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I don’t know.
This guy—or this particular personality, if he’s telling the truth—is completely unhinged. If I yell for help, I’m potentially dragging someone else into the danger zone. That’s not something I can live with. Then again, I would need to be alive to feel bad about it later.
Kane snatches the leash, dragging me out of my thoughts with a sharp, pain-filled reminder. I hurry and follow him before he can do it again.
Once we’re inside the bathroom, he turns to me. “On the ground. Dogs walk on all fours.”
I bite my lip as I look at the years of filth coating the floor. The sticky mess clutching the bottoms of my shoes goes beyond mud and mildew. And the smells. It’s like the people who used this restroom chose to piss everywhere but in the urinals.
His grip tightens on the leash.
Fuck, I don’t want to do this, but he’s looking at me like I have no choice.
When I don’t move, he wraps the leash around his hand and raises it high above my head. The pain comes first. Instead of a sharp pinch like before, the metal catches the skin at the back of my neck and squeezes it between the links, holding it there. I reach behind my head and try to relieve the tension, but it’s no use.
Then I realize the real danger. He’s strangling me.
I push my fingers against the collar, trying to give myself room to draw a breath, but there’s no space between the thick circles and my skin. My feet begin to rise from the floor, and crawling through the filth doesn’t seem so bad now. Stars dance in front of my eyes, and a black curtain begins to close around the edge of my vision.
I nod my head, hoping he’ll understand the meaning. I’ll do what he wants.
He releases the leash, and I fall to my hands and knees, forcing back a gag as I land in a wet spot. I gasp for air, each breath coated in the scent of stale urine and mold.
“I can’t kill you, so I’m going to enjoy myself by degrading the fuck out of you. Do you understand?”
“Why?” I ask, my throat still tight. The single word sends me into a coughing fit.
“Because I fucking hate women. Jax and Tobin may be able to have sex with you, but my cock shrivels at the sight of disgusting fucking whores like you.”
I swallow hard. Tell me how you really feel, dude.
The ice in his words makes me more certain they aren’t the same people at all. Jax, Tobin, and Kane are just too different. Even if I can’t understand it, I’m forced to believe it. If he were acting, he’d have broken character at some point.
He pulls me toward the urinal, and I crawl behind him. “Sit,” he commands.
I do as I’m told, and the cuffs of my ass rub on the ground as my skirt rides up. I try to lower the stiff fabric, but it’s no use.
“Put your head beside the urinal and open your fucking mouth,” he says.
I already know where this is going before he unzips his pants, and I don’t like it. He wiggles the leash in his hand. A warning. I lick my lips before parting them, and my stomach threatens to cast up everything I’ve ever eaten.
“Now close your eyes,” he says, and I do.
Seconds pass like hours as I sit on the disgusting floor and wait for this man to piss in my mouth. I mentally prepare myself for the salty bite and the acrid perfume of someone else’s waste, but how does someone prepare for something like this?
The anticipation is probably worse than the actual act.
I hear the splash of urine before I feel it, but thankfully, I only feel the droplets ricocheting from the urinal and landing on my shoulder. Disgusting, but far better than the alternative. He finishes pissing, shakes it off, and puts it away. I hear this instead of seeing it because my eyes are still closed. I don’t dare open them now. I’m starting to figure him out. He likes to play a mental game as well as a physical one.
“Open your eyes, dropout.”
I do, and I’m relieved to see his hand reaching for the flush lever instead of the leash. But then he stops.
“No, you know what? Flush it for me.”
I reach for the lever above my head, but he rips my hand away and yanks me to my knees.
“Not like that. I want you to use your filthy mouth. Now.”
