OWN HER: A Dark Mafia Romance(99)

I could only make ineffective noises at this point and was having some trouble regulating my own breathing. My head and heart were pounding, and his shoulder digging into my abdomen wasn’t particularly helping. My shoulders were starting to ache badly from the tight binding.



He brought me into a room at the end of the hall, which I hadn’t managed to check out the night before. It was easily three times the size of any of the other bedrooms; it must have been the master. From my backward-upside-down position, I comprehended that we then entered a walk-in closet. He punched a button in the wall there next to… a fucking elevator?



He had a fucking elevator in his fucking closet in his fucking master bedroom. Holy. Shit. This did not bode well.



Throughout the elevator ride down-down-down, I screamed as much as I could, as loud as I could through the duct tape, certain that I was headed straight to my death anyway, so why the fuck not? If anyone heard me, unlikely as that might have seemed, that was probably my only shot at getting out of Sick Bastard’s cray-cray clutches alive.



He let me scream. He actually chuckled a bit at it. And he slapped my ass hard, a number of times. He seemed to be really enjoying himself. But that didn’t stop me. I kept on screaming.



I continued my resistance as the elevator finally pulled to a halt. The doors swept open, and we exited into what appeared to be a long narrow dark hallway lit only by evenly spaced dim sconces. It was confusing and difficult for me to see the actual dimensions of the space, as the walls were all mirrored. I would guess he had that done specifically to confuse.



There was a series of doors. We passed a number of them, but I was too freaked-out and confused at this point to count them with clarity. I felt like life had taken a surreal turn, and that whatever was happening was not even worth noting very well. It was like my brain dissociated and just went out of operation.



Finally, he stopped in front of one of the doors and opened it up quickly and easily; it must not have been locked. He flipped on the light switch, and I heard a loud metallic lock release, leading to the hydraulic opening of a steel cage door.



Oh, fuck no. Fuuuuuck. This guy was truly fucking sick.



I had caught first sight of this cage from under his arm in my upside-down position on his back once we entered the room. The main room door banged shut behind us, clearly weighted and wired to resist the open position.



Despite not having any decent escape plan, I acted only on instinct. I reared up, trying to wiggle and bang my way out of his hold, screaming with even more determination (and probably even less efficacy) than ever before.



He set me down inside the cage, which was probably about eight feet wide and six feet deep, and made quick work of spinning me to face away from him. He hobbled me, forcing me down to my knees, and grabbed at my bound wrists. “Shhh, my little sex bitch, you want your arms back, yes? Then calm the fuck down. Now.”



I did. I wanted my arms back. I controlled my shit for a minute.



He untied the rope binding me, and I was able to bring my arms forward again. I felt painful pinpricks from my shoulders to my fingers as the blood began to flow again. The aching almost worsened, but in a good way, if that makes any sense.



I should have seen the next thing coming, but my mind was not thoroughly engaged yet. He grabbed one of my flailing wrists and cuffed it. The chain was attached to the back wall and left me only enough room to move from the installed cot along that wall to the toilet in the corner. The chain was not long enough for me to reach past the cage door, which was at least three feet from the wall adjacent to the hallway.



I was cuffed to a wall in a cage inside of a cell in a basement reachable from an elevator hidden in a closet in the master bedroom. I was totally fucked.



At this point, Mr. F (I was finally gleaning on to the sick aptness of his preferred nickname. The fact that he liked it bespoke both amazing and appalling self-awareness) sneered into my face. “You just try to get away from me now. You’ll learn, my sweet little sex bitch, that I am not to be denied. Now you are mine. Think on that for a little while.”



He straightened and sniffed, and he clenched his jaw. “You settle yourself in here. And don’t worry; your little noises can’t possibly travel far enough to reach anywhere. Feel free to scream all you want. It won’t matter. It might even give you laryngitis, which would ultimately only hurt yourself. Have at it.”



With that, and nothing else, he ripped the duct tape off my face, turned on his heel, and walked out of the cage to the door. Opening that with one hand and flipping both switches on the wall downward, he let himself out of the room, the steel door to the cage clanged shut, and the lights went out.