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“What?”
“Wyatt Hoxton has a brother.”
3
BLUE
When I open my eyes, I’m lying on the bed. My arms are bound to each of the posts, as is one of my legs and Wyatt is wrapping a leather restraint around the other. I scream and kick, manage to get him in the nose.
“Ah fuck!” He stumbles backward, cups his nose. When he pulls his hand away, we both see the blood pouring from it. “Fuck you, cunt! I’ll make sure to break your nose while you can still feel it.”
He wipes the blood away with the back of his sleeve, gives a strange shake of his head then returns to bind my leg so I’m tied to the bed spread eagle. I test the bonds. Nothing gives. I didn’t think anything would.
“Let me go!” I can barely move a few inches if I twist my torso but I’m not going to make this easy for him.
He looks me over, grins as he meets my gaze. He’s bigger than I remember but the look in his eyes is the same. And that tattoo on his neck sends a chill down my spine.
“What do you want?” I ask.
He takes off his jacket calmly. It’s bloody from his nose and probably from my cuts. He hangs it on a coat rack standing in the corner. From inside the breast pocket, he takes out his phone, pushes a button and puts the phone to his ear. He mutters a curse a moment later.
“Bitch is at the cabin. Where the fuck are you? I will start without you, Brother.”
Brother?
He disconnects, returns to the bed. I scooch as far away as I can, which isn’t far. Wyatt sets the phone down on the nightstand and walks over to a table set along the far wall. It has a top that he lifts open. I can’t see what’s inside. A moment later, he reaches in, takes what he wants and turns back to me.
My heart drops to my stomach when I see what it is. A hunting knife.
“What do you want?” I scream, unable to keep the terror from my voice.
He grins, and when he reaches the bed, he sets one knee on it.
“Do you remember me?” he asks, looking me over, setting the flat of the blade against my cheek right where my scar is. I’m sure my makeup has smeared and it’s visible now. “Do you? Of course, I was prettier then. Didn’t have the clown’s mark.” He says this with disgust and a part of me wants to tell him he was never pretty, but the smarter part tells me to keep my mouth shut.
The blade is cool as he slides it down over my cheek, my jaw, my throat, to the strap of my dress. With one tug, the strap is useless.
“That’s thanks to you. Don’t worry, before I break your nose, I’ll slice you a set. Make a clown out of you like you did me.”
“I didn’t…” I trail off because he knicks the second strap.
“You didn’t what?”
I lick my lips and watch, heart racing, every muscle taut as he slides his knife between my breasts, over the dress to the top of the slit at my thigh. The dress itself is stretched tight given how my legs are spread.
“Hm?” he asks, pale blue eyes on mine as he drags the knife up along the inside of my thigh and brings it to rest against my crotch.
“Oh, God.” I shake my head, a tear sliding from the corner of my right eye.
He grins, draws the knife flat edge down over my sex. His eyes never leave mine and I remember how Zeke had slid my panties off. I remember how warm and wet and soft his mouth had been in that same place just hours before.
“Please.” More tears come.
His grin widens, making his face look hideous and terrifying at once. His eyes harden narrowing to slits and I cry out when he tugs, sure he’s stabbing me. But there’s no pain. Only the sound of my dress ripping in two as he jerks the knife up, up, up until the material slides to either side of my body, exposing me wholly.
Now, Wyatt Hoxton allows his gaze to move over me. He takes in my breasts, my stomach, my sex. His gaze remains there for a long, long minute and I see how his eyes darken, pupils dilating. He sets the blade of the knife once more between my legs and returns his gaze to mine.
“Better without the dress. Legs spread wide. Pussy shaved bare. Mmm. I like that. Makes you look younger.” As he speaks, he rubs the knife over my clit. I swallow, close my eyes when he turns his attention to my sex. “Do you know that in some cultures they slit the clit right off little girls?”
