Beautiful Savage - Caroline Peckham Page 0,16

to the rifle resting against the wall beside fireplace. If The Five came back, he’d know what to do. He’d wake me. He’d make sure I was hidden. And Tyson would bark if there was a noise beyond the cabin.

I fell into my latest nightmare, returning me to that cell deep underground where the sun never shone and the world forgot to be my friend.

My knees pressed against rough stone, chaffed and bleeding. My back was arched, my hands pressed to the concrete as blood spilled from the ripped flesh of my back. Duke was smoking in the corner, the low light of the single bulb hanging above me in my cell making my shadow seem like it was trying to hide beneath me. And I wouldn’t be surprised. When Duke was around, even the mice tucked their tails and ran in case he cast a glance their way. But there was only one creature he ever wanted. Me.

“Gotta admire you sometimes, red, you take a whipping like a man,” he laughed, sucking on his cigarette again as my shoulders shuddered with the lasting tremors of the torture. “It’s not every day I meet a woman who I can say that about. Shame you’re a scrawny little runt.”

I reached for the old T-shirt they’d given me to wear, but before I could pull it on to cover my naked body, Duke spoke.

“Leave that. Stand up.”

I swallowed the rising lump in my throat, digging deep for my grit and getting to my feet in nothing but the ugly, flesh-coloured panties they gave me to wear. Quentin sometimes gave me fresh ones, he didn’t like seeing me naked. It disturbed him, or so he liked to whisper in my ear.

I winced as pain spread across my spine, getting to my feet on shaking legs and turning to Duke. Blood ran hot and thick along my spine, spilling over my ass and down the backs of my legs. It was the closest thing to warm I’d been in a long time.

“Yeah,” he tutted as he surveyed me. “Flat chested, that’s your problem.” He pointed at me with the cigarette. “Nothing for a man to grab onto. I like my women with more meat.”

Any woman who catches your eye is an unfortunate fucking soul. Of course, I didn’t actually say that. Saying that meant I could say other things. And if he knew my tongue could give him the words he needed, he wouldn’t be done with me today.

Smoke snaked around me in the air and Duke smoothed his moustache down as he pushed out of the tattered wicker chair, his immense height sending a flicker of fear through me as he approached. But I kept my chin high, staring up at him. He hated that. He always wanted me bowing, didn’t like when I looked at him too much while he hurt me. So I made a point of doing so as much as possible.

He blew a cloud of smoke into my face and I fought the urge to cough. “I’ll have Orville come patch you up, hm?”

I shuddered, biting down on my tongue.

“Or you can say the word no and I’ll do it myself, how about that?” he offered. “Just one little word, red.” He leaned closer, his bushy brows arching as he stared at me, waiting for me to crack. “Say it.”

The word was on my tongue, burning with the need to be said. Orville was the last person of all The Five who I wanted to tend my wounds. Even Farley who would be the roughest. They had to do it in case my cuts and lashes got infected. A dead hostage couldn’t give them the information they wanted. But sometimes I wished they wouldn’t fix me up so well, let an inch of rot get into me and steal me away from them for good. The world wasn’t that kind though.

“Alright then,” he purred, grabbing my hand, turning it over and stubbing his cigarette out in my palm. I gritted my teeth and suppressed the scream in my throat as the burning cherry ate into my flesh. He tossed the stub on the ground with a hmph like he was disappointed then strode to the door, knocking twice and it wrenched open a second later.

I hooked up the T-shirt from the floor, a gasp of agony escaping me at the wounds on my back. I clutched it to my chest then climbed onto the table at the side of

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