I cry out as he forces those thick digits into my prostate. I beg, I plead, I promise him I won't try to run this time if he just fills me with his cock that's leaking precum all over my thigh.

"Please, please, please… Salem, please give me more." I don't know who I am anymore. This man has tortured me from the moment we met. He's broken my bones, scarred my body, and manipulated me in ways no psychiatrist would ever believe.

Yet here I am, begging for his cock like it's the oxygen I need to breathe. And fuck, sometimes, I think it is. There are moments I consider myself and wonder if it's me who's actually insane. Moments like this, when Salem's focus is solely on me and my pleasure, are what makes me crave his touch and think about all the ways I could fix him.

You can't fix him, logic reminds me. You can't fix fucking crazy.

"You know I'll give you anything you wish for." As his tongue traces the curve of my lips, he exhales. "My sweet, beautiful Justice…" Another thrust of his fingers sends me over the edge. I shout out as my release spills over my abs and chest. "You break so beautifully, love," he says softly.

Salem pulls his fingers from my tortured hole and traces them over my abs, swiping up my come and licking it from his fingers like it's a delicacy. When he leans down and licks into my mouth, I give in and kiss him back with ferocity, tasting myself on my tongue. Our teeth clash, lips meld, and my breaths heave as Salem smother's me with his body until he realises I'm enjoying it, and he pulls away.

A pathetic whimper escapes as I chase his lips as much as I can, but being chained to the bed doesn't allow me much room for movement.

When he straddles my chest and starts jerking off, I'm fixated on the girth of his thick cock, the piercings along his length, and the blushed red head, pierced with a thick, silver ring that peeks through his fist with every stroke.

"Open your mouth, love, I'm going to come on your tongue." Pupils blown wide, he stares down at me as his release smothers my mouth and chin and I greedily swallow it down.

Seconds later, shame burns hot as reality hits like a punch to my gut. I shouldn't want this torture. It has to end. I need to purge Salem from my system. From my life. I need to escape to somewhere he'll never find me and start a new life that doesn't involve his sick, twisted games.

Salem traces the thick, raised scars across my torso and continues to trail his fingertips along the rough edges until he reaches my hip. "You're so fucking beautiful," he says with reverence. "Your body is perfection."

I don't thank him for saying this. My body is horrifically scarred… most of the scars, thanks to him.

I don't know if there's a name for his fetishes and depravities, but the way he looks at me as though I'm the most magnificent being he's ever seen, is exhilarating. But… there are moments when he looks at me as though he's ready and willing to brutally devour me, and it's nothing short of terrifying.

"Stay there, my love, I'll be back to clean you up," he says, dragging his fingers across my torso as he leaves.

He returns from the bathroom with a warm, wet washcloth and cleans me gently before throwing it into the laundry basket and pulling on a pair of loose-fitting grey track pants.

After a soft kiss to my lips, Salem leaves the bedroom, closing the door behind him. I tug on the chains—the cuffs are loose since he always likes to give me a false sense of freedom. Twisting my hand, I pull, tug, and manoeuvre it until the cuff digs into my wrist and pain takes over.

When the bedroom door cracks open, I still as the smell of freshly cooked meat wafts into the room and my stomach rumbles involuntarily. No, no, no. I bite the inside of my mouth as he enters, a silver platter complete with cloche in his hands.

He places the platter on the bedside table, perusing my body. When his eyes stop at my wrists, I swallow hard.

"Sal—" I'm cut off by his hand slapping my cheek.

For a split second, he stares down at me, eyes filled with a burning, wild rage. He blinks, and that face I know all too well is replaced with a pained expression.

I realise there's something inherently wrong with Salem, psychologically, mentally, emotionally. His moods shift without warning as though there's another, living, breathing entity inside him. A monster that wears his face, but instead of wanting to protect me, it wants to burn me alive and dance in the flames as it consumes my flesh and bones.

He comes closer, rubbing my inflamed cheek with the palm of his hand. "I'm so sorry, love, I don't know what just came over me." He brushes my hair off my brow and presses a lingering kiss to my forehead. He eyes the cuffs again. "You know you can't escape," he clicks his tongue, his voice cool and emotionless now. "You've hurt yourself. Now, let me feed you, then I'll tend to your wounds."

"I'm not hungry," I whisper.

A smile stretches across his full lips, and his dark eyes alight with humour. "Of course you are. It's been two days. We always feast on day two."

"Is Diablo joining us?" I ask, hoping to distract him from what he calls a "feast." Along with being certifiably insane, Salem and his brothers are cannibals—and hiding beneath that cloche, is human meat. My stomach knots at the thought.

Salem's brow creases when he squeezes his eyes shut. "What do you want with Diablo?" he asks, suspicion in his tone. " My brother doesn't want you."

"Nothing," I say quickly. "I just—I thought he might be here, like last time." I don't add the part where last time included Diablo helping Salem kidnap me. Afterwards, they shoved me into a coffin before they slid it into a hearse and drove me here to Salem's house.

The house he calls my home, and says he bought for me. The house where every room is filled with every single thing I've ever looked at longingly, or mentioned in passing that I like. It further proves his stalking knows no bounds.

Salem stands and paces the bedroom, scrubbing his hands over his face and rubbing the back of his neck. "Why are you asking about Diablo? What do you want with him? Do you want to fuck him, is that what you want? He doesn't want you."

Shaking my head vigorously, I say, "No, no, no. I don't want him at all. I was just ask?—"

My next breath is cut off when he straddles my chest and wraps his hands around my throat. "YOU ARE MINE!" he shouts, pupils blown wide. As he squeezes harder, I gasp for air, tugging at the chains as I try to free myself. "MINE!" Salem shouts. "Don't talk about my brother!" He shakes his head, his left eye twitches, and his hands clench as he mutters under his breath, "Not my brother, not my brother, not my brother."

"Sorry," I say quickly, "I'm sorry, Salem, I'm sorry." I inwardly curse myself for mentioning Diablo.

When he releases a hand from my throat to reach over to the bedside table, I suck in a much-needed breath and blink back tears as he tugs open the drawer and rummages around.

His hand comes back and when I see what's in it, I freeze, then tremble beneath him.

"No, no, no," I scream and thrash, beg him to stop as fear reaches into the marrow of my bones. Panic courses through my veins and into the chambers of my heart.

With a sadistic smile and a light in his dark eyes, Salem flicks the homemade lighter that doubles as a small, makeshift branding iron. A flame appears, flickering orange fire as it heats up the crudely formed steel that spells out his name.

His eyes don't leave the lighter until he releases his finger, and the flame disappears. Salem brings the lighter down, branding the hot steel into my chest and marking me with his name.

I let out a scream of pain. Tears well in my eyes as my flesh sizzles. Salem repeats the process three more times until I'm a sobbing, shaking mess, pleading with him to stop.

After placing the lighter on the bedside table, Salem rushes to the bathroom and returns with antiseptic solution and a warm washcloth. He cleans me with tenderness. The tears in his eyes serve to remind me how insanely unhinged he truly is.

Once he's covered my raw, burning wounds, he leans down and presses a kiss to the gauze. "So beautiful," he whispers as he holds up a syringe. "My little firebird," is the last thing I hear before I slip into darkness.