Three Years(31)

The events that happened last time I saw him slam into me, and I frown, remembering poor Violetta on her knees.

“You made that poor girl suck your dick,” I say to him.

He frowns. “Dornan made that poor girl suck my dick.” He corrects me. “It wasn’t exactly a turn-on, or didn’t you notice?”

I nod reluctantly. “Dornan makes people do a lot of things they don’t want to do.”

He lets me use the bathroom and drink some water before he leaves. He looks at the bed uneasily, but I’m lying on my back before he can even ask, my arms stretched above me.

Obedient little slave I am. I disgust myself.

He looks relieved at my cooperation as he re-knots the silk scarf around my wrists, tugging it to make sure it’s tight. I’m fine, until he places the iPod back on my chest and moves the ear buds toward my ears.

He must see the look of horror on my face because he pauses, patting my shoulder awkwardly.

“I have to put it back on,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

I nod bravely, but I start crying. A concerned expression flickers across his face.

“Hang in there. I’ll turn it down a little,” he whispers in my ear, so faintly I can barely hear it. “It’ll all be over soon.”

He leans back and I stare at him, hardly daring to believe what he’s saying.

“What?” I mouth, barely above a whisper. He shakes his head, pointing to his ear and then to the door. I know exactly what he’s getting at. It’s exactly the same thing Jase tried to tell me when he was in here. Someone is outside the room, and they’re listening. They both seemed comfortable to gesture though, which tells me there are no cameras in the room.

The Prospect pats my shoulder again affectionately, and the small gesture makes me burst into tears. Looking like he’s handing me a death sentence, he gently nestles the ear buds back into my ears and presses play.

This time, the music takes me on a journey. First, I cry. Get rid of every tear that’s still inside of me. Then, I seethe; my anger only helped along by the lyrics in the death metal songs that blast at my eardrums. More than once, I imagine my eardrums have burst and splattered blood everywhere. But it’s just my imagination playing tricks on me.

After what I estimate to be a few hours, I come to a point of acceptance. Staring at the pressed ceiling above me, I can finally separate myself from the thrashing music, can finally decipher my own thoughts. The heroin has worn off too, and no doubt the sugary cola has given my brain a bit of a boost.

And the thoughts that occupy my mind are intriguing indeed.

My thoughts wander towards the night I was here last. The last time Dornan fucked me as Sammi. Afterward, I’d been bleeding. At the time, I’d assumed it was his rough treatment of me, but it soon became apparent that my period had started. I’d spent the first few days at Jase’s apartment with the most wicked cramps.

And then, the week after, we had made love.

Unprotected.

At least twice.

And I’d stopped taking my contraceptive pills the day I blasted those bombs and blew the front of this fucking room to smithereens.

And after that? I’d been down here at least a month before Dornan raped me.

Yet I started throwing up before he raped me.

My mind struggles to do the math, to believe that this might actually be real, that I’m not just making shit up in a state of delusion, but as I analyze everything, the dates and the circumstances and everything and I come to one shocking, stunning conclusion that could change everything.

This baby inside me isn’t Dornan’s.

It’s Jase’s.





My mind still reeling from the realization that I’m probably carrying Jase’s baby, I barely even hear the pops of gunfire that start in the background of my death metal marathon. In fact, I don’t notice them at all until the glass in one of the French doors splinters, a neat hole in it thanks to the stray bullet that’s just lodged itself in the wall above me.

I gasp as bits of plaster from the wall rain down on my face and chest like snow. Someone is shooting at the house.

My concern turns to excitement as I repeat that thought inside my head.

Someone is shooting at the house.

The prospect’s final words come back to me, then. It’ll all be over soon. Is this what he meant? I struggle against my restraints, but all I succeed in doing is making them tighter. By some small mercy, though, one of the ear buds dislodges from my ear.

Awesome. I can hear gunshots in one ear and the unintelligible screaming of death metal in the other. I’m not sure which one is worse.

The Prospect flings the door open and marches in, avoiding eye contact as he undoes my hands. I squeeze my hands to get the blood flowing as he hauls me to my feet. “What’s happening?” I ask sharply, eyeing the bullet hole in the window with alarm. Another bullet whizzes past my head and hits the wall just as he pulls me toward the door, and I shriek. That one was way too close for comfort.