This Is War, Baby - K Webster Page 0,7
over you.”
His words are enough to calm me and exhaustion steals me away.
After the hell I’ve endured over the past few days, this is heaven.
The devil is my savior.
Bacon.
My stomach grumbles and I come to. Blinking my eyes slowly, I take in the wooden walls that surround me in this sparse room. Where am I?
I’m in hell. I remember now.
The heavenly scent of breakfast wafting through the cabin, though, is enough to push away my worries and I focus on regaining my energy first. Every muscle in my body screams in agony. I’m not sure if I’ll even be able to walk. The thought is alarming.
I have to try though. Maybe we’re near people. If I can get out the front door and run to the street, I could flag down a car. Someone could rescue me.
“I told you. For every step you tried to escape, I’d whip you. And you made it four steps before I caught you. Does it hurt, Baylee?”
What if it’s a hundred steps to the road before he catches me? I shudder at the idea of him whipping me raw. My backside is still tender from last night. When I go to move my hand to finger the spot—to see if he broke the skin—panic threatens to drown me.
I’m tied up.
I’m tied up.
Holy crap, I’m tied up.
A tug of my legs indicates that my ankles are bound and strung to each post at the end of the bed. My wrists are secured together and rest on my belly under the blanket that’s been pulled to my chin. I try to sit up but I have no strength left.
“Help!”
Something clatters in the kitchen. I hear normal sounds that one would expect to hear as someone cooked breakfast. And that is what terrifies me even more. Gabe is carrying on as if this is normal—as if this is okay.
It is absolutely not okay.
“Help!”
Heavy footsteps thunder down the hallway toward me and tears stream out of the corner of my eyes. I’m afraid. I want my dad. I want Brandon. I want someone who could help me.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
If I weren’t tied up—if I were here under my own desires—I’d be in awe of the sight. The devil, disguised as an angel, stands in the doorway resembling a combination of both beauty and evil. His dark hair is still wet as if he’s recently showered and he’s once again shirtless. The man, despite being in his forties, still works out and has an impressive physique. His shoulders are broad and thick while his toned torso tapers down into a narrower waist. Dark jeans hang low on his hips and dark hair disappears into them. If things were different, I’d almost say he was hot.
But I’m his prisoner, not his lover.
So despite his body being hot, it’s his eyes that are cold. Coffee-colored eyes are narrowed at me and his chiseled jaw is moving in a furious manner, reminding me of my dad when he gets angry.
“Time for breakfast,” he grunts and storms toward me. He’s carrying a plate and has a water bottle tucked under his arm. I’m upset and scared, but all I can think about is downing that water.
He sits beside me and I squirm away from him. My bindings don’t allow for much wiggle room so the heat of his body envelops me.
“Why are you doing this? Is it sex? You want me for sex?” I demand with tears in my eyes.
He sets the plate down on the bedside table and opens the water bottle. I expect him to unscrew the cap, which he does, and give me a swallow, which he doesn’t. Instead, he brings it to his full lips and takes a small sip.
“Mmm, cold.”
I sniffle and choke back a sob. He probably wants me to cry and beg. Well, he doesn’t deserve that.
“Want a drink, Baylee?”
With a frustrated sigh, I bite my chapped lip and nod. “Please.”
He flashes me a pleased grin that roils my stomach. “Good girl.”
I’m angry and want to swat the bottle out of his hands, but I’m not stupid. I need to be somewhat compliant if I have any hope of leaving this place. He shoves some pillows behind me to prop me up which makes the blanket slip down to my stomach baring my breasts to him. The man who’s always hidden his desire for me, blatantly eyes my breasts before sliding his eyes to mine.
Hunger.
I’m not the only one.
The flash of unbridled lust in his eyes