Page 124 of Devour

The chain is the problem. I’ve twisted my foot every direction trying to slide the cuff off, and all I’ve done is rub my skin raw. Blood has dried around the edge of the metal where it’s been digging in, and my ankle is swelling so that it’s getting tighter instead of looser.

I sit on the edge of the bed and pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders. The hospital gown is thin, and this room is cold. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Long enough that the light outside the window is almost gone.

But I refuse to stop fighting, even if the odds aren’t in my favor. If they think they’re going to take anything else from my body, they’re going to have to force me or kill me. I’ll starve before I give them what they want. My fucking psycho brother will probably just drug anything I eat or drink anyway.

I go back to the keypad. I’ve tried random dates and combinations with no luck. I’m starting at 0001 and working my way up until it opens. After around twenty attempts, it locks me out, and I pound the cabinet and scream.

When my fists hurt, I stop and catch my breath. I hear something outside the door. Someone is coming.

I back up until the chain pulls tight against my ankle, and I grab the only thing within reach—the blanket. I twist it in both hands trying to form some kind of rope. It’s all I have, and I’m not going to be standing here empty-handed when whoever this bastard is decides to show his face.

The keypad on the door lights green, and it’s pushed open. I fist my hands tighter on the twisted blanket when my father enters the room.

He closes the door behind him and stands there for a second, looking at me. His eyes move from my face to the chain on my ankle to the blanket twisted in my fists. He frowns as if he’s distraught to see me like this. He fucking did this.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Saylor.” He sounds like he’s in pain, like he’s the one who’s been tied up to be fucking raped. He glances up at the corner of the room and then back at me. “I don’t have a lot of time.”

“You think you don’t have a lot of time?” I take a step toward him. “You aren’t chained to this fucking room. I don’t have much choice since your son drugged me and brought me here. So I’ll ask you again. What the fuck are you doing here?”

He crosses the room, and I don’t back up. I’m too angry to be afraid of him. I can see the redness in his eyes and the way his jaw is set tight, and he glances up at that same corner again before he looks at me.

“I need you to listen to me.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Can you do that?”

“Fuck you!” I want to hit him. “You seem to know your way around this place. You knew right where Justin was keeping me. You lied to me about helping me so you could help your son and that creep Ryan rape me?” I laugh, but none of this shit is funny. “I really thought you gave a shit.”

He winces. His eyes are still sad. He’s got that pained look on his face that makes me want to punch him. “I care.” He reaches for me, and I step back. “Sweetheart, I’m trying to help you.”

“Help me?” I’m shaking so hard that I might explode from the rage. “Was sending your sick fucking son to drug and rape me part of your—”

“Saylor, please.” His hands fist at his sides, and his eyes go to that corner again. I look over and see the tiny light. I missed it before. It must be a fucking camera. “I know what I am. I know what I’ve done. You can hate me for the rest of your life, and you’ll be right. But this is going to fucking happen.”

Before I can respond, he grabs me by the throat and slams me back against the wall. Dots dance over my vision for a few seconds. My hands come up on instinct and claw at his wrist, but his grip isn’t crushing. His fingers are around my neck, but he’s just holding me there. He’s not squeezing as tight as he could.

His face is inches from mine, and his expression has changed. He looks furious with his jaw locked, eyes hard, and a deep scowl.

“Stop fighting me.” He says through gritted teeth. His eyes are locked on mine, and there’s something in them that doesn’t match his voice. It’s the same pain when I told him about Justin.

I feel his other hand at my hip. His fingers slide under the hem of the hospital gown and tears sting my eyes thinking what he’s going to do next. My own fucking father.

Then there’s a cold metal object against my skin.

“Take it.” He growls. I bring my hand to it, and he pushes it into my palm.

I curl my fingers around the metal, and I can feel that it’s a knife. The blade is folded into the handle.

His mouth is close to my ear now. “Hide it,” he breathes. The words are so quiet I barely hear them. “Use it when you have to, sweetheart. Take them out.”

His hand is still on my throat. His face is still furious for whoever is watching, but his eyes are begging me to understand.

My hands are shaking so hard I almost drop it. I tuck the knife into the waistband of my underwear against my hip. It’s covered by the hospital gown, and I just hope it stays.

He releases my throat and steps back.

“How did you know where I was?” I stare at him while the knife presses cold against my hip. “Why is this happening?”

He doesn’t look away from me. “I’ve done a lot of bad things, Saylor. But I should have done better for you.”