The Isle Of Sin And Shadows - Keri Lake Page 0,124

green …”

“Minou, minou, I see you …”

The back of my neck prickles, and a chill spirals beneath my skin, in spite of the sticky, humid air. Memories come back to me in flashes.

Running through the trees. The stranger wearing the goat skull. Hiding in the cypress. Treetops. Blackbirds. Blackness.

Minou, minou.

I see you.

Air deflates in my lungs. My whole body seizes up with the panic that crawls over me.

A force slams into me, knocking me to the ground. On a hard wheeze, I stare up at Thierry, whose blood-covered face reminds me of something straight out of a horror movie. Eyes crazed, he pins me to the ground, straddling me just as before.

“Help me! Somebody help me!”

With my arms trussed over my head, he drags me toward a fallen branch that’s half propped off the ground, where it lays cocked against a thick cypress. The branch bounces beneath me, its bark scraping over my back. Legs braced at either side, I have to concentrate on keeping myself balanced, so much so that I almost don’t notice the clink of metal alerting me to the belt that he unclasps and slides from the loops of his pants.

Legs spread wide beneath him, I dig my heels into the soft dirt, in an attempt to kick myself back. “No. Please, no. Not this. Please not this.”

He doesn’t say a word as he holds my arms captive over my head and winds the belt around my wrists, binding me to the tree branch beneath me. Hands swollen with the pressure, I try to wriggle them free, but he clasps the belt tight, pressing my wrists against the scratchy bark.

Terror rises to my throat. My chest turns cold, stomach twisting with fear.

The hard surface of my teacher’s desk presses into my back.

Wrists bound in twine.

Screams. Loud, throaty screams.

“No! No! Let me go! Let me go!” Another scream rips through me, arms trembling as I tug to get loose.

The visual tears through my memories, of the day my teacher tried to tie me up during sex. A mental image I’d tucked away, deep inside my head. I broke into a fit of panic that day, which alerted one of the other teachers to our tryst.

He was fired.

Fired. All these years, I convinced myself that he ghosted me, but he didn’t. He crossed a boundary for me that day. One I originally allowed, but the moment he lifted my arms over my head, I freaked the hell out on him. Blacked out.

Oh, God, I remember it now. All of it. The look of remorse on his face. The humiliation.

My mind pulls me back into even earlier memories. Of being laid out on the forest bed.

The treetops overhead. A black bird. Whispers. Arms bound.

While my mind spins with all these new revelations, Thierry pushes off of me, strides back to the spot where I stood just seconds ago, and swipes up something from the ground. When he returns, I can see the white hilt of the knife Russ gave me and the glint of steel from what little moonlight shines down.

Wriggling and writhing, I tug and pull, the bark of the branch digging into my spine. The fallen limb wobbles beneath me, but it’s too heavy and thick to break.

Thierry stares down at me, licking his lips, and I know by the look in his eyes what thoughts swirl in his head. “Who the fuck gave you that picture?”

“I’m not telling you shit.” The words wobble past my lips on shaky, panting breaths. “So, if you plan to cut me open, get it the fuck over with already.”

“Shhhh. Relax, moiselle. I don’t plan to cut you open. And I sure as fuck don’t plan to get it over with quickly.” As he straddles the branch, I flex my stomach, trying to bring my legs up high enough to kick out, but this time, he easily pries them open.

“You’re going to talk, either way. You see, torture is sort of my specialty.” He slices the strap of my tank so it falls against my shoulder. Through a watery shield of tears, I watch as he runs his finger along my collarbone and pushes the fabric down to expose my bra beneath.

The anger inside of me morphs to resignation. “Do what you gotta do. I’m not saying a word.”

“You will. I promise you.” After wetting his thumb across his tongue, he draws long, lazy circles over the thin lacy barrier, the sensation pulling at the pit of my stomach, hardening my