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The Scarlet Letter
Before I have a moment to react, Adam grabs my wrists. Madame lifts my coffee mug from between my arms as I try to pull them from Adam’s tight hold. Pouring my remaining coffee down the drain, she addresses me with an inflection more suitable for a coffee date than torture. “You’ve been my best girl for years, Cora. I’m going easy on you. Remember that if you think about crossing me again.”
Adam yanks my hands hard, forcing me to stand as he pulls my chest over the cold granite. He stands, and the blond takes my wrists from him, holding me equally as tightly. Placing a bottle of vodka down on her way out of the kitchen, Madame instructs them, “Clean it when you’re finished.”
Rounding the island, Adam presses himself firmly against my ass as he leans his chest against my back. He flicks open the switchblade in front of my face, then uses it to cut the slice the straps of my tank top and bra. Yanking them both from my skin, he grinds his cock against my ass and whispers in my ear, “You have no idea how much I’m going to fucking enjoy this.”
He drags the tip of the blade along my skin with a light feathery touch, and I shout, “Just fucking do it!”
“Foreplay, little bitch,” he snickers against my skin as he continues to grind his hips against me. “Foreplay.”
He shoves his forearm against my upper back and uses his weight to pin me to the counter as he takes his time pressing the knife tip through my skin. Gritting my teeth, I fist my hands so hard that my nails dig into my skin as I try to manage the pain.
“One way or another,” he sloppily kisses against the back of my ear as I squirm beneath him, “You’re going to fucking scream for me today.”
The knife slowly cuts through my skin, and I scream as he carves through my flesh over and over again. Blood trickles over my shoulder and begins pooling under my cheek as I cry out in agony with every movement of his hand. My legs are trembling beneath me when he drops the bloody blade on the counter.
Twisting open the bottle beside him, he takes a swig before pouring it over my back. I shriek as the alcohol hits the open wounds. Slamming the bottle back on the counter, he licks through the bloodied vodka on my back. His disgusting tongue drags along my skin, up my neck to my ear before he whispers, “That was fucking great for me. How was it for you?”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
DETECTIVE MICHALES
Anything?
HARPER
I told you, I’d let you know.
I feel like you aren’t even trying, Harper.
If you really want your family to know how you’re paying for college, I’m fine it that.
I’ll see him tonight.
I will try to get something.
Try hard.
I know first hand how persuasive that mouth of yours can be.
Despite a perfect little body, a tight fucking pussy, and quite a talented mouth, she’s been proving otherwise useless. At least in terms of my investigation. Forcing her to engage in Edmund Parker’s depravities, which I don’t think she disapproves of nearly as much as she complains about, I was expecting more. Apparently, I overestimated things, because getting her ass pounded red doesn’t come with pillow talk.
Or maybe she’s playing both sides.
Since she’s fucking useless, and I didn’t find a shred of evidence to corroborate their story at The Jellyfish, I’m going to take advantage of the fact that everyone is at the hospital watching over Mr. Millington.
Parked about a mile away, I climb the stone wall that surrounds the majority of his property and begin the couple of acres walk to reach his estate.
No time like the present to look around.
This time, I plan to make it well past the front door.
Reaching the main entrance, I pull the lock pick set from my back pocket. But out of curiosity, I try the knob before flipping open my kit.
Unlocked.
When I step inside, I’m surprised to find that it’s spotless. So immaculate that it doesn’t even look like people actually live here. Picture frames are perfectly hung, couch pillows are so well-placed that they look staged, and it smells so clean.
