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SHE ROLLED HER SHOULDERS to loosen her muscles and stared at her handiwork. A criss-cross of stripes ran across his skin, blood running down the cuts in places. Not all of them had bled, but all had hurt. She’d seen it in the way his body tensed at every strike, how he’d tried to pull away, even though his movements were limited as he hung from the metal hook in the ceiling.
She wondered what the hook had been used for originally. Whoever had installed it probably hadn’t had this in mind. It was more likely supposed to be used to hang meat—pheasants or rabbits that needed to be hung for a while before eating, perhaps.
She risked circling around him to see his face. He wasn’t unconscious this time, despite the whipping she’d given him. His shoulders heaved as he sucked in air through his nose, and the muscles in his shoulders and arms trembled from the exertion of holding his bodyweight. Something in her chest tightened, but she pushed the feeling away. She couldn’t allow herself to feel any pity for him. Weakness was exactly what he preyed upon, and she needed to be strong. This wasn’t for her; she needed to remember that.
She came to a halt in front of him. “Are you ready to tell me yet?”
He lifted his face to hers. Sweat beaded his brow and upper lip, and a trail of diluted blood ran from his hairline and down his face. He glared at her, his eyes still filled with tumultuous fury. Even if he motioned that he’d given in and would tell her what she needed to know, she couldn’t be sure he would do it.
She found herself staring too long, locked into his gaze, as though he was seeing right into her. She dragged her line of sight away, not trusting herself to look at him for too long.
Could he control her via eye contact alone? She doubted it, but she couldn’t take any risks. She didn’t trust herself around him, and there was good reason for that. Right now he looked defenceless, strung up like an animal, but he was the one who’d caused all of this. They wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for him.
“Don’t make me keep doing this,” she said, hating the pleading tone that entered her voice. “Just tell me.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he blinked, once, twice. Was he trying to tell her something? But then she realised sweat was running into his eyes, stinging them. Automatically, she stepped forward again, planning to wipe the sweat from his face with the sleeve of her shirt, but she stopped herself. She hated how her instinct was still to make him comfortable. He didn’t deserve her sympathy.
Time was running out.
“I swear to God, you think this is painful, but what I’ve done is nothing. Don’t test my patience. I can do worse ... Far worse.”
She didn’t want to have to, though. The idea turned her stomach. She wasn’t a bad person. She had to keep reminding herself of that. She was only doing what was necessary.
He tried to speak against the gag, a muffled growl. Still frightened of him, she stepped back and jammed both hands against her ears. Though she knew she wouldn’t be able to understand what he was saying, a fear lay deep within her. Feeling like a child, but unable to stop herself, she chanted to drown out his voice. It was nonsense, but at least she couldn’t hear him.
She risked a peep over to him. His brow had creased in confusion, a combination of uncertainty and fear in his eyes. It looked as though he’d stopped trying to speak, however, so she took her hands off her ears.
Above their heads, a door slammed.
Fuck.
Someone else was here.
Her heart hammered, and she froze, her ears straining. She thought she’d prepared for this. No one else was supposed to be here now.
She trained her gaze across the ceiling as footsteps landed, one after the other. They crossed the floor, then paused and turned in the other direction. She looked to the staircase leading to the next floor and the door at the top. She’d bolted the lock, but if someone tried the door, they’d wonder why they couldn’t get access.
All her attention had been on the movement of the person above, but she suddenly remembered the man. He’d also frozen, staring up at the ceiling, and she watched the change in his expression as what the movement meant sank in.
“No!” she hissed. “Don’t you dare!”
But he did, inhaling deep through his nose, causing his chest to expand, and then he yelled best he could against the gag. The noise was still muffled, but to her it sounded painfully loud. She couldn’t allow him to continue like that. If the person came to the locked door, they’d be sure to hear him. They might have even heard him already. She couldn’t risk another person coming in here, or calling the police. He would do what he’d always done, and get away with everything with no repercussions. They’d get caught up in processing and paperwork, and before they knew it, they would have run out of time, and then it would be too late. Maybe it was already too late. She had no way of knowing for sure until she was able to get him to speak, but if whoever was upstairs found them, this would all be over.
Panic launched her into overdrive. “No!” she hissed. “Shut up, shut up.”
She wasn’t thinking things through now, only working on instinct. Frantic, she glanced from side to side, taking in her surroundings, trying to figure out if there was anything down here she could use. Cardboard boxes were stacked along one wall, the sides sagging and threatening to spill the contents. Along another wall stood a large wooden wine rack, emptied of any wine, but still containing dust covered empty wine bottles that must have been used for self-brewing.
Not wasting any more time, she took the couple of steps towards the wine rack and snatched out one of the bottles. Her fingers left marks in the thick dust on the glass. He yelled through the gag again, and she tightened her fingers around the neck of the bottle and swung it, her lip curled, her eyes wide. She must have looked barbaric, and the small part of her brain that was still focused, almost watching her from the outside in, rippled in fear. But there was nothing more she could do. Her arm curved in an arc, the bottle clutched between her fingers. It connected with the side of his skull with a crack that sounded hideously loud at a time when she wanted to be quiet, but he immediately fell silent. His head dropped again, his chin hitting his chest, and she stood, frozen, gripping the bottle in her hand and breathing hard. Had whoever was upstairs heard that? She realised how lucky she’d been that the bottle hadn’t broken. The glass breaking would have been louder than the yell.
She strained her ears, trying to pick up the footsteps above. There was nothing. Had the person gone still because they thought they’d heard something and were listening for more? Her blood thumped in her ears, too loud, drowning out all other sound. She tried to make her breathing shallower, making it easier to hear what was happening above. Would they come to the door? Would they check the handle and discover it locked, and that would raise their suspicions? Tears of fear filled her eyes. She didn’t want to be forced into a situation where she’d have to make a decision about what to do about another person revealing what she was doing. She knew they’d never understand.
But as she stood, breath held and pulse racing, the footsteps crossed back over to where the front door was positioned. She jumped as the front door slammed shut, and then exhaled a sigh of relief. Whoever that had been was gone now.
She turned her attention to the man, and the realisation of what she’d done sank in. He was unconscious again, which meant he wouldn’t be answering any of her questions until he woke.
She hoped, by then, it wouldn’t be too late.